hi! i love your writing so much i keep coming back to read the same fics over and over
This is a bit complicated and a bit detailed so please bear with me😭
i was wondering if you could do a thranduil x reader where thranduil is newly crowned king and him and reader grew up together and are really close (and eventually develop feelings for eachother)but one night because of them both being drunk they spend a night together which ends up getting the reader pregnant (thranduil doesnt know) and hes arranged to marry someone else in 2 years time and while the readers confessing her love for him(also trying to tell him of the pregnancy), he tells her that them spending the night together was just a drunken mistake(he doesnt really mean it)so heart broken reader doesnt end up telling him of her pregnancy and doesnt see him for the next 9 months and the day shes giving birth is when he finds out. So kind of angsty but happy ending in the end?
idk i thought it would be a good idea btw its totally fine if you dont do it!
Ahhh thank you so much! I’m so happy you’ve enjoyed my writing. I love this request, it’s got the perfect zest of angst. I’m gonna add it to my queue to write!
Firstly, I LOVED tolerate it!! ✨✨❤️Do you think you would ever write a part 2?
Hi thank you so much for reading and I’m glad you loved it! I do have a part 2 tentatively planned, it just doesn’t have a very…happy ending for either Thranduil or reader. Let me know if you would be interested!
And again, thank you for your kind words, I love getting asks!
▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.
▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy.
The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left.
Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect.
Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention.
Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.
Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone.
You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize.
One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp.
Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable.
The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair.
Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance.
The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years.
Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found.
You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?
"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"
At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.
" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."
Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"
You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.
"I could say the same about you, prince."
He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.
"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?"
The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.
"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.
"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."
"You don't need--"
"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."
So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.
"I think I'm technically your stepmother."
"But you feel more like a friend."
You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.
"Then I am glad we are friends."
Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.
Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.
"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."
He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.
Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.
Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.
When would this torment end?
---
The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you.
Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.
The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care.
“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough.
A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?
“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.”
Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.
“It was a bit gauche.”
Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own.
“I thought it looked nice.”
His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash.
“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.
Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror.
“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser.
“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”
“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?”
“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.
“To ensure an alliance with your family.”
“That is it? For no reason other than that.”
Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.
“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”
You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--
You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit.
“I see.”
A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.
You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.
“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.”
Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding.
The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.
▹ Summary: When you know, you know. There's no other way to explain it.
▹ Note: I listened to Margaret by Lana on repeat while writing this, 10/10 recommend. Also, unedited because it's 2am and I want to SLEEP.
You’d met Legolas early spring when the winds were still bitter and the frost was beginning to melt.
The moon was high and the chatter was mellow, the defeat of Sauron still fresh in everyone's memory. He’d been wearing his ceremonial armor and you a white dress. The jewels you wore shimmered like stars and your eyes shone like moonlit water. A human woman from a minor noble house, you never expected catching the eye of the elven prince that helped save the realm.
Legolas’ eyes followed you intently, entranced by your sweet voice and the slight creases around your eyes when you smiled. It had been three times your eyes had met and after the third time, Legolas found the courage to approach, downing his glass and leaving it behind. His hands trembled and a lump formed in his throat, but he’d kick himself later if he didn’t try. The pathway to you seemed miles long, the rest of the crowd blind to Legolas; it was as if a single light was guiding his way to you. His blood rushed and his heart raced; tingles lit his body up.
It was no shock when Legolas was a few feet away. You noticed him approaching, of course, you were entirely too aware of him and his lingering eyes. Liquid courage was found in a glass of wine that was sweet and tarte all at once. The alcohol caused your cheeks to flush but you knew the prince's presence would make them flush brighter. The alcohol would be a good excuse for the blush you’d soon have.
The noise in your mind grew hush once the elven prince stood before you. He smelled warm and fresh, well groomed and oiled with a hint of a woodsy scent. The smoothness of his features were nearly off putting, but the shy grin on his face was anything but unnerving. The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fabric of your dress and Legolas’ hands were clasped in front of him. Nervous and awkward, neither of you were sure how to proceed.
It was silent for a moment, replaced by the fumbling of the two of you speaking over each other. With the realization, the words were cut short and silence fell over the air. Your eyes fell to the floor and your teeth worried your lips while Legolas’ cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.
“Apologies, my prince--”
“I insist my lady, you first--”
Another bout of silence. Neither of you could remember how casual conversation worked. You peeked at him through your lashes, a small giggle slipping past your lips. It made Legolas ease his stiff posture, melting into the sound of your voice.
“May I have your name, my lady.” He couldn’t recall being so shy when speaking with a woman. All the confidence age and skill brought was drained from his body; he was an elfling fumbling over his own feet.
“It is Y/N. I would ask for yours, but I believe that question is redundant.”
“Am I so well known?”
Your grin widened in a way that would make your mother grimace.
“One of the heroes who saved Middle Earth and the son of the King of the Woodlands?” There was a hint of teasing in your tone, lips curled into a slight smirk. “I perhaps heard your name a time or two.”
Legolas laughed, eyes shut and head slightly tossed back. A stray ray of light hit his head, illuminating him with a halo above his head. “I suppose my reputation does precede me, but I feel like we’re standing on uneven ground. You know more of me than I do of you.”
Some of the nerves that made you feel fluttery and sick began to disappear. His easy and smile and comforting aura felt as same as the childhood nativity you clung to. He put stars in your eyes in a way no one else ever had.
“I’m afraid my life is dull in comparison to the other attendees of this party.”
The half smile on Legolas’ face contorted into a much softer appearance. Eye bright and voice low, it sent shivers down your spine.
“I dare say you are more so memorable.”
Your lashes fluttered and your breath got caught in your throat. Subtly, you pinched the side of your thigh, sending a prayer of gratitude to whatever god led you to this moment. A shy giggle bubbled from behind your closed lips. Emboldened from the haze the wine created, you leave a feather light touch over Legolas’ shoulder.
“A bold statement considering you’ve hardly known me a day.”
Legolas smiled at your quick retort, leaning towards your body, his head tilted down to see you better.
“They say an elves' instincts are never wrong.”
You raised a single brow in response, a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. All thoughts of formality and proprietary thrown out.
“And your instincts say I’m memorable?”
Legolas paused for a moment before continuing.
“Well when you know, you know.”
Unsure of how to react, a small bout of laughter left your mouth. The rest of the night was spent with Legolas at your side. Even as nobles singing his praises and vying for the favor of an elven prince, Legolas never strayed too far. With a polite smile and nod of the head, he would quickly dismiss the well-wishers in favor of returning his attention to you.
The night passed far too quickly, and with the blink of an eye you found yourself in the isolation of your room with your blankets pulled to your chin. Behind your closed eyes, your thoughts and dreams were nothing but Legolas and a life you were certain was too far from your grasp.
---
The crisp spring air was traded for balmy, long summer nights. The world began to return to normal, all that Mordor and Sauraman destroyed slowly being rebuilt. The coronation of the king was approaching, the heroes of Middle Earth lingering in Gondor, including Legolas.
You hadn’t spoken since your first meeting, but he was everywhere you looked. Walks through the city, visits to the Keep, or wandering through the gardens; it didn’t matter where you were, he was everywhere. To his credit, he made it seem as if he was a subject of fate and not the mastermind setting the chess board.
And the board was currently being reset in a small nook overlooking the city. The queen sat in front of a stone table with a book while the king lingered around the edges, unsure of how to approach.
“I began to think you were a ghost I’d imagined.” You spoke quietly and wet the tip of your finger. Flick. Your eyes began to scan the new page of your book.
From the corner of your eye you saw Legolas take the free chair directly across from you. His hands rested on the table, fingers intertwined.
“Why’s that?”
A slight smirk appeared on your lips, barely visible over your book. Finishing the sentence you were reading, you shut the book and set it on the table. Eye to eye, you took in Legolas’ appearance. His casual leathers had been traded in for formal attire, a delicate silver circlet resting above his brow. Gods did he look beautiful.
“You seem to be everywhere I am, yet this is the first time you’ve approached.”
Legolas stared at you a moment; a slight furrow of his brow in response to the tilt of your head and sly grin. “I approached you at the celebration.”
“The first and only time, if we don’t take this moment into consideration.”
Legolas narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, a grin pulling on his puzzled expression.
“You seem perfectly capable of starting a conversation and entirely aware of when we were in a room together.” The implication of his words weren’t lost on you, a slight flush betraying your embarrassment. You were entirely too aware of him.
“And how improper would that be?” You feigned a scandalized appearance, lightly swatting Legolas’ hand. “A minor noble woman approaching an elven prince? My mother would die from the embarrassment that scandal would cause.”
Legolas laughed; a short and sweet one that made his eyes turn to crescents. There was a flutter in your stomach and a misbeat of your heart. For a moment your eyes glazed over, not aware what Legolas was saying if he was speaking to begin with. He looked entirely too beautiful, his eyes too blue to be natural. Elves were supposed to be supernaturally beautiful, but none of the other elves wandering the keep were as beautiful as him.
“Ahh.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, the sound pulling you from the spell he cast. “How foolish of me to overlook that detail. In the future I will be sure to start all conversations, lest the public get the wrong idea.”
“A relief to hear you have agreed to stop silently stalking me. And they claim chivalry to be a dying behavior.” You rolled your eyes, the grin on your face dulling any snark in your words.
Your eyes returned to Legolas, the easy silence hanging over the two of you. The air was calm, sans a nervous fog over Legolas’ eyes. What was there to be worried over? The war was over, Sauron was defeated. You tried to remember what could be a cause of worry, but your mind came up empty. Even the remaining orcs were being hunted down and slain.
“But I’m sure that reassurance isn’t why you’re here.” You broke the silence, Legolas’ attention snapping back towards you. “What worried you?”
“I am to return home soon.”
Your mouth was parted, unable to hide the disappointment on your face.
“Oh.” The word was uttered so quietly you weren’t certain it was actually said. Of course he would go home, he’s a prince with duties to his people. It’s not as if there would be anything to keep him here after the King’s coronation next week.
“I wish you a safe journey.”
The tips of your fingers tapped against the smooth stone.
“You mistake me. It is expected of me to return home shortly after Aragorn’s coronation, but I am unsure if it is what I want to do.”
A slight furrow of your brows betrayed your confusion, but before you could open your mouth, Legolas continued to speak.
“We have not spoken nearly as much as I would’ve liked during my stay here, a predicament I understand to be a making of my own, but I--” He cut himself off, eyes lowering to the ground as he shook his head.
Oh.
The realization came with a bright red hue painting your cheeks. All this time, you never once considered the elven prince had affections for you. Each time you’d been in the same room, same hall, or same street, it never occurred to you he was building the courage to speak with you again. Had your first meeting had such an effect on him? Could he possibly get as fluttery and nervous as you do?
“I would like the chance to get to know you, Lady Y/N, and in time perhaps court you.”
Like a starstruck idiot, you stared at Legolas with wide eyes and parted lips. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears and in the distance there were birds singing, or maybe you’d just imagined that.
Legolas began to drum his fingers against the table, nervous eyes unable to meet yours. You’d been silent for too long, you realized. He may be getting the wrong idea. To assuage whatever fears were building within his head, you reached your hand out and placed it over him. It brought his attention back to you; wide eyed and flushed face he looked ages younger than he really was.
“I would love for the chance to get to know you beyond the surface level.”
Like dawn brightening the landscape, Legolas’ face lit up. Any petty fears or worries were banished from his expression. He brought his free hand to rest it atop your other free hand. He squeezed your hand three times before pulling them away. After a moment you hear the soft pad of footsteps on the ground.
A chair skids across the ground as Legolas stood from his seat, outstretching a hand towards you. “Perhaps the lady would grant me a walk through the halls?”
Gently, you stood from your seat, placing your hand in the crook of his arm.
▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.
▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves.
In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.
Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family.
And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips.
No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move.
From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.
Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself.
“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine.
The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries.
You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white.
The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see.
“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--”
“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil.
“Yes, my king.”
Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”
His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?
“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance.
“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them.
The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves.
He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to.
But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.
Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.
The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.
But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too.
“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask.
“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast.
A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited.
One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them.
Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves.
All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.
“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream.
Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.
Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you.
And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests.
“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded.
“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.”
Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore.
When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.
He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence.
Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there.
Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.
“My king.”
He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak.
“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.
“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”
You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate.
“Then I shall stay.”
Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you.
“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”
“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s.
“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.
“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.”
Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real.
“If I may speak freely, my king?”
Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”
You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened.
“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”
“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.”
The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”
Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined.
"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."
His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden.
"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart."
▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst (mentions of death and the aftermath of war)
▹ Words: ~2k
▹ Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, you have a chance encounter with the King.
▹ Notes: This is unedited because we die as men! Also because I'm sleep deprived rn. Let me know what you thought!
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The carnage had been terrible; the aftermath of the battle more brutal than any recount would ever fully capture.
Broken stained glass mosaics formed with blood from all sides of the battle glistened in the sun. There was a heavy fog that clung to the ground, the wails of survivors finding the corpses of their loved ones. You couldn’t focus on it, blocking out as much of the noise as possible. Later you would feel the weight of the lives lost, you were certain, but for now, there was work to be done.
You kneeled before the squirming body of a dwarven soldier, too delirious off his own pain to scorn the healing of an elvish maid. There was a cut on his leg that was bleeding profusely, his skin showing the beginning signs of infection from the poison the orcs used. He was muttering in Khuzdul, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. His eyes were locked on the sun, and if there weren’t other grievous injuries taking priority, you would’ve reminded him to not stare at the sun. But who cares for blindness if you’re already dead?
With ghost-like touches and careful concentration, you placed the healing salve on his leg, cleaning the wound as best you could beforehand. He hissed in pain from the contact, his eyes no longer looking at the sun but at you. He continued to speak in Khuzdul, this time at you, with spite and pain written on his face. You weren’t concerned, continuing to work as you numbed yourself to your surroundings.
A group of elven soldiers marched past you, carrying the body of their fallen comrade, faces stricken with grief. Your eyes darted away from the sight and returned your attention to carefully wrapping your patient’s leg with bandages.
“I don’t have anything for the pain, I’m afraid,” you said to him, briefly meeting his eyes that went back to looking at the sun. He muttered incoherently, and while he spoke Common this time, his words were lost on you.
Tying the final bandage, you then began the same work on the rest of his wounds. More wails and more dead bodies carried from the battlefield, but you blocked it all out. There was no time to be swallowed in the suffering. Once all his wounds had been tended to and your dress was drenched in the blood of another patient, you stood from the ground. A dwarven soldier rushed forward to bring his comrade to the tents where the injured were resting. Words of thanks fell from his mouth, but you had already turned away, moving towards the next person.
This time it was an elf, so young he couldn’t be more than a century old. Old enough to serve in the guard but too young to die; it made you sick to your stomach. There was a gash near his neck, the veins around it turning black. The poison had already gotten into his system; it was only a matter of time before it took him. Yet you kneeled beside him and gently placed his head in your lap as you began cleaning the wound.
Unlike the dwarf from before, his eyes met yours, a grin on his lips. It looked out of place on his face, contorted into pain. He spoke softly in elvish, reciting an old song that mothers usually sang to their children when putting them to bed. As the cold salve touched his neck, he froze up, twitching slightly at the sensation.
Silence enveloped the two of you, he no longer sang, yet his eyes stayed on you. A stray piece of hair had fallen from your messy braid, the elf reaching up and grabbing it. He held it between his fingers, mouth parted and eyes a thousand miles away.
“Naneth--” he trailed off, muttering more incoherent words. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to continue working as a spark of pain reactivated your cold heart. He called you mother; the poison must’ve already reached his head, making him see things that weren’t there.
Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you looked away to reach into your healer’s kit. He must’ve been so terrified as death came closer, seeking comfort in a mother that wasn’t even here. You didn’t have the heart to correct him. Let the boy have a small bit of comfort.
With a strip of bandage in your hand, when your eyes went back to his body, his eyes were shut, and his breathing ceased. Dead.
Your hand fell limp at your side, eyes unmoving from his face. He looked at peace, expression no longer twisted in pain. A shuttered breath escaped your mouth, the chill in the air allowing you to see it blow away. You stood with shaky legs and trembling hands, two soldiers approaching to take his body away.
You’d been a healer for as long as you could remember, training for this since you were a little elfling running wild. Time allowed you to become numb to tragedy, keeping a clear head to do what needed to be done. But the elven boy’s death managed to stab a needle right through your heart. He was so young and vibrant, his potential severed by senseless war. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, like the ashes of the bodies the humans were burning.
The mud squashed beneath your feet, eyes unseeing. You were a ghost on the battlefield, blood-stained dress blowing in the wind. How did the other healers seem so emotionless? Was the bite of death something that lessened the more you were near it? In a few years, would you have a disposition that was nearly mechanical? A part of you hoped for that release, while the other part of you was terrified by it.
You turned, eyes meeting the misty blues ones of King Thranduil. He stood a few feet away from you, a vision amongst the dead. Tall and noble, he looked every bit the king he was. Golden like the dawn, his hair was loose and messy, and his previously pristine armor was dirty with mud and blood, cuts and minor wounds marring his body. Yet he looked eerily perfect.
His stare was heavy, yet you refused to be the one to look away. A hint of a smirk appeared on the edges of his lips as his head tilted to the side. Long and sure strides brought him closer to you while you stayed locked in place. The king stood before you, towering over your smaller form. You may have been on the taller side; he made you feel as though you were a hobbit.
“What is your name?”
You lowered your head in a half-bow, a pathetic attempt to show respect, not entirely accustomed to the presence of royalty.
“Y/N, my king.”
He nodded, mouthing your name as if to commit it to memory.
“Do you live in Eryn Galen? I have never seen you.”
“I grew up in Lothlorien, where I spent most of my life before training to be a healer in Imladris. I have only recently moved to Eryn Galen.”
Thranduil raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands behind his back.
“How lucky we are to have a student of Lord Elrond among us.” You could discern if his words were patronizing or genuine, his tone not betraying his intentions.
“I did not train under Lord Elrond personally.” You felt the need to correct him, not wanting him to think you of a higher station than you were.
“But your teachers were overseen by him, were they not?”
You nodded.
“Then you were trained by Lord Elrond, even if he himself didn’t oversee your education.”
A small smile appeared on your lips, and you nodded. “I have no choice but to agree; who would I be to disagree with a king.”
A coy smile pulled on the edges of his lips as his eyes shone.
“A foolish woman is who you would be. Walk with me?” It was phrased as a question, but he didn’t wait for your answer. His long strides carried him towards camp, and you had no choice but to follow.
“Tell me, do you plan on staying in Eryn Galen long?” His voice was crisp but quiet enough that only you could hear them.
“I do. I have grown fond of the people and its forest.” You spoke genuinely and truthfully. The wood elves were reclusive and suspicious, but once you broke through those barriers, they were full of merriment and loyalty. You cherished the relationships you had already formed and were eager for more.
“Even in its sickly state,” his tone was sardonic but not enough to hide the pain in his voice. How terrible it must’ve been to see his home twisted into something so evil while powerless to stop it.
“I believe there is still hope for it to be returned to health.”
Thranduil stopped in his tracks, eyes meeting yours. You stopped as well, patiently waiting for what he may say next. His expression was unreadable, eyes searching yours for the answers to questions you didn’t know.
Wherever he was searching for, it sent shivers down your spine and made goosebumps form on your arms. The moonlight was kind to him, bathing him in a silvery light that made him look like the elves of Lothlorien who always seemed to shine. You felt your heart stutter as butterflies formed in your stomach.
It could’ve been a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn there was a hint of affection in his bright eyes. After the death of his wife, rumors spread of his cold demeanor and harshen disposition. But now, before you, none of those adjectives seemed suited for him. As soft as the stars and as beautiful as the moon, how could he be anything but good and kind?
“I hope that you are right.” He finally broke the silence, eyes raising to the sky before he continued walking, and just as before, you matched his strides. Neither of you spoke, relishing in the silence after a terrible day full of death and terror.
Finally, the both of you stopped in front of the tent that was yours.
“It was good to meet you today, Y/N. I hope to see you again; I find your company pleasant and your conversation enjoyable.”
A red flush made your face warm, and a child-like grin appeared on your lips. As light as a feather, you would’ve floated away had the king not grabbed your hand, delicately placing a kiss on your knuckles.
When he released your hand, you lowered into a half curtsey, the movement not as fluid due to your dress that was stiff from the dried blood covering it.
“It was an honor to speak with you, my king. I wish you a good rest tonight.”
He smirked in a way that made your flush deepen.
“And if I find it difficult to find rest, will you brew me a tea to lull me to sleep.”
“Herbology happens to be my specialty.”
Thranduil gave a single, firm nod, yet his eyes never moved from yours. The affection you’d seen before was brighter, easier seen in the dim lighting. And you were certain your eyes portrayed the same attraction. Could this be the beginning of something wonderful?
“Then I shall know who to call upon in my hour of need.” He lowered into a full bow, his cloak billowing around him. You took a step back, a bout of giggle escaping your mouth. Who would’ve thought the stern king had a sense of humor?
“Farewell, my lady.”
He then swept off further into the camp, and you stayed in your spot, watching his form disappear, only moving once you could no longer see him. You turned and entered your tent, hand placed upon your flushed cheek. As you readied yourself for bed, the encounter with Thranduil replayed in your mind. And suddenly, you found yourself dancing alone, unable to push back your excitement.
And as you lay in bed and shut your eyes, you desperately hoped this would only be the beginning and not where the story would end.
▹ Summary: Thrust into the world of Arda, you find yourself enraptured by the elven lord Maedhros. Yet nothing is ever easy in times of war as your love story unfolds and then unravels.
▹ Notes: Hi, hello, this is about 6k words longer than I intended. Oh well. This is a rewrite of a oneshot I wrote yearsssss ago, but thought it deserved a rewrite. I hope you guys like this because I deleted the original. You have no choice, YOU WILL LIKE THIS MORE. Please tell me you like it, I crave validation. Jk, jk...unless.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
Golden.
Glittering and gleaming.
Opulent in an understated way and all too beautiful to be real.
It was the only way to describe the lavish keep the armored guards escorted you into. Men with delicately pointed ears and unnatural beauty were both your protectors and jailers as they paraded you through the city. You weren’t familiar with your surroundings, never even heard of it. You feel as though a place as beautiful as this would be pasted on every tourist’s brochure and dream board. And yet there was nothing familiar.
Even the people seemed so different from you.
“You have brought a mortal woman before me; why is that?” his voice boomed as he sat straight back and stiff as a board on a lavish throne. You were speaking with the presiding ruler if the golden crown atop his head was anything to go by. He was tall and regal, only made taller by the raised platform his throne was built upon, his figure looming over you with an intimidating presence.
His hair was like fire, falling in perfect waves that reached the middle of his back. His skin was porcelain and perfection, clear of any slight imperfections or marks that marred your own. He wore formal attire made from silk, with details of glittering gems that made him look like a sun. The heavy crown resting up his head was made of pure gold and dotted with jewels, each worth more than you’d ever make in a lifetime. But what captured your eyes were his own. Light green, they shone like the reflection of emerald leaves off a crystal clear lake. No poem or ballad could ever capture the beauty he possessed.
He was ethereal, the poster child for what a king should be.
One of the guards pushed you forward, and you nearly stumbled to the ground, but you’d caught yourself in time. You looked up at him, not even knowing his name yet and already being enraptured by him. A god, that’s what he has to be. There’s no other way he could look like that.
You must’ve died and now stand at the gates of heaven. In your current situation, the most illogical answer has become the only one that made any sense.
“T-they found me, your grace, in the...woods.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and your face flushed hotly as red stained your face. Did you address him adequately? Was there any correct way to address a literal angel?
His gaze on you was sharp, making you shrink within yourself. His hair may have been made of fire, but he was entirely crafted from ice. Cold, biting, and bitter, you were surprised your skin wasn’t frostbitten.
“She was rambling like a mad woman when we found her. Despite that, she seems harmless. We thought it best to present her for your judgment, your grace.” The guard spoke with a smooth and even tone, able to look at the elven man unflinchingly. Does one become accustomed to staring at the sun? They must if the guards can directly look at him.
“And so you deign to bring the mad woman before your lord?”
“Times are strange. She may be a gift from the Valar.”
A hush fell over the onlookers before a flurry of whispers filled the courtroom. The lord returned his attention to you, raising a single, inquisitive brow. He was assessing you, determining if there could be any truth to the guard’s words. It made you squirm under the weight of his eyes. They were too piercing and too invasive. He could see past your soul. Your deepest fears and thoughts were laid before him.
“Perhaps there is some merit to the words my guard speaks,” There was a lilt of amusement in his otherwise smooth, dulce voice. It nearly seemed mocking, the way he looked down on you. He leaned to the left side of his chair with his knuckles tucked under his sharp jaw, momentarily taking a more relaxed posture. Yet his gaze on you didn’t lighten; if anything, it became heavier.
“Have you been sent to us by the Gods?”
The throne room became quiet once more.
Your heart hammered against your chest, a lump stuck in your throat. All eyes were on you, the undivided attention making you want to curl in on yourself.
“I don’t know.” You mustered up the strength to speak, attempting to keep the fear drowning you out of your voice. Would he cast you out of the kingdom, leaving you to fend for yourself? You couldn’t survive in the woods alone, but you didn’t want to lie and be heralded as a sign of divine intervention.
You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, the room’s walls closing in on you.
All there was to be done was hope he was as kind as fair.
He hummed in response, neither angry nor pleased. There was no grand statement or judgment, instead, he continued to inspect every detail of you. His eyes scanned you up and down in an almost clinical manner like you were a new art exhibit in his favorite museum. He took notice of your odd clothes, maintained teeth, and healthy hair. Strange for a human in these lands to be so… well groomed. Even with the mud that caked your body, you were cleaner than the other humans before you.
“You place me in a strange place. If I send you away, it may anger the Gods, yet if I allow you to stay, I may be dooming the very people who’ve put their belief in me.” He spoke in such a calm tone as if the fate of your life didn’t rest in his long fingers, each embellished with a ring.
The anxiety made your body weigh a thousand pounds. You weren’t even sure your heart was beating, the impulse to check your pulse growing stronger. There was worry in your eyes, creases above your brows that were pulled together tightly.
Yet you didn’t speak, unable to make your tongue form words.
“Will you not plead your cause to me?” He leaned forward; both brows pulled upward, an almost challenging smirk pulling on his lips.
Rendered speechless and playing the fool, you opened and closed your mouth as you tried to remember how to speak.
He clicked his tongue against his teeth, leaning back into his seat, his smirk pulling back into a nearly disappointed frown.
“Very well. I shall make the decision for you.”
You prepared to be condemned to the wilds, thrown to the wolves who would surely tear you apart. Head lowered, eyes counting the reflections of sunlight inside the room. Tears threatened to fall, but you forced them away. You would face your imminent death with pride.
“You will stay here.
Gasps of surprise filled the room, followed by mutters of the courtesans. You made no such noise, head snapping up to meet the elven lord’s gaze. There was surprise evident in your wide-eyed gaze. You’d expected the worst, yet that was not what you’d been given.
“In time, we will learn if the Gods truly sent you to us.”
He nodded at the guards around you, and they helped you stand. Shaking and nervous, the guards held your body up as they guided you from the throne room to what would become your quarters. But over your shoulder, you spared one last glance at the elven lord, his green eyes watching your form disappear.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar--” You stumbled over the elvish text, unable to translate the rest of the sentence. There was a crease above your furrowed brows and a slight frown on your face.
It had only been two months since you were unceremoniously dropped here, yet it felt as if no time had passed, but not in a good way. You were like a newborn babe, stumbling in the dark as you attempted to gain your bearings. The faint throb in your head warned you of a headache, encouraging you to put the book down. A warning you didn't heed, you were stubborn, determined to prove you could assimilate.
The court has been a dizzying experience to get accustomed to. Most courtesans treated you like a curiosity, a pretty bird for them to teach silly words and feed salted crackers. They were nice enough and greeted you with pleasant smiles, but it all felt patronizing. As if you were nothing but a simpleton child, but perhaps that’s just how they viewed you; elves were immortal, after all. Nevertheless, they have treated you kinder than expected, correcting your choppy Quenya with lyrical giggles and coy smiles.
The giant oak doors swung open, startling you. Looking up, you watched as Maedhros swept through the library. He grabbed a few books from the shelves and went to a table opposite the room. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and his clothes were more casual than what he would don at court. Your eyes followed his form, only looking down when he briefly looked up from his book.
Heat flared to your cheeks, eyes returning to the book before you. You haven’t spoken with him since your initial meeting. He’d never invited conversation, and you were too terrified to do so. Instead, you stole glances at him whenever the moment presented itself, content to daydream about the Maedhros turning his eyes to you.
He’d say hello, inquiring about your stay in Himring. You’d answer him shyly, looking up at him through your lashes. So enchanted by your beauty and quiet whit as the conversation continued, he’d invite you to take a stroll with him around the gardens and then--
Your daydreams were cut short by the loud thump of a book falling. Turning, you watched as one of the library attendants scurried towards the fallen three or so books. A soft sigh left your mouth, and your attention returned to the book you were struggling through.
Picking up where you left off, you struggled through the same sentence. No matter how many times you re-read it, the translation wasn’t clicking. What did tenn’ mean again? A grunt escaped your mouth, the pulsing headache returning. You shut the book, perhaps harder than necessary, and opted to fiddle with the bracelets you wore.
Was it even worth struggling through this silly language? Surely you’d return home sooner or later and this grand delusion would be broken.
Yet the longer you’d spent here, the less likely the prospect seemed. You poured over every map and searched every geographical book, and nothing seemed familiar to the home you’d known.
Lost in your mind, you didn’t hear the scratch of a chair being pushed back nor the light padding of footsteps approaching your table. Only when you felt someone’s presence beside you and red hair loosely hanging did you look up? Maedhros had stood beside you, leaned over to be at eye level with you. His expression was perfectly neutral, not portraying a single thought in his head. Tucked behind his back was his left hand, which he’d lost many years ago. There were whispers in court about how it happened, being hung from a cliff for thirty years. How terrible that must’ve been.
“You seem frustrated.” His common was not as smooth as his elvish, yet speaking a common language with someone was nice. Most of the elves here only spoke their native tongue.
“It’s nothing, your grace,” you looked away from his gaze that was entirely too invasive. You didn’t want to risk that he really could read your thoughts; you didn’t want him to see how often they lingered on him.
“Your lie would be convincing if you hadn’t spent the past hour stuck on the same page,” he breezily replied, pulling up a chair to sit beside you.
Has an hour already passed?
And how did he know you hadn’t flipped pages? Had he paid that much attention…?
“Some words are confusing in their translations; no need to be concerned.” You didn’t want him to burden himself with such a silly thing. This wasn’t something a lord needed to concern himself with. There was also a flush of embarrassment creeping up on you. You wanted him to see you as competent and intelligent, not fumbling over simple translations.
“Allow me to offer insight. It is my native tongue, after all.”
You stared at him for a moment, lips pursed. His expression never wavered, and you couldn’t think of any reason to dissuade him from helping you. Apprehensive, you grabbed the book you’d previously pushed away. There was a light shake in your body from nerves, and you prayed to whatever god there was that Maedhros wouldn’t notice.
Flipping through the page, more delicate with it than usual to avoid Maedhros thinking you disrespectful, you pause on the last page you’d read. You point at the sentence you were struggling with and push the book toward Maedhros.
He leaned forward to read the sentence, and you took the opportunity to appreciate his side profile. His facial structure was sharp, with a tall, noble nose and a strong jawline. Pristine and void of imperfections, he was even more beautiful this close up. With each breath taken, the warm, heady cologne was enough to send you into a dizzy spell. It wasn’t fair for one person to be so…perfect.
He whispered the sentence under his breath, then straightened his posture. As he did, you moved your eyes from his face, looking at the book as if that was where your eyes always were. His eyes met yours as he began to speak.
“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta.”
You mimicked his pronunciation, awkwardly fumbling over the words as you did. The faint whisper of a smile appeared on his lips. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone.
“Do you know what it means?”
“No, I was having trouble translating.”
This time he allowed his lips to turn upward into a faint smile, eyes glimmering in the dim lighting of the room.
“It’s no wonder. This is in Sindarin. My understanding is you’ve been learning Quenya.” He reached over and grabbed the book, pulling it closer to him.
“What’s the difference?”
“Quenya is an older dialect, though many of the Noldar still use it, whereas Sindarin is a newer version of the Eldar language.”
You didn’t respond, simply nodding your head as you fiddled with the fabric of your dress. Maedhros closed the book much more gently than you initially did, though he made no move to stand.
“I apologize; I have yet to inquire about your stay here. Have you found the accommodations to your liking?”
His question was nearly word for word what you fantasized he would say to you. Was he teasing you? Could he truly read your every thought, or was it just a coincidence?
“They’ve been great, better than I could’ve hoped.” You were nervous, so nervous it wasn’t even a joke anymore. Why couldn’t you just be normal?
“And how do you find yourself settling in?” He seemed so relaxed and at ease; why can’t you be more like that.
“I’m getting accustomed, but it’s all so different from the home I knew. I will admit, it is refreshing to speak with someone in a language I am familiar with.”
Maedhros pauses, slightly tilting his head to the side, something flashing across his face.
“Forgive me; I did not think about how few people share a common language with you.”
You shook your head once again afraid of accidentally offending him. “It’s no issue; if anything, it forces my Quenyan to improve.” You wanted to be reassuring, to show that you were more than comfortable with your current circumstances. The last thing you needed was the king thinking you were being difficult or ungrateful.
“But it must be frustrating not being able to convey your thoughts clearly.”
You merely shrugged in response. It was, and sometimes it made you want to scream and break something, but you couldn’t admit that. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
Maedhros hummed in response and pushed his chair back, now standing at full height.
“I must part from you, but perhaps we could meet here again tomorrow, if only so I may offer my translating abilities.”
A tentative smile appeared on your face, and you nodded in agreement. Maedhros tilted his head in a slight nod and turned, exiting the room with a flourish.
Only once you were left alone did you let a high and girlish giggle leave your mouth. It echoed in the quiet library, and unbeknownst to you, Maedhros heard it on the other side of the door.
And so a new tradition began as you and Maedhros met in the library every evening. You’d spend hours with one another, and within the first week, the excuse of studying linguistics had been forgotten. Enraptured in the presence of one another, you were both entirely unaware of the impending war.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
You were waiting by the gardens.
Wearing a new dress, fiddling with the bracelets that adorned your wrists. You were so nervous yet equally excited. Maedhros had broken tradition, and instead of meeting you in the library, he asked to meet you near the gardens.
Your heart was in your throat; nervous goosebumps were all over your skin. It was truly as if all of your fantasies had come to life. Light footsteps echoed on the marbled flooring, and it made you turn. Maedhros, your intended partner, walked towards you, taking long strides.
A smile was placed on your lips, and Maedhros matched it. Long ago had he shed the detached demeanor he so often presented to the rest of the world. Instead, he was open with his emotions - both good and bad - allowing himself to be vulnerable with you in a way so few people have witnessed.
“You came,” he spoke as he closed the distance separating the two of you.
“How could I refuse?” Your smile widened, eyes in the shape of crescent moons. He laughed, low and smooth, offering his arm to you. Your hand wrapped around the crook of his arm, and it fits as if your hand was met for his.
“Shall we?”
You motioned with your hand towards the gardens. “We shall.”
The two of you walked in near perfect sync, wandering through the gardens, making quiet conversation with explosive banter. He was not as stern and rigid as he once appeared. With the moonlight reflected in his eyes and the stars making him shine, he seemed more like an innocent child than a hardened warrior burdened with war and trauma.
You wanted to see this side of him every moment of every day. To see his eyes resemble glass and to hear his hearty chuckle as he threw his head back. Eventually, you gave up the guise of being interested in the flowers, even though they were quite beautiful. All your attention was focused on Maedhros, a sight you were determined to imprint in your brain.
If you were to wake up tomorrow, back in your old bed, in your old apartment, you’d be happy to remember this moment and this moment only. You’d dedicate the rest of your life to writing poems about him, painting portraits, and writing overly embellished love stories. Anything to commemorate Maedhros and everything you’d wanted with him. Even if he didn’t return your affections quite as fiercely.
“Tell me about your home. You never speak of it.”
Your expression fell, your smile dimmed, and your eyes downturned. Home. You hadn’t really thought of it as much. It used to be a constant thought, a thing you wished on every falling star to return to. But now… You couldn’t remember the last time you made that wish.
“It’s…different.” You fumbled over your words. How do you explain something you yourself hardly understand?
“In what way?” Maedhros pries, wanting to know more information. You’d be flattered in any circumstance or with any different topic. Yet the subject of home was complicated and one you hadn’t dared to broach with anyone.
“In every way.” A breezy laugh escaped your mouth, hoping to distract how tense you suddenly became.
“I’d like to hear it all if you’d be willing to tell me.”
“I--” You stuttered over the words, a lump caught in your throat. You wanted to tell Maedhros to bear your entire soul to him, but an inkling of fear gave you pause. Would he deem you a mad woman? Distancing himself and becoming as aloof as he once was.
Yet the two of you had grown so close as of late, and if you’d ever hoped to be more than friends, it would only be fair, to be honest.
“I don’t think I’m from this time.” You began, unsure of the best way to start.
Maedhros stopped, turning to face you. You nearly stumble but manage to catch yourself, meeting Maedhros’ gaze.
“In what way?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, pressing your hand into a fist. Fortune favors the bold. You have to be bold if you want this.
“I believe when I was dropped here, I was dropped in the past. My world is so different and so much more advanced in terms of technology.”
He gave you a hard stare, not speaking for a few minutes. The moments of silence dragged on, and you were half tempted to flee and never return. Yet your body had become so heavy, and your feet were bolted to the ground. There would be no escape.
“I don’t know why, but I believe you.” He spoke slowly, as if unsure of his own words as he said them. “At the very least, I believe you believe in what you say, and you have given me no reason to distrust you.”
Your breath that had been caught in your throat was suddenly released as your body slackened. The wide grin you previously wore returned to your face, all the worry lines and creases on your face melting away.
“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” You were breathless, a weight you hadn’t even realized was weighing you down, relieved from your chest.
“I can only imagine how you must’ve felt, how confused you were.” His tone was soft and took a somber note, his eyes closer to an emerald green than the light color they previously were.
“I managed to get by.”
Maedhros nodded, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips.
“Well, please indulge me then, and tell me all the wonders of your home. I’m sure you’ve longed to do as such; you assimilated so quickly, I never would’ve thought you were from a completely different time.”
You stared at him a moment longer, a breath caught in your throat. Yet this time, it wasn’t from nerves or anxiety; no, the pounding in your chest was for an entirely different reason. It had everything to do with the softness in Maedhros’ eyes as he looked at you.
And so you indulged his every question and whim, the two of you wrapping around the garden a million times, talking until the moon was at the highest point in the sky, and all was silent.
You were exhausted, holding back yawns every other sentence, but you pushed through, soaking in the time with Maedhros. Who knew when you’d get another chance? But eventually, he caught on, noticing the droop of your eyes and the lethargic pace you walked with.
He guided you back to your chambers with all the chivalry gone from your world. You expected him to say farewell and give a single nod, as he always did when parting ways. He did bid you farewell, his smile warm and vibrant, and he did dip his head into a nod.
But he also placed a kiss on the very edge of your lips before turning and disappearing down the hall.
Frozen, you stood there for who knew how long, face awestruck and hand resting where his lips previously had been.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
Time had seemed nothing more than an illusion.
It seemed to move around you, yet you were the same, unchanged by it. Physically, you may appear the same, yet everything is so entirely…different. Maedhros made quick work of letting you know he intended to court you, and who would you be to deny it.
All the formalities and technicalities that came with courting royalty was dizzying, but Maedhros was always there to center you. Strolls through the gardens and long evenings in the libraries; it made everything more bearable. It was also worth the stiffness that came with court to see the child-like grin that would light up Maedhros’ face when it was just the two of you.
But doubt was a terrible thing.
You constantly feared you wouldn’t live up to not only his expectations, but the expectations of his people. You were a human among elves, and despite not aging, you knew the court talked. Their fascination with you long died out, and anyone who believed you were sent by the Gods was the minority. They hid sharp words behind pretty smiles and musical laughter, but you could see through the fakeness all the same. Their cruel words only helped reinforce the doubts you already had.
And you weren’t the only one weighed down by it.
Maedhros was a far cry from what he used to be. Before the oath, before the torment, and before all the death at the hands of his kin. Could he really be so selfish as to tie you down to him? You were blind to this of course. You knew he suffered from PTSD and trauma, but even as you held him under the light of the moon, you were never aware of just how deep his fears went.
How when he wept in your arms, it wasn’t only for what he suffered, but what he may suffer when you decide you want better. When you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you.
His anxiety twisted into something harsh, manifesting as anger rather than sadness. Yet even as he lashed out, you stayed. Your face would remain perfectly passive, seemingly unbothered by it.
It was another one of those nights.
You both sat on the balcony attached to his chambers, feet dangling over the edge. It was improper for you to be in his bed chambers, especially so late at night, but you couldn’t care about court etiquette at a moment like this.
Your arms were wrapped around Maedhros, keeping him as close to you as physically possible. His head rested in the crook of your neck, eyes shut as his breathing matched the rhythm of your heart. All was quiet except the occasional sniffle from Maedhros. But after a few moments he was the one to break it.
He pulled himself away from you, not an inch of his body touching yours. His relaxed posture suddenly seemed so tense and proper; an austere expression falling over his face. The sudden change was enough to give you whiplash, all the worst of your insecurities coming to head.
A moment passed before Maedhros stood, returning to his chambers. Tentatively, you stood, following after him. What made him suddenly change, as if a light had been switched?
He walked across the room, to the decanter holding a red wine. Maedhros took his time pouring it into a crystal glass before bringing it to his lips and nearly downing it all in one drink. He sent it down and refilled the glass, continuing the same pattern.
The entire time he refused to meet your gaze. Awkwardly you say at the end of his bed, intertwining your fingers in an attempt to distract yourself. It hadn’t worked, all your fears growing the longer Maedhros held the silence. Was it a contest? Was he waiting for you to poke and prod?
“We should dissolve our courtship.”
If you hadn’t already been sitting, you could’ve fallen to your knees. One simple sentence, that was all it took to make the past years come crumbling to nothing.
“What?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Why?”
Another glass of wine drank and another glass filled before he dared to answer.
“While I have enjoyed your company, I do not believe us suited to continue any further,” he said. Even still, he refused to meet your eyes. His hand gripped the table he stood before, his grip so tight you were half surprised it didn’t crack under the weight of it.
“So that’s it.” Your voice was like stone; hard, cold, and unwavering. “You decide to end our courtship, yet you can’t even look me in the eye as you do it.”
Maedhros didn’t move from his position, you however, stood from the bed.
All the anger and frustration, needling insecurities and self doubt came bubbling to the surface. You didn’t bother to push it down, or rationalize it so much you can’t even feel anymore. It came together in one chaotic concoction and exploded.
“Look at me.” You weren’t shouting, but there was force behind your tone. A warning and a threat all in one. Yet Maedhros still kept his back to you. You took three more steps towards him, nearly behind him.
“I said look at me.” The volume of your voice became louder, the stone facade breaking and cracks of desperation shone through you. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this, you’d thought he loved you the same way you loved him.
Had it all been a mistake, were there signs and clues you’d missed along the way?
Finally Maedhros turned to face you, and within moments all of your anger dissipated. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unshed ones exaggerating his red rimmed eyes. He looked absolutely broken, the worst you’d ever seen him.
“Why are you doing this?” You dropped the facade of nonchalance. Tears began to well in your eyes, a slight waver in your voice as you spoke.
Still he didn’t speak.
You closed the distance separating the two of you, grabbing his hand in yours, but he pushed you away. Still you attempted to grab it again and this time he didn’t bother rejecting your touch.
“Mae please, what is the real reason for this?” You looked up at him like a doe, so wide-eyed and teary. Any shred of conviction he previously held onto crumbled as he looked at your face.
He thought marrying you would be selfish, but perhaps this was the more selfish option?
“You deserve better. I can’t give you what you deserve.”
A crease formed on your forehead as your brows furrowed.
“Fuck it.”
Maedhros blinked, stunned by your brash words. For a moment he thought he might’ve misheard, he’d never heard you speak like that. But it would appear he hadn’t misheard you.
“What?”
“I said, fuck it. I love you, and you love me, and god dammit, if you’re not best for me then I don’t want better.”
You moved one of your hands from his, cupping his chin, forcing Maedhros to meet your gaze, an attempt to show the sincerity in every word spoken.
“I love you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
Your words hung in the room, imprinted on the floorboards and the walls.
The Maedhros’ lips were on yours. The kiss was quick and fervent, expressing everything he’d never be able to put into words. All the love and fear that clung to him like a shadow; his entire soul was laid before you. It was dizzying - you were drowning at sea, and Maedhros was your only lifeboat.
You clung to his form, never able to get close enough, one of your hands wrapped around his lithe form while the other reached towards the nape of his neck, gently tugging on his hair. He groaned against your lips and you swallowed the noise, deepening the kiss.
Closer, closer, you needed to be closer.
He pulled you just as tight as you were pulling him, just as desperate if not more so than you were. His one arm wrapped around your waist and held you against his body. His scent was intoxicating, that same heady cologne he’d been wearing when you first spoke in the library. Your teeth clacked against his, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You needed him to know that every word you’d said, you’d meant.
There wasn’t a universe you wanted to exist in without him.
And while that thought terrified you, you repressed it, opting to deal with it later.
Maedhros needed to know you were all in, and you’d spent the rest of eternity convincing him if need be.
At some point he pulled back, the rise of fall of both of your chest and heavy breathing the only sound in the room.
His hand moved from your waist and into your hair, finger combing through it. There were stars in his eyes that you surely replicated.
“Forgive me, I was being foolish. I don’t want our courtship to end, you’re the woman I want to marry. I never want to leave your side and I promise to never send you away, I swear it.”
A smile, small and delicate, lit up your features as you frantically nodded in response. Maedhros huffed out a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours, muttering elvish endearments against your skin.
You closed your eyes, basking in his presence and the musical sound of his voice.
Oh to freeze this moment and live in it forever.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
Everything was silent and calm, but not in a way that would be soothing and leave behind a sense of weightlessness. Instead, it was harsh and grating, mile-high walls building up around you as you subconsciously prepared for...something. Anything that would cause a ripple and disturb this illusion that encased you.
You couldn’t deny it anymore and continue to make excuses for what was so clearly right in front of you. War had brought devastation, and with that came change, and with change came the end of a life you’d built. For so long, Maedhros was able to ignore the Oath he and his brothers had sworn. The Silmarils were forgotten but only for a time. Word had reached Ossiriand that the son of Beren and Luthien had inherited the Silmaril his parents had recovered.
Maedhros, once noble and as bright as the sun, now appeared worn and haggard, his eyes bearing the weight of a consuming madness. Restlessness gnawed at his soul as his insatiable quest for the Silmarils tightened its grip on his heart.
It was only a matter of time before the bubble burst, and you could no longer delude yourself into thinking he was still the same man you fell in love with.
“Maedhros,” you said quietly in hopes of not sparking another argument. “Are you certain this is the wise decision?”
He turned to you, his eyes stern and calculating. It was a stark difference from the love and warmth they used to be lit by. Instead of looking into the sun, you were staring into a fiery furnace.
“It is my duty, as well as my brothers, to honor the Oath we swore to our father. I have no doubt this is the right course of action.” He sounded so detached when he spoke to you. It was the same way he talked to commanding officers and diplomats, not how he should speak to his wife. Not the way he used to talk to you.
The fear you’d felt, the drop of your heart each time you looked into his eyes, intensified. He was teetering on the precipice of madness. You bit your lip, mulling over the right words to keep him from falling off the ledge.
“I understand your quest,” your voice trembled with slight trepidation despite your best efforts to keep it even. “But Maedhros, the toll it’s taking on you…I fear for your well being.”
His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of frustration, impatience, and slight madness evident in his gaze. It made you nearly flinch, but you held your ground.
“You doubt me?” His voice had an edge so sharp it cut you like a knife. It intensified your anxiety, but you swallowed it, steeling yourself against your nerves.
“I don’t doubt your intentions, Maedhros,” she replied, her voice steady now, “but I fear for what this obsession is doing to you.”
Your words seemed to strike a chord within him, his anger momentarily giving way to a flicker of doubt. A moment of clarity within his addled mind. “You think I don’t know the burden I bear?” he murmured, his voice softening now, but the anger still lingered beneath the surface.
“I know, my love,” you replied, much softer this time. You crossed the room’s threshold, gingerly sweeping your knuckles across his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, momentarily allowing your soothing touch to wash over him. “But I can’t bear to see you suffer like this. Your people need you. I need you. Not just as a leader but as a husband too.”
His eyes opened, and the green within them softened as his anger began to wane. Yet the turmoil was still evident within him. He was a man fighting two wars, one war with the forces of Morgoth and the second war within himself.
“It’s not easy for me either, and I curse the day I swore that oath.” His confession made the flicker of hope within you get bigger. Perhaps you’d successfully pulled him from the ledge. “But I cannot turn away from my destiny.”
Just as soon as it appeared, the hope was snuffed out; stubborn and proud, you now cursed what you used to admire about him most.
“But at what cost, Maedhros? The Oath has led to nothing but tragedy and death. You are losing yourself in this darkness, forsaking all that once mattered. Look around you! Our people suffer, our family crumbles, and still, you are blinded by this madness!” Desperate and pleading, you tried to force him to see reason.
As if your touch was made of acid, Maedhros pulled away and sidestepped you, a sea separating you from him. The anger returned to his eyes as they hardened once more. The brief moment of vulnerability was gone, and it was difficult to remember if it had ever even been there, to begin with.
“And for what? For some gems that shine prettily,” you continued; he needed to hear your words, to taste the venom behind them. If he held even an ounce of love for you, he would heed your warning. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears, lost amidst the blaze of anger that threatened to burn the whole world.
“You know nothing of the weight I carry,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a freshly sharpened sword. “You are my wife, not an advisor; quit constantly questioning me and stand by my side as you were intended to.”
The words caught in your throat faded, replaced with a bitter taste of the last bit of love and hope you held for Maedhros dying. Your eyes fell to the floor; there was nothing left to do. The butterflies he incited within you had turned to ash. Everything the two of you built crumbled, and Maedhros gladly helped, knocking down the pillars it once stood upon.
The Maedhros you loved was long gone; what stood before you now was a shell of the man he once was.
“If that’s the way you feel.” It was all you uttered before exiting the room, leaving Maedhros in the dimly lit room with nothing but anger and regret. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay and reassure you he hadn’t meant it. But the grip of madness was unyielding, and even in the depths of sorrow, it would not relent.
The Silmarils that had once been a beacon of hope now seemed to mock him, and the emptiness in his heart felt like a chasm he could never fill.
In the stillness of the night, as Maedhros lay slumbering, you stole away into vast open fields. Cloaked in the darkness that came with night, you ran, nowhere in particular, just so long as it was as far away from Maedhros. Your heart was heavy with the weight of your decision and the finality of the ending of a love you thought would last forever. Yet the echoes of the argument lingered; his harsh words and austere face were a haunting reminder of what had been lost.
“It’s better this way,” you told yourself.
You would carry the memory of Maedhros until your dying day, praying that he might find solace and release from his Oath. But you couldn’t count on it, and you wouldn’t waste your days hoping he’d change.
“It’s better this way,” you repeated once more.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The warm glow of the sun was waning, warning you of the impending cloak of night.
You stood on the cliffside, staring into the waters below, feet buried in the overgrowth and dirt. The air was cool, and the world was quiet. So serene and perfect that it was hard to believe it was real. You burrowed your feet deeper into the dirt, desperate to ground yourself into reality.
The mellowness of your surroundings eased the grief within your heart. War was over, and the suffering you’d endured was but a distant dream. Residing in the lands of Aman, you could forget your life had been anything other than something full of beautiful poetic prose.
Yet it was hard to let go of all of your pain. But as time passed, it became twisted, no longer the stabbing pain of a needle. It poured from you into a melancholia that you would use to paint all your skies a dark blue. It lingered in the edges of your landscape, blurred in the edges and nearly unseen by anyone except for you.
A soft hum escaped your mouth as you allowed the sound of cascading waves to fall over you. Eyes fluttered shut, the faint mist of water touching your body.
You only opened your eyes once the sound of footsteps was heard. Your posture stiffened, ears sharpening to hone in on the sounds of the intruder. No one dared to intrude upon you, and if they did, it was preemptively planned, never just a sudden visit.
Slowly, you turned, but you were still surprised even though you didn’t know what to expect.
Standing before you, as tall and proud as the day you’d first met, was Maedhros. He was vibrant and real, only a hint of tentative uncertainty marring his neutral expression. He stopped a few paces away, silent as you took him in. Framed by the soft glow of the golden rays of sunlight, he was just as you remembered him, yet with an unmistakable touch of time.
It wasn’t in the traditional ways of humans; there were no wrinkles and lines imprinted on his face. It was all in the eyes, the centuries of wisdom, pain, and suffering making them heavier than they once were.
He’d died. You knew that. He cast himself into the fire alongside his brother when he could no longer possess the Silmarils. It was said they burned him upon contact and it was a fate too terrible for him to live. You’d wept for days on end upon learning his fate.
And yet here he was, as real as the day you’d met.
“Maedhros.” His name hung in the air as if you were unsure it was truly him. He simply nodded, an affirmation that he was really here, standing before you.
Silence stretched between the two of you, your eyes locked in a gaze that spoke the words your lips couldn’t find. There was a tempest of emotions within you - joy, relief, curiosity, and a lingering sense of hurt you couldn’t fully let go of.
And then, like the first rays of sunrise, a smile graced Maedhros’ lips, and it was as if the years spent separated vanished. The arguments disappeared with them, leaving only an overwhelming happiness to see him standing before you. Your strides were sure as you stepped towards Maedhros, and he helped to close the gap, your arms weaving around his body as you embraced him for the first time in years.
He smelled just how you’d remembered, and you buried your face into his chest, determined to remember how his arm felt around your waist.
“Is it really you?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and delight.
You felt the rumble of Maedhros’ slight laughter as he nodded his head. “ Yes, it’s me, my love.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough that you could see his face but close enough that you could feel the warmth he radiated. “I- I can’t believe it; how is this even possible?” You were nearly out of breath as you spoke, eyes searching for answers within his.
“A twist of fate, I suppose. I was released from the Halls of Mandos, my time of repentance done.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his grip on you tightening. “I should have listened to you the night that you left. You were right, and I was just to--”
You cut him off by placing a searing kiss on his lips. His words were forgotten, the long speech he’d probably been preparing since the moment you left cut off. There would be an eternity for forgiveness and apologetic words. Right now, you just wanted to remember how his lips had felt on yours.
He melted into the kiss, his lips just as sweet as you’d remembered them to be. The years melted into oblivion; it was just you and Maedhros, with nothing severing the love you held. The kiss was a mixture of vehement remorse and a promise to never forsake the promise of love he’d made to you. Time slowed as the two of you savored the moment, fully immersed in the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you and Maedhros stayed tangled in one another. You’d both been given a second chance, something you hadn’t dared to think would be possible. And yet here he was, so intertwined with you it was hard to see where you ended and he began. It was a chance to reignite a love that had never fully died out.
Out of the Woods (Maedhros x Reader) Modern Girl in Middle Earth
Prompt: “Let me go.”
Pairing: Maedhros x Reader
Warnings:
Requested by: Anonnie, so probably not what you had in mind, but I kinda like it. Then again I’m trash for Modern Girl in (Insert name of world) so there’s that.
This wasn’t meant to happen. None of this should have happened, and it most definitely shouldn’t have gone as far as it did. Being a human from the 21st century and getting thrown into the First Age in Middle Earth was impossible as it was. To make things even more unrealistic, you’d managed to find the fair folk- more they managed to find you stumbling through the woods, lost and crying. The group took pity on you and took you to their city. You can’t remember the name of it, only that it was massive and beautiful. You could help but gaze in awe as some of the group maneuvers you around the city. They were taking you to meet the king.
Maedhros was tall and radiant with long red hair. He walked and talked like a king, stern but diplomatic. You explained your situation, not quite understanding it yourself. He believed your words and allowed you sanctity in his walls and within his castle until a way home was found for you. That had become the beginning of something that shouldn’t have been.
The two of you often found yourselves in the library together. You’d always loved books and despite not being able to understand the elvish words, being surrounded by book was a comfort in a foreign world. Maeehros found you one day and offered to teach you the language.
“Who knows how long you will be here Lady Y/N, it is best you know the language of the people you are to live with.” He told you. It wasn’t until the second week of the lessons that you realized he could have gotten someone else to teach you, but he chose to.
“Why do you insist to take time out of your day to teach me? As a king, you probably have many duties and you’ve already been gracious enough to let me stay here.” You had asked him the fifth week of him tutoring you.
“Would you rather me leave you to the hands of another?” Mirth coating each of his words with a mischevious twinkle in his eyes.
“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”
You’d been in Middle Earth for 40 years now, somehow you hadn’t aged a day, and was no closer to finding a way back home than your first day here. Somehow you didn’t mind that. Since that time lots had happened, most centered around Maedhros- former High King of the Noldor. The two of you began to court a year after your arrival. Everything had been fantastic- your ache to return home dimming by the second- then Morgoth happened. Maedhros had been taken and hung upon Thangorodrim. He’d been rescued but lost his hand in the process and relinquished his throne. The two of you moved away as Maedhros tried to heal. Things got easier but were never the same. Still, you refused to leave.
“Why do you stay with me? Wouldn’t it be easier to fall in love with someone, not me?” he asked one night as you were getting ready for bed. You walked over to him, only uttering one sentence that erased any doubt.
“But they wouldn’t be you, Mae.”
Times never got better, at least not with Maedhros. He clung to the oath he’d made, and it began to corrupt his mind. He committed horrendous acts just at the chance he might hold the precious jewels in his hand. You tried so hard to pull his attention away from the poisonous things, but he always came back to it. Everything revolved around them. Nothing you said or did had any effect on him. It soon reached a point that he was unpredictably violent.
“Why do you not support me? Isn’t that your job as my wife? Quit constantly questioning me and stand by my side as you were intended!” his harsh tone and cold eyes were enough for you to know this wasn’t the Maedhros you fell in love with. This one was cruel and greedy, your Maedhros was kind and patient. So you did the only thing you could. You left and never looked back.
After leaving Maedhros you found yourself in a city, founded by King Finrod, where you searched day and night for a way home. It seemed hopeless, but your fury and heartache fueled you to do the impossible. And then the impossible became possible. There was a book, old and worn, the described a way to return home. It was a silly spell, but it was all you had.
Weighing the options in your mind, the decision was made. For the past 40 years home had become here, but in a moment of clarity, you realized home was where you belong. And where you belonged wasn’t here, not anymore at least. Miraculously the spell had worked and you woke up in the same spot you remembered from Earth, Middle Earth and Maedhros seeming like a distant dream.
It had been three years since returning to Earth. In that time you managed to convince yourself that Middle Earth and all its patrons were just an incredibly vivid and detailed dream; magic and elves weren’t real.
Walking down the crowded and noisy streets of New York, you attempted to get to your destination, a quaint coffee shop a block away from your apartment. In the hustle and bustle of the city, you didn’t hear a distantly familiar voice calling your name. However, you did feel a strong grip latch onto your upper arm. Instinct taking over you whirl around and try to pull away from your attacker
“Let me go!” you shouted at them, continuing to struggle until you looked in their eyes. He was incredibly tall, with gorgeous red hair and a piercing crystal blue eyes. It was him, but it couldn’t. He wasn’t supposed to be here, or even real! Yet, here he was in the flesh; a real person and not a figment of your imagination.
“Maedhros.” your voice barely louder than a whisper. He shouldn’t have heard you, not with the amount of background noise. But the edge of his lips pulled into a mischevious smirk, one you’d seen a dozen times. He stepped to you as you moved towards him- like two magnets. He reached out, touching your face.
“I understand now how you felt when you first came to Middle Earth.” you laugh at his statement and he laughs with you, the twinkle that he lost so long ago finally returning, and nothing could warm your heart more.
“Well, let me start off by introducing you to coffee.”
hello. I’m not sure if you are still around in this site, but, uh, I hope you are. I just found your fics and I really love them. do you have a masterlist?
Hello! This is way over a month later but first off thank you for your kind words! I’m lurking and hoping to get more frequent with my posts so I hope you decide to stick around! I just updated my Masterlist which the link to can be found on my pinned post! :)
- Elven Instinct
- Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind
- Epiphany
- Courting a Human (Headcanons)
- Fear of the Future
- Adventurer from Earth (Headcanons)
- First Kiss
Maedhros:
- Out of the Woods
- Don’t Leave Me
- Don’t Care If You Leave
- Stop Pretending
- Jealous
- Light in the Dark
- Jealous Headcanons
Finrod:
- I’m pregnant
- You Come and Wake Me Up at 4am, To Cuddle
- Finrod x Pregnant!reader (Headcanons)
- Used to Be Mine | Part 2
- Choose Me
Thranduil:
- Tolerate It
- To Meet Under the Stars
- In the Fields of Poppy
- Same Spirit, Different Body
- Too Late
- Begin Again
Meludir:
- Don’t Cry
- Small Surprises
- You Wake Me Up to Cuddle
Elladan:
- Champagne Problems | Part 2
Glorfindel:
- Lovely to be Rained on with You
- Is that my Shirt? (Drabble)
- Not so Hopeless (Drabble)
- You’re Mine and I Don’t Share (Drabble)
- To Lose is to Die
Haldir:
- Please Don’t Cry. I Can’t Stand to See You Cry (Drabble)
- Stop Biting that Fucking Lip (Drabble)
- Meeting Haldir (Headcanons)
- Rewrite the Stars
Lindir:
- Being in Love (Headcanons)
- The Fickleness of Mortals
- Return to Me | Part 2
Lost in the Labyrinth of my Mind | Legolas Greenleaf
▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader
▹ Genre: Fluff and Pining
▹ Words: ~4k
▹ Summary: The two times you realized you loved Legolas, and the one time you acted on it.
▹ Notes: I would like a reward, I've posted two times in a year 🙂🙃 But seriously, thank you for all the support and love in my last oneshot, you all had me giggling and twirling my hair with my feet kicked up.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
Little has made sense lately.
Thrust into a world so unlike your own everything was disorienting. Now you were living in the world that closely mimicked the Middle Ages you’d only read about. The first year hidden in Imladris had felt like the morning after a jarringly realistic dream. Spots blurred your vision and you were half convinced nothing was even real. In fact, you still weren’t fully convinced this was anything more than a grand delusion. Your memory was spotty and the days passed in a haze, so maybe that's why you volunteered to join the Fellowship as a healer.
It was dangerous, you knew, but those fears were quelled with the notion that death would mean it all had been real afterall. Either you come home a hero or have a firm grasp on what’s reality, even if that’s in death.
Dawn broke, the sun cresting high in the sky, but it was barely seen over the mountains. They seemed to close in, threatening to crush you and your companions, the falling snow ensuring your bodies would stay on the floor. There was a burn in your legs from the steep incline as the Fellowship hiked up the mountains. Even after a night of restless respite, your body still aches. You wouldn’t falter though, even as the tips of your fingers turned blue and your skin became as cold as ice. As the only woman in the company, you refused to be the one to stop first. Stubborn pride was all that kept you moving forward.
Somewhere in between the hobbits was where you found your spot in the marching order. You were content enough to slide in and out of their conversations, at least, the parts of the conversation that could be heard over the deafening wind. But even their chirper disposition seemed to wilt under the harsh weather that seemed to get worse the higher up the Fellowship got.
Your eyes slid towards Legolas, a shining gold beacon amongst the frost. His hair was like the last rays of sunlight, the smile on his face as warming as a roaring fire. Seamlessly he weaved between the members of the Fellowship, seemingly unbothered by the snow. His footsteps were so light, he didn’t even leave a footprint in his wake. Unlike your travel companions, he seemed mostly unbothered by the pelting snow and frigid air. The cloak he wore, lighter than yours, seemed to be for show rather than practical use.
It was obnoxious how distracting he could be. If you weren’t careful, you would stare at him for hours on end, mouth hung open like an idiot. It was humiliating, the amount of times you’d made a fool of yourself while in his presence. The teasing from Elladan and Elrohir had been endless.
Yet as much as you’d hate to admit it, the flutter of your heart or the giddiness that puts a skip in your step were all sensations you reveled in. Always a hopeless romantic, even as previous partners tarnished your silver-plated optimism, you loved being in love. Except, you weren’t in love, you couldn’t be. And in the depths of night, while the stars hung high and all was quiet you told yourself a million things to convince yourself the crush on Legolas was surface level. You told yourself things like:
“It was his elven heritage; you just weren’t used to seeing elves.”
“The infatuation and curiosity would dim with time.”
“Most of your life elves were fictional, and now there was one, right before you.”
Those were a few of the lines you told yourself to placate yourself when your mind wandered too close to Legolas, though it never felt very convincing.
Legolas turned, his bright blue eyes meeting yours. They were so wide and full of wonder, it was hard to believe he was hundreds - if not a couple thousand - years old. He was so youthful and bright, not weighed down from living a million lifetimes. Nothing like his father nor the whispers that followed the King’s name in the corridors of Imladris. Legolas was soft and gentle, careful and perfectly polite to a fault. His father’s disposition may have been winter but Legolas remained the sun that melted the frigid snow.
A smile blossomed on Legolas’ face, not a single crease appearing on his pale skin. The simple gesture made your heart rate increase to an alarming rate, knots twisting and turning in your stomach. Heat and embarrassment made your cheeks turn flush and you hoped he simply thought it was from the cold.
You returned a smile, overtly aware of your own appearance and insecurities. You wanted him to think you were as pretty as the elves you’d lived among, but beauty was hard while caught in a snowstorm. Your eyes moved from Legolas, opting to stare at the back of Aragorn’s head, at least until the queasy feeling in your stomach went away. He was so beautiful, and kind, and wonderful, and--
‘Stop. Don’t do that.’ you scold yourself. It wasn’t worth the potential heartbreak to even consider Legolas like that. You were mortal and he was very much not, he would more than likely see you as a lost puppy than a romantic prospect. But despite yourself, you snuck one last glance at Legolas, foolishly hopeful his eyes were still locked on you. They weren’t; he was now in the front with Gandalf, idle and unaware of the turmoil a simple smile from him caused.
A particularly strong gust of wind hit you, knocking you straight to the ground. The winds were getting fiercer and the snow heavier, how long would this continue before Galdalf admitted defeat and you turned around?
Wet, cold snow seeped through your clothes. You tried to stand, but found it difficult in the thick layer of snow. Like a clumsy child you kicked and squirmed in an attempt to regain your dignity, but it was all for not. Then a hand appeared in your line of sight, offering your aid. You looked up, Legolas now standing before you with an outstretched hand. Without hesitation you took it, Legolas hauling you back to your feet with little to no effort.
Even as your body was upright and stable, Legolas’ hand didn’t leave yours. His hands were rough from decades of archery training, but they seemed gentle in yours. His thumb lightly traced shapes over your skin. The action seemed subconscious as Legolas continued to look at you with that bright expression he always wore.
“Careful my lady, we wouldn’t want you to blow away.” Despite how quiet they were, his words cut through the wind. There was a teasing glimmer in his eyes that seemed to translate to his words.
You breathed out a laugh, careful to not stare into his eyes too long. Your cheeks became warm again, the red flush of embarrassment making its mark on you. Legolas’ head tilted to the side; concern masked the light mischief lighting up his face.
“My lady, you must be freezing, especially after a fall into the snow. Here--”
He didn’t give you time to respond, not that you even could. You were in a trance, enraptured the smell of cedar and bergamot as well as the heat that radiated from his body that was so close to yours. Legolas reached up to the clasp of his cloak and undid it. In a smooth motion, he took the cloak off and draped it over your body.
“That should help keep you warm in the snow.”
He smiled at you, sweet and gentle. His disposition was addictive, making a small grin curl on your lips. All too soon, he stepped away from you, sparring you one last glance before approaching Aragorn. Your cheeks remained warm and bright red, the rate of your heart not settling anytime soon.
You continued to watch him animatley chat with Aragorn, unbothered by the cold even without a cloak. Subconsciously, you pulled the cloak tighter to your body, deeply inhaling his scent that lingered on the fabric.
Practically floating, you were unaware of the knowing glances the rest of the Fellowship cast your way. All the while, you were lost in thought, trying to intellectualize each butterfly Legolas’ touch created. It was all overwhelming and you almost wanted to throw up. You were shaking and nervous; bright red from head to toe. This felt different than idle crushes and romanticization of complete strangers.
Maybe you were falling in love.
---
The river languidly flowed, beams of soft light reflecting off the water and creating a thousand little rainbows. The river’s stream was gentle and almost lethargic, it seemed even the Earth was affected by the elves' lack of urgency in life. Lady Galadriel’s power had seeped into the very dirt and from it sprout and ethereal visages in the forest. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this at peace. It must’ve been before your old life had been ripped from you.
You were alone, fingertips digging into the mud as you stared at the stream. Gandalf was dead. It was a strange thing to constantly remember. At times you would forget, searching for him in the Fellowship only to remember he’d fallen in Moria. There was a pit in your stomach you weren’t familiar with. Greif didn’t feel the way you’d thought it would’ve, not at all the way it was often dramatized in the media. Instead of bright and all encompassing, it was a subtle, slow burn that would eventually swallow you whole if left untempered.
But you didn’t know how to temper it.
So it left a dull ache within you, painless enough you’d forget it was there until it suddenly pricked you like a sewing needle.
But at least you could mourn without the threat of orcs looming over your head.
“I had hoped to find you.” His voice was carried by the gentle breeze that suddenly came through the clearing. You turned your head, only slightly, just enough to see Legolas’ lithe form standing a little ways away.
“It’s quiet,” you replied, returning your attention to the water, feeling a need to explain yourself to Legolas, even though his observation wasn’t accusatory. The ground muffled the sound of Legolas’ footsteps, only a soft thump heard with each step. He then took a seat beside you, so quiet it felt like he’d always been there. His eyes were on you, you could feel it, the way his blue eyes bore past your body and into your soul. Elves were far more perceptive than humans, and you could feel the truth to that statement in his gaze.
“I had thought so as well. I came here our first night in Lothlorien. It made me think of you, I am pleased to see I was correct in that.” He spoke the words so effortlessly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to thinking of you. Or perhaps it was nothing to him, a passing thought in his mind of one of his friends. You didn’t want to just be a friend, but perhaps that was the category you’ll remain.
You turn your head, eye to eye with Legolas. A warm flush appeared on your cheeks, something that seemed permanent when he looked at you with those eyes. The type of wonder and softness that almost made you believe he returned your affections. Yet you didn’t linger on those fantasies for too long, not wanting to potentially be let down. You’d never been very strong in your convictions, something born during childhood that you never managed to shake.
Flighty and fearful as long as danger was near and it was always near; haunting the edges of your vision, a jumpscare waiting around every corner. The worst case scenario had always been accepted as the only plausible scenario; fiction became fact and you wouldn’t accept any other truth. Perhaps Legolas was waiting for a cue from you to make a move, but you were too much of a coward to ever do it.
So in limbo you would stay, content enough with your friendship while secretly yearning for more.
“And what about a calm river could make you think of me?”
You were irrational and emotional, quick to anger and hard to forgive. If anything you were a calamitous tsunami; rough and heavy, dragging everyone in its tide. Nothing like the level headed and logical elves you’d lived around.
“You’re both a source of peace and beauty,” he responded, a small child-like grin curling on his lips. Your mouth grew dry, brows furrowed in slight disbelief.
‘He thought I was beautiful?’
The thoughts in your mind flew at a thousand miles per hour. There wasn’t one singular train of thought you could latch onto, the ability to speak taken from you. No witty comment fell from your mouth, only a wide eyed stare that suspiciously resembled a doe.
It seemed to make Legolas falter, a light dusting of pink appearing on his cheeks. He looked away, eyes locked on the river. “I apologize, that came out wrong. I simply meant that while you are attractive, you are also a great friend and I value speaking with you.” He stuttered and stumbled over his words, trailing off at the end. And his voice… it was so prim and proper, it made a few of the butterflies in your stomach turn to dust. “The same way I value the quiet of sitting in this…spot.”
His eyes darted away from your sharpened gaze, scanning the nearby treeline. His nerves seemed suffocating, he’d suddenly become so flighty. Had you made him uncomfortable? Did he see the hearts in your eyes when you looked at him? Had it made him uncomfortable?
The thoughts made you shrink within yourself. The barest hint of hope within you smothered in insecurities and doubt as dark as midnight. Perhaps he hadn’t meant the compliment in the way you wanted. They were only kind words to ease a friend's grief, yet you managed to only hear what you wanted.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’
You fought against the disappointment, not allowing it to carve its place onto your face. The smile on your face was bright, but it didn't quite meet your eyes. “I’m glad we are friends.” You place your hand on his shoulder, your touch so light he nearly didn’t feel it.
You half expected him to jump away from your touch as if it burned, but he didn’t. Instead, he met your gaze once more, and the worry muddying his eyes melted away.He gave a slight nod of the head, yet didn’t speak.
Silence filled the clearing, and you were terrified he might hear your heart pounding against your chest. It became harder to breathe the longer the two of you stayed locked in the impromptu staring contest. The distance between you two was small, and you’d never been so close to him before. Oh god, was he getting closer? Was he leaning towards you?
There was a slight quiver in your lips, heart slowing to a point you were afraid it wasn’t beating anymore. Palms sweaty, they clung to the blades of grass held captive in your hands. Time stopped, nothing else mattered as you prepared for his lips to touch yours.
Except…
They never did. Legolas pulled back, eyes wide in alarm. He stood, nearly stumbling backwards in his desperation to get away from you. He got to his feet and took two steps away. On the ground you remained, ripping out grass to keep from crying as you saw what you swore was regret crossing his face.
“I should return to the Fellowship, Aragorn may require me. Until we meet again.” Legolas did an awkward half bow, scurrying away before you could so much as reply.
Left alone, you let out a heavy breath, that was shuddered with choked sobs. Were you truly that bad he had to flee from you? The wind blew stronger this time, and you rolled your eyes. A few stray tears fell and you let them, there was no one to see you cry like a baby over a man you knew you could never have.
You couldn’t deny it anymore, try as you might.
Oh no, you were falling in love.
---
The panic that tore through Helm’s Deep was contagious.
Ten thousand Uruk-hai would be marching towards you, an army that tripled what little forces the keep could muster. We needed outside help, but there wasn’t time to call for reinforcements. We’d all already be dead by the time they came.
You tried to not let the fear show, desperate to keep your body steady despite the shaking it was plagued with. Deep breaths were forced as you attempted to keep your breath shallow and uneven. But you couldn’t deny it, even as you did anything and everything to keep your mind.
You weren’t ready to die.
Not today, not like this.
It wouldn’t be swift and painless, it would be drawn out and agonizing; orcs weren’t famous for their mercy. Suffocated by a blanket of despair, you briefly considered offing yourself. There were so many twisting tunnels and a million ways for you to do it. But in the end, as you stared into the desolate eyes of the Rohirrim, you decided against it. If they could face impending doom with grace, then so could you. Yet that didn’t keep the terror from threatening to swallow you whole.
You were numb.
Stood outside, elves and men began to line up along the wall. There were screams and shouts all around, but it was nothing but white noise in your ears. Across the crowd, your eyes met Legolas’. His lips were downturned and his eyes were tired; Legolas was just as terrified as you.
You weren’t sure who moved first, but within a blink the two of you began to move towards one another. The crowd was thick but you shoved through them with the strength of someone twice your size. As you escaped the crowd and your hands found Leglolas’, you could finally breathe. It was a breath of fresh air after being forced underwater.
His eyes bore into yours, his grip tight as if to assure himself you wouldn’t leave. Battle was coming, he knew that, you knew that, but the sentiment was nice. It made your heart flutter, the numbness freezing your body lifting the longer you stayed there.
You wanted to speak, to tell him all the love confessions and speeches you’d been mentally writing and rewriting. But the ability to talk had been lost. Your mouth was dry and your throat had closed up. Instead you squeezed his hands tighter, hoping to convey everything your words couldn’t.
His lips, pressed into a thin line, relaxed into a slight frown. His eyes were searching your face, looking for the answers to his never ending questions. You weren’t sure if he found what he was looking for, too afraid to ask in case it soiled the moment.
It was in that moment, with your eyes connected and his hands tangled with yours, everything clicked into place. Every nagging insecurity and silly fear felt so miniscule and pointless. How much time had been wasted living in fear?
Moments before doom and your hit with an epiphany. Your feelings weren’t as unrequited as once believed. Reflected in Legolas' shining eyes you could see the same unsurety that came with loving someone new. The constant doubts that you were wrong, not trusting your own eyes and instincts. It was never one sided, you just wish one of you had the courage to say something before this moment.
A part of you waited for Legolas to speak, to declare everything you’d already figured out, but he never did. Rendered mute just as you were, he was silent in the midst of chaos.
So you opted to not speak either and instead pressed your lips against his. Your lips were dry and cracked, raw from biting on them constantly. Legolas’ were much the same, yet neither of you hardly cared. His grip on you tightened as he pulled your body closer. He never wanted to let you lose and you didn’t want him to.
The kiss was hardly romantic or anything like the sappy romance books that became your bible. His lips were rough and his grip was nearly bruising, but it made your heart burst all the same. There was no time for gentle kisses and longing eye contact under flutter lashes, the world was coming to an end. And you’d be damned if it ended without you telling Legolas you’d loved him.
You pulled back, wide eyes staring into his eyes. A warm rush through your body, heart beat racing against your chest. Faintly, you heard Aragorn calling for the two of you; the current scenario came rushing back as time began to move normally. Majority of the army has lined up, anxiously awaiting the official start of a long dreaded war. You looked at Legolas once more, and his eyes met yours.
“I love you.” The words fell from your lips, jumbled together as you spoke to the tempo of your heartbeat. He understood them all the same, his lips curling into a melancholic sort of grin.
“I love you.”
The moment was over, the bubble previously surrounding just the two of you bursting. The end was near.
Following the crowd, you and Legolas took your places at the wall, watching ten thousand Uruk-Hai march towards you. Yet you weren’t filled with the same icy fear and delolation. You’d been revived; dropped into icy water after a year long drought.
Under the wall and hidden by darkness, your hand found Legolas’. He squeezed it, a reassurance and a promise.
You would both make it out.
And everything would be right.
Deeply, you inhaled slowly exhaling. A single arrow bit through the darkness and landed in the chest of an Uruk-Hai. The enemy army shouted and began to charge. You lifted your blade, untangling your hands from Legolas’ as you knocked his arrow.
The two of you would be fine.
If only so you could hear him say the words you’ve dreamed about since your first meeting.
▹ Summary: War was devastating, you'd known that. And in the aftermath of your first battle, Legolas is there to help you through it.
▹ Notes: I'm back to post my annual oneshot. Will I continue the tradition of disappearing for another year?? Who knows. 🙂🙃
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
Death has always been more of a concept than a reality to you.
Your closest brush with death had been when your grandfather passed away. Yet even as you stood at his wake, tight lipped and dressed in black, you hadn’t felt a thing. He’d been nothing more than an idea in your mind, a singular notch in your family's tree; someone you’d met once or twice when you were too young to cement it to memory. All around you, people wept as they mourned his loss; speech after speech honoring the life he’d lived. You’re mom offered for you to speak as well, but what could you say? Everything you knew had been secondhand. It was easier to disassociate the life that had been lost.
But that was then.
That had been before you'd been thrown into war and ruin.
Now everything was different, and you hardly recognized your own reflection most days.
It was dizzying, the battlefield you stood in. All was still and quiet as the soldiers gathered their dead. Yet in your mind, phantom images flitted across your eyes, the screams that nearly left you deaf reverberating off the grounds. Listlessly, too stunned to celebrate your survival, you wandered the grounds. Death stung your nostrils, gore and blood staining the grass; these fields would never be quite the same.
All around you, real people lie dead on the floor. They had families that would mourn and friends that would weep for them. It was a realization no amount of training would have prepared you for.
You should’ve run back to the keep and avoided the dead bodies that lifelessly stared into the sky. Vaguely, you were aware that the Fellowship was preparing to ride to meet Saruman and strike him from his silver tower. As a member, you should be with them, but you couldn’t keep from drowning in your own guilt.
Swimming in a sea of dead, what did you do to deserve survival?
It was a thread of thought that was unproductive, yet you couldn’t keep from following it all the same.
As it would, mother nature set the scene for your disparaging rabbit hole. Rain fell from the sky, trying to wash away the horrors of the night. It was useless, the earth would remember, and all flowers would be grown from death.
Your legs went out from under you, knees sinking into the wet ground, soaked in blood and now rain. Blood and gore, you were caked in it, the crimson staining your hands for eternity. The dark terror you constantly staved away since falling into Middle Earth slowly froze your veins. All the things you’d done to fight it back - deep breathing, counting to ten, and stupid, ditzy humor - finally failed you.
The reality of the world around you finally set in.
Eyes wide and brimmed with tears, you stared up at the sky. Unblinking, even as rain fell directly in your eyes, you searched for answers in the clouds but found no answers to satiate the existential dread you couldn’t bury any longer. Sleep deprivation weighed heavily on you, but the adrenaline from the battle kept you wide awake. In the clouds, you searched for an epiphany. Desperate for a glimpse of relief, anything to make sense of the things you’ll see in all future nightmares to come.
But there was nothing in the clouds, nothing in the sun, and nothing in the sky. There were no answers to your impossible questions. So there you stayed in the fields, frozen by a crisis.
You feared you'd be frozen there forever, turned to ice by the cold of your blood. How fragile life was, and how easily it could be snatched away. Would you be next, another body filling another battlefield?
“Y/N?” His voice was quiet but strong enough to be heard over the chaos in your mind. You didn’t turn, not at first, even as you heard the patter of his footsteps approaching. He did it on purpose, you knew, so light on his feet, he didn’t even imprint on snow. But he wanted you to know he was approaching. It caused a flicker of light to fill your eyes before sorrow doused it.
The smell of pine dampened the sting of death; dread was replaced by memories of unsure touches, quiet words, and a bold kiss before the fight that should’ve killed you both. Only then did you turn your eyes from the sky that seemed too blue for this day.
Legolas stood behind you, not nearly as grimy as you surely were. Blood and dirt clung to his clothes, mud smeared on the contours of his face, but his eyes shone as bright as the sky above you. He didn’t speak, though the tilt of his head betrayed the questions and concerns he dared to not speak.
You should be celebrating, you'd both lived to see another day. The budding love between you two wouldn’t be severed by the sharp knife of war, but it was hard to feel joy around so much despair.
Legolas knelt before you, unbothered by the mud soaking through his pants. He reached towards you, taking one of your hands in his. A stark contrast to your cold body, his hands were warm and soft despite the callouses from decades of fighting.
“How do you deal with all this death?” Your eyes portrayed the desperation you felt. Lost at sea, you found an anchor in Legolas’ soothing presence. He grounded your mind to your body as it threatened to slip into the ether. Still, the questions clawed at your mind. “I can’t--" you shook your head. "I don’t understand how to.”
He paused, deeply inhaling as he pondered your words. “I would like to tell you it gets easier with time, and perhaps in a way it does, the sting not as crippling as the first. Yet I would be remiss to placate you with such words. You do not stop feeling grief in the face of so much death, but simply learn how to move through it.”
As if afraid to ruin the moment if you're too loud, you quietly sighed, visibly deflating at his words. You would learn to move past this grief, as you had when you mourned the life on Earth you’d lost. Somewhere deep in your mind you’d already known that, but hearing Legolas verbalize it only cemented the idea.
Your eyes flickered to his lips, remembering the way they’d felt on yours, adrenaline and terror making it desperate and rushed. It had left you dazed and addled like a madman afterward. Not even the impending army was enough to crush the light feeling his touch elicited. You wanted to feel his lips again, without death and an army of orcs looming over your heads.
To feel his lips against yours, with all the time in the world to memorize every curve of his face and inch of his body. But even the relief of evading death wasn’t enough to make you so bold. Uncertainty stayed your hand; doubt that painted the kiss as more meaningful to you than him. That his action was rash and ill-thought, born from the adrenaline of battle.
Yet the look in his eyes made it harder and harder to convince yourself of that.
Legolas glanced down at his other hand, which was closed in a fist, and opened it. Slightly damaged by his tight grip but otherwise untouched, was a wild daisy. It was smaller than daisies found in a garden, with three blooms in various sizes that clung to the stem. So pristine and untarnished, it couldn’t have been found on the fields of Helm’s Deep, at least not recently.
His gaze flickered up to meet yours, an intensity in his eyes that made your mind turn to static.
“I found a cluster of them shortly before we arrived yesterday. I hoped to give them to you then, but never had the chance.” With a quiet voice, his words were only for you to hear. There was a shy grin on his face, not at all bearing the same insecurities you did.
A grin spread onto your face, a tinge of blush coloring your cheeks. The remnants of dread and terror melted away from the radiance of his smile and the intensity in his eyes.
“I’ve never had someone give me flowers before.” Your voice was as breathless as you’d felt. A simple gesture you’d never been on the receiving end of; it helped you feel grounded in your trepidation.
“Then allow me the honor of showering you with them for the rest of eternity.”
His words were bold, his grip on your hand tightening as if to further convey his sincerity. Rendered speechless, you couldn’t have spoken even if you wanted. Legolas had always seemed so shy and reserved in matters of love, but perhaps war brought out the boldness of people. Relief made you as light as a feather, an excitement within you that made you giddy and restless. He cared for you, just as you did him.
A stupid, dumb grin found its way to your face and you nodded, enthusiastically enough it made your headache worse. But no amount of physical pain could dull the glimmer in your eyes.
Legolas returned your smile, brighter than the sun in the sky. There’d never be another gloomy day, not with Legolas by your side. He was bright enough to spark light in the darkest of days, the only sun you’d acknowledge from then on.
He reached his hand toward you, gently setting the flowers behind your ears. His fingers lingered on your face, trailing down your cheeks, up your temples, and back down to cradle your jaw. Tingles were left in the wake of his touch, as your heart threatened to stop, but the electricity his touch rendered kept it beating.
The moments you’d both spent in that position were lost to you, time nothing more than an illusion. Mouth dry with anticipation, your eyes flickered down towards his lips again, subconsciously licking your lips in an attempt to moisten them. His eyes lowered to yours as well, both of you locked in a stalemate.
You couldn't recall who was the cause of it, but the dam was broken, the river water rushing free. Your faces were getting closer by the second. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, his lips feathering across yours. Wide-eyed like a doe, you waited with bated breath.
Legolas shot forward, his other hand finding a place on your face as your arms wound around his neck. In an instant his lips were attached to yours, so intertwined, it was hard to remember where you ended and he began.
Just as you expected, this kiss was much gentler and softer, not sharpened by the fear of death. It was full of relief, screaming over and over again ‘thank god you're alive.’ It sent shivers up and down your spine, body numb to anything that wasn’t his touch.
Legolas pulled back, only an inch or so away from your lips, his nose tickled your face.
“Stay with me, after the quest is complete and we can all do as we please, stay with me.”
It was an easy answer, the simplest thing you’d encountered on this quest. Your hands retracted from his neck to hold his face. He leaned into your touch, like a contented cat.
“Wherever you go I’ll follow.”
If you’d been told the essence of a star had been captured and placed in Legolas as its vessel, you wouldn’t have doubted it for a moment. It sent butterflies through your stomach but also blossomed hope and something worth fighting for. A thousand orcs seemed daunting when only fighting to survive, but those same numbers fade to nothing when you look at him.
War wasn’t fair, and all too often people who didn’t deserve it died. It was ruthless and terrifying and not at all as glorious as you once believed.
But for Legolas… for Legolas, you’d fight the armies of Mordor alone for the promise of staying by his side.
▹ Summary: It's kind of cute, dancing in the rain with Glorfindel.
▹ Notes: I think I got a tooth ache writing this
The sky was overcast from the moment you’d woken up.
The air was crisp, sharp, and chilling to the bone. Wind whistled through the trees, boughs twisting and bending. Dark clouds hung in the sky and threatened rain, but it never came. You wished it had. It would’ve made for a romantic scene, dancing through the rain with a partner that only you could see. Your dress would be drenched and cling to your skin, hair wet with droplets of water falling from the tips. Your cheeks would’ve been flushed from the cold, eyes glittering amongst the rain. It was all just a fantasy, however, as the rain refused to pour.
You walked across Imladris, looking up at the sky, longingly. A chill ran through the gardens, eliciting shivers across your body. You pulled the cloak you wore closer to stave away the cold, but it didn’t help much.
“Y/N,” a voice called your name. You turned and were met with bright blue eyes, Glorfindel standing a few feet behind you. He was as radiant as usual, his golden hair pulled into the simple braid he often wore during training. It was loose, allowing stray pieces of hair to frame his face. His expression was serene, as it almost always was. He walked towards you, your heart rate getting faster with every step.
“Glorfindel,” you responded, an easy grin on your lips. You hoped it would mask the nerves rippling in your stomach. Anticipation made your body nearly vibrate, eager for any interaction with Glorfindel. No matter how large or small, it would be enough to keep you swooning the entire day.
“What are you doing?” The distance that separated the two of you was gone. He felt like a furnace compared to your freezing body. It was your excuse for standing so close, even though you knew your cheeks weren’t flushed from the cold.
“Taking a stroll, I needed some air,” you said.
“In this cold weather?” Amusement gave his voice an airy lilt and the sound made your heart beat faster.
“I like the cold?” It was more of a question than an answer and you cursed your timid temperament. Glorfindel laughed, the noise more melodic than it had a right being. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and a small, shy smile pulled on your lips. You’d do anything to hear that noise again. Even if you had to make the biggest fool of yourself to keep his eyes on you.
“Then perhaps you would allow me to walk with you if only to ensure the lady does not get sick with frostbite.” He presents his arm, and you link your arm with his. The two of you begin to walk forward.
You’re petrified, intensely focusing on keeping your legs steady so you don’t stumble like an idiot. Stars filled your vision the longer you and Glorfindel walked together. He began to speak with you, his voice so quiet only you could hear the words. It was silly observations; things he noticed as you walked. It had little purpose, other than to coax small bouts of laughter from you.
A drop of water landed on your head. You looked up at the sky, the clouds had grown darker. Small droplets fell from the sky, the downpour coming down harder now. Glorfindel looked up at the sky as well, a slight frown on the edge of his mouth.
“Should we head inside?” he asked.
Your eyes moved from the sky then back to him. The shy grin on your face was larger, eyes beaming with excitement. You’d waited all day for this moment to happen. If fate was on your side, your dance partner wouldn’t be a figment of your imagination. It would be the person you dreamed about most.
“I’d like to stay, I enjoy the rain,” you said.
Glorfindel nodded, eyes locked with yours and a soft smile on his lips. “Then we’ll stay.”
The two of you continued to walk through the gardens of Imladris, unphased by the cold rain. Your shoes were full of water and everything clung to your body awkwardly. Down to the bone, you were freezing, but Glorfindel’s smile kept you warm. The rain came down harder, aggressive enough that it might be the start of a storm. It would be smart to move to the shelter of Imladris. But you didn’t want the moment to end. Without thinking about it for too long, afraid you’d chicken out last minute, you grabbed Glorfindel’s hand.
You pulled him forward to stand in the center of the garden, and he followed. Your smaller hands held his shoulders while he wrapped his arms around your waist. In near perfect sync, the two of you gently moved to the music the rain made. You began to hum, a tune you’d heard one of the minstrels sing a few nights ago. The floor was muddy, squishing under your feet. How lovely it was to be rained on with him.
He lifted his arm, coaxing you to spin and you did. Your wet hair flew around your face, sprinkling Glorfindel with water. Your eyes locked again, unabashedly staring at each other. Your eyes shone as if he was the rising sun after a long night. Time was moving too fast, it needed to slow down so you could savor this moment and memorize every detail. You weren’t sure you’d have the courage to replicate it.
The dance shifted, no longer a slow sway but a lively waltz and his hands intertwined with yours. You fumbled as Glorfindel glided across the grassy terrain, the steps ingrained in his head. The dance was unfamiliar, though you’ve seen him dance it a million times in The Hall of Fire. He laughed, light, merry, and full of life. His eyes shone like stars and his smile rivaled the sun. You wanted to call him beautiful, but it didn’t feel sufficient. No word in any language accurately described Glorfindel. You would have to settle with ethereal, even if it felt lacking.
He consumed all your thoughts. The way he made your heart race and head get dizzy. How much you loved to hear him laugh, the glossy look in his eyes when he drank too much wine. He was full of life, so happy all the time, despite the horrors he witnessed. You wanted him to know that you admired his tenacity and bravery. You loved him, not just for his beauty or charm, but his selflessness, his honor, but you did adore the little line on his forehead when he was deep in thought. He made you feel alive just by being in the same room. You wanted to tell him all of that. It was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment.
How silly to imagine he might ever feel the same.
The moment was coming to a close, you could feel it. Glorfindel spun you, once twice, and then a final time. He pulled back, hands unwinding themselves from yours. His eyes stayed on yours, and you thought you saw a sheen of affection in the dim light. But he turned away before you could think about it too long. His arm held out once more, you wrapped yours with it as he led you back to the building. His fingers traced shapes on your arm, the motion soothing your nerves.
For the second time, you considered telling Glorfindel everything on your mind. And for the second time, you decided not to. How lovely it was to sit on the edge of comfort and chaos as a war waged in your mind. Quicker than you’d like, the two of you were twisting through the halls of Imladris, towards your room. It was empty, not a soul encountered. Neither of you spoke, but it wasn’t awkward. It was as calm as a gentle summer wind. All too soon you reached the door to your room.
Your hands paused on the door knob and you turned to find Glorfindel already looking at you. There was hardly any space between the two of you, your noses brushing. The ability to breathe was taken from you as your eyes flickered to his lips before returning to his eyes. There was something in them you couldn’t read, but you desperately wanted to. To pull apart his brain and learn him entirely was all you wanted.
He took a step back, the moment over.
He did a sweeping bow and you returned it with a sloppy curtsey, face burning with embarrassment. Your rapid heart was beginning to steady yet the butterflies continued to erupt.
“Until we meet again my lady.” Glorfindel turned, disappearing down the hall. You watched him go, and only after his form disappeared did you open the door to your room. You stepped in and shut the door behind you. Your legs turned to liquid and you leaned against the door for stability. Slowly, you slid down the wood, a dreamy expression on your face. You were dazed, eyes seeing a million stars in the darkness of your room.
In the silence of the room, your confession slipped from your mouth.
“I think I love you.”
The confession was only heard by the walls and furniture. The words embedded themselves into your books of exhilarating romances. In the sanctity of the space you allowed yourself a small thread of hope that one day, you would be the lead in a romance such as those.
A soft sigh left your mouth just as someone knocked on your door. The sudden noise made you jump as you scrambled to get off the floor. You took a few deep breaths to collect yourself before opening it.
Glorfindel stood on the other side, his expression different, almost breathless. Reflecting in the dim light, you see one of your earrings in his hand. You reached up to both ears, feeling empty space on the left. The earring must have fallen at some point. How lucky Glorfindel had found it.
“Is it true?” he asked, voice no louder than the tap of the rain on your windows.
“What?” you asked. But a lump began to form in your throat, perhaps your confession hadn’t been as private as anticipated.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when I came to return your earring that had fallen I couldn’t help but hear what you said. Do you truly love me?”
It was like smoke had poured into your lungs, taking away your ability to speak. You were frozen.
“Because if so, that is most pleasing. I find myself falling in love with you more every day, My Lady.” The confession fell from his lips like honey. You stood there, starstruck, unsure that you’d heard him correctly. But the grin on his face was too sweet and his eyes were too full of adoration for him to have said anything else.
“It’s true. I do love you,” you spoke quietly, afraid you’d wake up from some hallucination. But you never did. Even as the grin on his face widened and he drew closer to you. His arms wrapped around you for a second time that night, but he pulled you closer than before. It wasn’t the embrace of a friend but of a lover. You leaned into his touch memorizing the sound of his heartbeat and the warm scent that clung to him.
He kissed you. It was sudden, but you didn’t rebuke it. This was everything you’d dreamt of since you first laid eyes on Glorfindel. You pressed your fingers into him, to confirm that he was real and so was this. He touched you like no one ever had, fingers threading through your hair. Your mind was white, any thought hazy and unfocused. The only clarity you had was the feeling of Glorfindel’s body against you and the press of his lips. Lovely to be pressed against him.
It felt like the beginning of a story you’ve read before.
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
dededos
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled