I love the idea of elves having disabilities because it subverts the “immortality means looking and functioning like a 20-yo eternally” idea that is kind of baked in to how we are shown elves on-screen.
But the Galadriel morphing green in her truest, most powerful form and Thranduil using energy to mask his disfigurement idea got me thinking.
Imagine if elves exert energy (and limit their powers) to mask their disabilities when formally convening with non-elves, but among themselves (and maybe with people they absolutely love and consider kin, like Arwen around Aragorn), they exist unmasked?
It’s such a powerful metaphor that reminds me of how I am with disabled community. We unmask around each other. We don’t exert energy hiding our disabilities, physical or nonphysical.
Legolas allowing his joints to creak and ache, allowing himself to limp and use a cane, when he’s alone with Gimli. Legolas allowing his unmarred skin to show every bruise and scar. Legolas relaxing into the spot of blindness he’s accrued over the long years of straining his eyes to see orc packs far, far away.
Arwen’s ADHD (yes) compelling her to take long, burnout-induced rest days, compelling her to take her time. Arwen’s sense of hearing being too sensitive and overstimulating at times that she eventually develops deafness. I know the elves would craft insanelyyyy gorgeous hearing aids that gently wrap like silver vines with such intricate perfection that they stay on even through the fastest horse-riding journeys!!
And like all disabled folks, there’s a point where none of them can mask anymore, even despite taking great pains. Show me Thranduil no longer able to mask his dragon-fire burns, and grappling with self-love, choosing self-acceptance. Show me Galadriel rolling through Lothlórien’s shining forests after one too many exhausting bouts against Sauron. Traversing small paths cleared as ramps, she embodies the same characteristic grace. And even more patience now, gifted by the lived experience of disability.
Elves has always struck me as incredibly patient creatures. One of the most universal characteristics of the disabled experience is needing more time in an otherwise frenzied, short-sighted society. Time to work, think, act, speak, function. The elves prioritize equitability and respect / celebration for bravery and those who face great odds, two qualities that I think lend themselves to a worldview from which a better society for the disabled would follow.
Also give me Elrond with a prosthetic leg. YEEEAAS
The Five Love Languages are: Gifts, Physical Touch, Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, and Acts of Service! Everyone has a primary two and this is my headcanon for LoTR 🫶🏻
Aragorn
Words of Affirmation- Aragorn is beyond happy to compliment you in both languages he knows, Elvish dripping from his tongue sweetly onto you as smoothly as your virtues are extolled in the common tongue. As if by magic, your beloved ranger seems to be able to conjure the perfect words at a moment's notice, his words a soft blade cutting through your anxiety with reminders of your strength. All the things which he sees in you that are sometimes lost, all of them dredged up again from the murky waters of your emotion.
Acts of Service- It is not even a conscious effort or choice the way Aragorn moves to protect you. The way he seems to materialize near even an inconvenience to you, his hands at the ready for even the smallest task. A thing as little as unlacing your boots at the end of the day is a joy as simple as breathing. Aragorn provides for you practically without thinking, just as he does for all those who hold a place in his heart. He is a man of service, a man whose heart is betrayed by his every action.
Legolas
Acts of Service- He is quiet with his love, at least at first. You may not hear it directly from his lips every day, but his actions reflect a deep commitment to you. How hard he fights for you and the way he rushes into absolutely any fray to rescue you. Aiding in any passion of yours comes naturally to Legolas, who displays nothing but willingness to learn about the things most beloved to you. After all, you are the most beloved to him.
Quality Time- Respite is earned simply by existing in your presence, that feeling of solace that comes with total comfort. Silence comes naturally to Legolas and as such it can be comfortable alone or with you. He loves to observe and admire the world around him by your side, seeing beauty through your lovely eyes and discussing the unity of it all.
Boromir
Quality Time- Many people see Boromir without truly seeing him, focusing on the stories of his father or the position he has. The victories over the man. To have one person in his life beside his brother who values his presence, his thoughts and conversation and laughter over the show, almost feels unattainable. His favorite memories, though, are the ones of time intentionally spent. Of shaking off the pressure and relaxing or even playing with you, smiles genuine, not forced.
Physical Touch- In the same vein, he wants to feel your presence almost as a reassurance that you are real, you are something which will not disappear from his life easily. He also loves to tease you with touches and watch the way your face changes with every new point of contact, giving a grin or smirk of his own. Contrasting facets that come together into the fantastic, wildly glittering jewel that is your relationship. Every line of them connecting like spokes, you and Boromir at the heart of every crossroads of your shared, beautiful touches, the interlocking of your fingers and joining of your pulse points against each other.
Gimli
Gifts- Gimli would hand you all of Arda on a silver platter if such was possible. You are just about all the world, a realization of every pursuit of beauty, a gift in and of itself he would repay with any amount of his people’s wealth. Even the most modest gift from you is treasure in his eyes, something that tethers your thoughts as it made him rise to the forefront of your mind- what a blessing!
Words of Affirmation- Love of nature’s many virtues, many displays of greatness and beauty, keeps Gimli’s eyes fixed upon the world around him. Or it did until you came along, and suddenly his eyes are only upon you. Every statement made about those fairest things which he has seen are only to speak of how they pale in comparison to you. That every hint of the earth's beauty he strives to preserve and show to all who would admire it radiates from your very smile. You, this most beautiful thing, are his. Your own person wholly, but one gift he need not fully share. All Gimli's words upon this subject are either reverent praises or statements of your virtues and personal strengths as facts.
Frodo
Words of Affirmation- Being a very emotional person, Frodo understands and feels the ebbs and flows of the mind’s waves. So much does he endure that sometimes all that can reach him is a comforting word, a reminder that he is not alone. That what he does is worthwhile. Eloquent as his uncle raised him to be, he uses his words to reassure you too. To express all the beauty of the world around you and compare your comfort to that of warm sunshine and grassy fields. To share every reason you were put upon the earth.
Physical Touch- This one tends to surprise people, but touch makes Frodo feel loved. He expresses his care with forehead kisses and holding hands, whether this is with friends or romantically. Touch can connect you literally and figuratively- the act of holding each other up and supporting each other’s hearts is only strengthened by joined hands or held and helped bodies.
Sam
Physical Touch- The feeling of closeness and connection brings a flush of joy up through Sam’s heart unlike anything else. The comfort of a touch is unmatched in his mind, even if it reddens his face and speeds his heartbeat. It’s worth it if it’s you. It’s not all about that, either- offering his hand to help you up, opening his arms when you are feeling sad or broken, even simply falling asleep at your side. The feeling of your weight upon his or your joined skin is intimate, warm. Never gets old.
Quality Time- The reason he loves you? Quite simply it is you. Sam doesn’t need a fancy present or a trip to the grandest city in Middle Earth to love you, he just needs you by his side making his heart race with your smile and every time you take his hand. When he’s nervous your presence eases him. When you’re in danger, you give him courage because he knows he’s standing up for the most important thing in the world: the gift that is you.
Merry
Words of Affirmation- At the end of the day, Merry values concrete communication and reminders. He will tell you he loves and values you because, simple as day, it’s true. The words pour from his lips without a second thought, rushing with the natural power and flow of a waterfall tumbling off rocks. His reassurances are spoken easy as breaths, phrased as truths unquestionable because he truly cannot fathom anything beyond his reality that you are beautiful, capable, his partner in crime, a gift to him.
Acts of Service- Just as words are concrete in Merry’s mind, actions are the mirror, the reflection to his anchoring statements. Following through on showing you he cares. He fights for you, be it with actions or stepping forth with words in your defense, righteous anger at any insult directed your way. The moment any pain or ill health takes you, Merry is there happily making a nest and preparing every possible care he can provide you, even if it is simply to stay by your side and remind you how strong you are.
Pippin
Physical Touch- Closeness is what makes him feel most loved. The reassurance that you want to be with him, you want the feeling of him against you in some way. Many people have pushed him away, kept their distance from him, so those that choose to be by his side? They set his heart soaring with fullness. His love for you is deep and big and boundless and it manifests in wanting to feel you, to maintain this closeness. Magnetic pulls, simply put, anchor him physically to the love he thought was unattainable for so long.
Quality Time- In conjunction with his desire for physical tethers to you, Pippin thrives on reminders of your choice. He genuinely loves to be around you, too; you make him so happy! Around you, Pippin can be himself and also look at and listen to you, and what a wonderful bonus that is! He doesn't need anything fancy, even just a pair of chairs, simply to hear your words and do his best to make you smile. He'll do just about anything with you, talking and dancing and picnicking and berry picking and napping and reading and painting and bathing and laughing and even crying if you can support and enjoy each other's presence in the process.
Faramir
Words of Affirmation- Faramir works tirelessly to give what he did not receive. Having never been affirmed growing up, he makes a concerted effort to express what he loves and respects about you. All the good you do in his life and in the world around you- reminders that you have a place amidst it all. He crumples at your many words of comfort, the utter love and reassurance that pours from you easily. Answering back to Faramir's every doubt whispering from years deep in the corners of his mind. Your speech brings a special, tearful smile to Faramir's face, which leans into your hand as you caress his cheek and appreciate him more and more.
Quality Time- Conspicuity fails upon Faramir. He needs no grand gift or sacrifice when he can simply have you. Your hand in his, your laugh as he tells an old story from his childhood, descriptions of your every dream shared to him in a moment of beautiful vulnerability. Talking to you, laughing and crying with you, that feeling of an amazing person giving him full focus, will never age in his mind and his heart.
Eomer
Gifts- Eomer prefers physical representations of his caring- things that can be held, felt, used. Of course, things that lead their recipients to think of the other every time they lay a hand upon it. His gifts tend to be practical, things that will be used often, but as you draw closer his natural sense of provision takes over, lending him to spoil you with more beautiful things.
Quality Time- At the end of the day, what matters most to Eomer is to have someone to come home to. A presence which is consistent. Warm. A shoulder to lean on and a neck to bury himself in as he mutters about his day and asks you about yours as well. Beyond anything he wants to know that you want to be around him as much as he would like the same.
Eowyn
Words of Affirmation- Most of all she loves to hear and share love audibly, a reassurance that you care. Words to attempt expressing even the beginning of her feelings’ depth and breadth. In all of Eowyn’s life there has been doubt, uncertainty, a feeling of wrongness. You are right. You see her right, speak it as if into existence.
Acts of Service- Beyond defending you with her life upon the battlefield, Eowyn naturally finds herself servicing and providing. Years of work in service have attuned her to the needs of others, your own included. She attempts to cook for you, insists on sitting you down to bandage your wounds, and dotes on you if you have periods especially if they are painful or nauseating to you.
Haldir
Acts of Service- Expressing himself in words is difficult. Leaving things you need in accessible locations? Cleaning your weapons or tools? Coming to your rescue if you find yourself staring into the face of danger, Valar forbid, and holding and caring for you pours every ounce of Haldir's love into you- can you feel it? Your responses show that love need not always be spoken.
Quality Time- In a similar vein, Haldir feels the honor of your presence and wishes to honor you. Being more of a listener than a speaker, it gives him great joy to sit at your side and hear your thoughts, your musings, even your comings and goings of the day. It takes him out of his battle formations or the pressure of maintaining the purity and safety of his beloved Lothlórien.
Galadriel
Words of Affirmation- Galadriel's gifts give her unique sight into your heart, though she tries not to pry and look too deeply. However, bearing witness to the waves in your mind and, of course, seeing them upon your face, moves her beyond the stillness of her sight. Deep vision grants her access to just the right words to pull a smile back from the clouds rolling across your countenance. In turn, your words center Galadriel, anchor her to a world she sometimes feels out of place in. Pull her back from the longing she feels and loneliness unlearned.
Gifts- In a way, she likes to show her innate sense for you. A gift that is exactly what you want or need proves Galadriel’s place in your life in a way she never realized how strongly she desired or needed. Always did she have a place, but it was lonely. Until you showed up and made eternity more bearable. She cannot help decking you out in pretty things, though many of her gifts are practical, functional. She has to keep you safe, after all.
Elrond
Quality Time- What could be more important to one who has lived so many lives of men over? Beauty can fade and things can break, but there is no replacing you. You who is there to listen, to take the burden off of those years, you who share a perspective unlike any Elrond has seen before, who honor him with the gift of your presence and the choice to be by his side every single day. What could make him feel more loved?
Words of Affirmation- Being together means seeing the darker side of each other. Shedding tears otherwise unseen, lamenting that which might never have been shared. The one boon of seeing so much darkness in his lifetime is that Elrond knows what will pass, possesses wisdom beyond his perceived years that he can whisper as he holds you.
Arwen
Words of Affirmation- Playful as she can be with you, Arwen peppers you with genuine descriptions of your virtues, lacing her words with the love she has for you. Her perception is deep, accurate, precise in the way she understands and speaks praises and observations. Her words show how she listens and is willing to bear your burdens despite the years of her own she has endured. That she knows you will do the same for her and has the utmost confidence in the love you have both chosen.
Physical Touch- Arwen's touches are ephemeral, feather-light, but sensual and meaningful beyond nothing else. The simply slide of her fingers over the skin of your arm or chest, resting over your heart, speaks volumes of her feelings before she leans in to connect your lips. The tingles that burst beneath your skin bring smiles to your lips and awe to your heart that such an amazing elf sees you like a mirror, the same love and beauty you proclaim staring back at her for her to ravish.
The halls of Rivendell were quiet—quieter than you had ever heard them. Even the waterfalls seemed hushed tonight, as if the valley itself understood what dawn would take from it.
You found Aragorn where you knew he would be: standing alone on one of the stone balconies, overlooking the moonlit forest. His cloak stirred in the cool night breeze, and the pale silver light caught in his dark hair, outlining him like the hero he would soon have to be.
He heard you long before you stepped into the light.
“Your footsteps are softer tonight,” he said, voice low, thoughtful. “Even for an elf.”
You managed a faint smile as you came to stand beside him. “And your heart is louder.”
Aragorn exhaled a breath that sounded like surrender. “Then you know what weighs on it.”
You did. The Quest. The Ring. Frodo’s impossible road.
And the knowledge that the man beside you would walk into danger with every step he took.
You reached for his hand without thinking, your fingers finding his—cold at first, then slowly warming against your touch. He turned toward you fully, the tension in his face softening as though the sight of you eased something deep within him.
“I should not ask you to stay up with me,” he murmured. “You deserve rest, peace—things I cannot offer you tonight.”
You shook your head gently. “I would not leave you alone with thoughts like these.”
His eyes searched yours, full of quiet gratitude… and something deeper, something aching.
A moment passed—soft as falling leaves, fragile as stolen time.
Aragorn lifted a hand and tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was tender, deliberate… almost reverent. “I fear what lies ahead,” he confessed. “Not for myself, but for those who will walk beside me. For what the road may demand of us.”
“And yet you will walk it,” you said softly. “Because no one else could carry the burdens you can.”
He bowed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. “If I could remain here… with you… I would.”
Your breath caught. “I know.”
The words throbbed in the silence between you—what you could not have, what you wished for, what tomorrow would take.
Aragorn’s fingers curled around your waist, drawing you into him. Not in passion, but in need—raw, human, honest. You rested your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, memorizing its rhythm, knowing it would soon be far from you.
He whispered your name like a vow. “You have given me strength when my own faltered. Let tonight be a memory I carry into the darkness.”
You leaned into him fully, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder. “Then let it be a gentle one,” you murmured. “So that even in shadow, you remember you were loved.”
Aragorn’s arms tightened around you. He held you for a long moment—long enough to feel the rise and fall of his breath, long enough to pretend that time wasn’t slipping through your fingers.
When he finally spoke, his voice trembled despite all his control.
“When I return,” he said, “if fate is kind… will you be here still?”
Your heart nearly broke at the hope in his eyes.
“For you?” You cupped his cheek softly. “Always.”
He kissed your forehead—soft, lingering, full of everything the night allowed and everything the dawn would steal.
And beneath the pale moonlight of Rivendell, you held each other one last time, knowing that love was sometimes a waiting, sometimes a promise…
i think we don’t talk enough about the sense of honor in the people of lotr.
they are KIND. like, genuinely. okay, some of them are unfriendly… just like anyone else. but they all RESPECT others.
having a crush in Middle-earth would have a much higher chance of working out than in our world, for the simple reason that the people of Middle-earth were, for the most part, raised respectfully, and they would never gossip behind someone’s back or mock them. respect is present EVERYWHERE. i just find that absolutely incredible.
most of people in our reality would reject someone by replying ‘ok’ to an ‘I love you’… or just leave them on read.
meanwhile Aragorn : ‘i cannot give you what you seek. but i have wished for your happiness from the moment i first saw you’
A young horse that is between one and two years old;
Still a wild thing, untamed, knowing only the endless horizon of the plains, the world vast and waiting. It knows neither the weight of the saddle or the pressure of the bridle, untouched by the responsibilities that will one day rest heavy upon its back.
Elira, daughter of Rohan, once knew only the whisper of the breeze and the freedom of the endless fields. Yet now, bound by an arranged marriage to a king, she finds herself standing at the crossroads of duty and desire. Within the shadowed halls of Gondor, where power shifts and secrets linger, she must learn to carry the weight of a future she never chose. Alongside Aragorn, a man whose own burdens weigh heavy, she will face the slow, inevitable taming of her heart—a heart torn between the wild call of freedom and the quiet, steady pull of love between two souls learning, together, to carry the weight of grand destinies.
In a world where future is yet uncertain, Elira will come to understand that love, much like a yearling, must be nurtured, tamed, and made her own, before it can bear the weight of all that is to come
Word count: 3,413
Content warnings: none
AN: AO3 curse got me lol. Got hospitalized, had my finals, had my internship that had me crying like once a week. But the story is finally done, enjoy!
AO3
The scent of damp earth and new growth filled the air, the first true breath of spring stirring in the grasslands of Rohan. The fields were still touched with the faded gold of the past season, but here and there, green shoots peeked through, heralding the turning of the year. Though patches of frost still lingered in the shadows, the sun had begun its slow work of warming the land. The sky stretched wide and endless above them, a pale blue expanse traced with wisps of cloud. It was the season of renewal, of change, of restless movement—and Elira felt it in the very marrow of her bones.
Elira felt the shift in the season as keenly as she felt the steady beat of her heart. Spring had always meant freedom, the return of the hunt, the first long rides across the open plains after a winter spent confined. Yet today, there was something different, something new woven into the fabric of the world around her.
She rode Roahil, though not by her own choice.
Aedwyn had pressed the reins into her hands that morning, her expression leaving no room for argument. “He belongs with you,” her sister had said simply.
Elira had tried to protest—Roahil was Aedwyn’s pride, a stallion of remarkable spirit and strength—but even as she mounted, she knew the truth of it. The horse moved with her as though he had always been hers, as if he had been waiting for her to claim him.
“I suppose I should stop fighting what has already been decided,” she had murmured, stroking Roahil’s neck as he pranced beneath her.
Aedwyn had only smiled.
Now, the stallion moved easily beneath her, his gait smooth and powerful as they followed the faint traces of their quarry. She barely needed to guide him, and the effortless partnership settled something deep within her.
Beside her, Aragorn rode with quiet ease, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his expression intent, his sharp gaze sweeping the terrain before them. They had been tracking a buck since midday, following its trail through the soft earth, noting where it had paused to drink from a half-thawed stream or scrape its antlers against the bark of still-barren trees.
Elira stole a glance at him, drinking in the familiar lines of his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the dark sweep of his hair, the slight furrow of his brow as he focused. Even now, after all the months they had spent together, she still found herself captivated by him. There was a quiet strength about him that never wavered, and yet, when he turned that soft, knowing gaze upon her, she felt as though she stood at the edge of some great and wondrous precipice.
The memory of his touch, the warmth of his hands upon hers, was never far from her mind. They had learned each other in the quiet moments between duty and battle, in stolen glances and fleeting touches. He knew the way she carried herself, the weight of her thoughts even when she did not speak them aloud. And she—she knew the sound of his laughter in the dark, the way he reached for her unconsciously, even in sleep.
Elira stole another glance at him, unable to help herself.
Even after months at his side, she still felt it—the quiet, consuming ache of love. It had crept up on her slowly, woven itself into the fabric of her thoughts before she had even realized what it was. But now, there was no hiding from it.
She loved him.
And he loved her.
It was a truth spoken in quiet words, in stolen moments, in the way his hand would linger against hers longer than necessary. It was in the way he looked at her, in the way he spoke her name.
She had never thought she would be loved like this.
Aragorn must have felt her gaze, for he turned to her then, his expression softening.
“You are distracted,” he murmured, amusement flickering in his voice.
Elira lifted her chin slightly. “Not at all.”
His lips quirked as though he did not believe her, but he did not press.
At last, as they crested a gentle rise, Aragorn shifted in his saddle, holding up a hand to signal a halt. Elira reined in Roahil, heart quickening as she followed the direction of Aragorn’s gaze. There, in the clearing below, the stag stood—a proud beast, its antlers rising like the branches of an ancient oak, its dark eyes alert but unknowing of the hunters who watched from afar.
Aragorn leaned toward her slightly, voice low with playful challenge. “I have heard the tale of your great skill, that once you shot a stag clean through the eye.” His lips quirked in amusement.
She smirked. “You think me a liar?”
“Not a liar,” he mused. “But I think you cannot do so again.”
A challenge.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Then watch.”
Rather than answer, Aragorn merely gestured toward the bow at her back, an invitation.
Elira did not hesitate. With practiced ease, she slipped her bow from its place, nocking an arrow with a smooth, quiet motion. She breathed in, slow and steady, eyes narrowing as she found her mark. The world around her stilled—the distant voices of birds, the rustling of the wind in the trees, even the sound of Aragorn’s breathing beside her. There was only the stag, the bow, and the moment between release and flight.
She exhaled, drawing the string back until her fingers brushed the corner of her mouth.
And then—she loosed.
The arrow sailed through the air, swift and sure, striking the stag clean through the eye. The beast faltered, its powerful legs giving way beneath it as it collapsed to the ground, still and silent before it had even drawn its last breath.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Aragorn let out a breath—one of admiration, of something near wonder. He swung down from his horse, striding across the clearing with long, purposeful steps.
Elira watched him, unable to tear her gaze away as he knelt beside the stag, his fingers tracing the shaft of the arrow. There was a reverence in the way he touched it, as if he could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
“Straight through the eye,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he looked back at her, and there was something in his expression that made her stomach tighten. “By my life, I would not have believed it had I not seen it myself.”
She held his gaze, something warm and unspoken passing between them. Then, with a slow, knowing smile, she lifted her hunting horn to her lips.
A single, clear note rang out over the fields, carried by the wind. Almost at once, movement stirred in the trees.
From the shadowed edges of the woods, riders emerged—Aedwyn leading the way, followed by Alaric and a handful of others. Among them was King Éomer, his golden hair catching the afternoon light as he spurred his horse forward. They rode toward the clearing, the glint of their weapons catching in the sun, the banners at their backs fluttering in the gentle breeze.
Éomer dismounted, striding toward Aragorn. His sharp eyes took in the stag, the arrow that had felled it, and finally, his gaze flickered to Elira.
“Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “That was no ordinary shot.”
Aragorn turned to him with a wry smile. “I saw it with my own eyes,” he said simply. “Surely, Éomer, you do not doubt my honesty?”
Éomer let out a full laugh, clasping Aragorn’s arm. “Nay,” he admitted, “but you must forgive me if I find such skill difficult to comprehend.”
Some distance away, Aedwyn had drawn up alongside Elira, her own expression caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness. “I must agree with Alaric,” she said lightly. “One year, just once, you might allow another to take the first kill of the season.”
Alaric, who had by now dismounted, laughed, his voice carrying over the clearing. “I do not recall you complaining when you were the one hunting beside her,” he remarked, grinning.
Elira only raised her hands in mock surrender. “Peace, both of you,” she said, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her lack of remorse.
Alaric merely shook his head, striding away to join the others who had begun the work of preparing the stag for transport. The smell of fresh earth and crushed grass mingled with the cool scent of the early spring air, and Elira took in a deep breath, savoring the moment.
Then Aedwyn turned to her once more, her expression shifting, though there was still warmth in her eyes. “You should take Roahil with you to Minas Tirith,” she said, her tone steady, though there was something else beneath it, something deeper.
Elira turned to her sharply, caught off guard. “Are you serious?”
Aedwyn nodded, glancing at Roahil, then back at her sister. “You two are made for each other,” she said simply. “And everyone with eyes can see it.”
For the briefest moment, Elira thought Aedwyn meant only the horse, but then she followed her sister’s gaze—to where Aragorn stood among the men, speaking with Éomer, his expression light, his stance easy. There was something about the way Aedwyn watched them that made Elira pause.
Elira huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “This is about the horses, is it not?” she asked, though her voice was softer than she intended.
Aedwyn’s smile was knowing. “It might not be just about the horses,” she said.
And with that, she turned, leaving Elira standing there with her heart caught in her throat, the taste of spring in the air, and the weight of something unspoken pressing gently between her ribs.
Elira swallowed, glancing away—but not before her eyes met Aragorn’s.
He was watching her, something unreadable in his expression, and the warmth that curled through her at the sight of him was undeniable.
She exhaled, shaking her head, laughter rising unbidden to her lips.
Spring had come to Rohan, and with it, something new.
The evening air was cool, carrying the lingering scent of wildflowers and the earthy musk of fresh hay from the stables. The laughter and music from the feast drifted in the distance, soft and faint, but Elira and Aragorn had slipped away from the warm glow of the hall, their retreat into the quiet stillness of the estate almost a relief after the lively gathering. Aragorn’s hand, callused and strong, remained gently clasped in Elira’s, and he found himself momentarily struck by the simplicity and serenity of their shared walk, so far removed from the tumult and weight of the world.
He had been by her side for many months now—first as a stranger to the quiet depths of her heart, then as a companion, a friend, and now as something deeper, more permanent. The warmth of her hand in his was a constant comfort, and yet, in this stillness, with the faint scent of earth and the wild breath of Rohan’s fields around them, Aragorn could not help but reflect on the path that had led him here.
How strange it is, that after all I have seen and suffered, it is here—among the fields of Rohan, with her—that I feel truly at peace.
Elira had not meant to leave the feast, but something in the way Aragorn had looked at her across the hall, the warmth in his gaze, had tugged at something deep within her. And so, quietly, wordlessly, they had excused themselves, slipping out through the great doors of her family’s hall into the cool embrace of the night. There was no need for words, not yet, only the shared understanding that the world outside the festivities was theirs—just for a time.
As they walked, Elira’s mind danced through a thousand memories—the hunt earlier that day, the way Aragorn had stood with such admiration beside her as she made that impossible shot. The words he had spoken were still echoing in her chest, a gentle thrum of truth that had settled there, solid and unwavering.
“I saw it with my own eyes,” he had said, his voice a mix of admiration and disbelief. She had laughed, but inside, something had blossomed, something that felt remarkably like the start of something new.
The night was growing deeper, the first stars beginning to pierce the dark velvet sky above them. The only light now was the faint glow of the moon, casting long shadows over the land. Elira felt the pull of her family’s estate, her childhood home, and as they neared the path that led toward the pastures, her heart lightened. It was here, amidst the stables and fields, that she had always found peace.
As they walked, their footsteps soft on the earth, Aragorn allowed himself to look at her, to study the way her golden hair caught the moonlight, the quiet grace in her movements. There was something about her, something that made his heart beat faster whenever she smiled, whenever their eyes met. He had thought, when they first met, that he had grown past the need for such things. But Elira, in her quiet strength and sharp wit, had brought him something far greater than he had ever expected.
She does not need me to be a king, he thought, his heart swelling. She does not care about the throne, or my lineage, or the weight of Gondor’s future. She sees me—just me, Aragorn. The man who is trying to find his place in a world that is so often unkind.
The thought of her steadied him, and yet, it also made him ache in ways he had not known before.
They reached the edge of the pasture, the great fence surrounding it just visible in the gloom. It was here, in the long stretches of green, that the horses grazed freely, and a soft breeze stirred the air, cool and gentle, as though the land itself was sharing in the quiet joy of the moment.
Aragorn slowed, his hand still clasping hers, as he stopped beside her, his gaze moving over the field before him. Elira followed his gaze, and there, in the farthest corner of the pasture, the sight of the yearling colt, Dunor, galloping across the field caught her eye. His coat gleamed in the moonlight, a deep, shining black that seemed to pulse with the raw energy of youth. His long legs moved with the fluid grace of a creature still unburdened by the world, still wild and free.
“He’s grown so quickly,” Elira said softly, her voice a gentle murmur as she watched Dunor. Seeing him run with such power, she felt a swelling pride in her chest, but also a tinge of bittersweet nostalgia. Time, it seemed, was always slipping by too quickly.
Aragorn stood beside her, silent for a moment as he watched the colt. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft and contemplative. “I never thought I would find someone who made me feel so truly alive.”
Elira’s heart skipped at his words. She turned to him, her fingers tightening around his, the gesture as natural as breathing. His gaze was fixed ahead, but she could feel the weight of his words settle between them, the honesty in them ringing clear as the stars above. “You are not alone in that feeling,” she whispered, her voice thick with the emotions that had been building ever since their first quiet conversation together, their first shared moments, their first kiss.
Her mind swirled, racing over the last few months—the quiet moments shared between them, the way his presence had become a comfort she hadn’t known she needed, the way he had come to understand her in ways no one ever had. There had been no rush between them, no overwhelming force of need—only a slow, deliberate blooming of something pure and real. In Aragorn, she had found not only the king of Gondor, but a man who had become her equal, her companion, her heart’s truest desire.
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, the words slipping from her lips almost before she could stop them. The truth was there, undeniable. He had filled the spaces she didn’t even know were empty.
His eyes found hers then, and there was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared knowledge that the world they had both known—so different, so distant from this moment—was no longer a place they needed to return to. They had found something in each other, something that had made this vast world feel smaller, more manageable, more worth living for.
Her words were like a balm to him, soothing the quiet ache that had settled in his chest. He could not deny it any longer—he loved her, with a depth that he had not thought possible. And she loved him. They had confessed it, spoken the truth of it aloud, but even now, standing here under the moonlight, the weight of it still made him ache with a tender kind of joy.
Aragorn found himself drawn to her then, his arms moving instinctively to pull her closer, his hands resting on her waist. He could feel the rhythm of her breath as she settled into his embrace, and for the first time in his life, the weight of his crown and the burdens of the world seemed far away. Here, in her arms, he could simply be Aragorn, the man who loved her, who would do anything to see her smile, to keep her safe.
Elira’s breath hitched slightly as Aragorn reached for her, his hands finding her waist as he gently pulled her closer. Her heart quickened at the warmth of his touch, at the steady rhythm of his breath as it mingled with hers. The stillness of the night, the quiet beauty of the land around them, all seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in the unspoken promise of love and the simple joy of being together.
Without a word, Elira lifted her hands to his face, cupping his cheek, her thumb grazing the rough stubble there, the reminder of the long days they had shared. She had memorized the feel of him, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at her, the way his lips would curl just so, as though he carried some secret joy he longed to share.
And then, as if there were no space left between them at all, he leaned down, brushing his lips gently against hers, the kiss as tender as the night itself. She responded immediately, her hands sliding to his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with the quiet yearning that had always been there, always simmering just beneath the surface of their quiet conversations and stolen glances.
When their lips met, it was as though the very stars themselves held their breath. He kissed her slowly, deeply, pouring every unspoken word into the kiss. And when they finally parted, he looked at her with a tenderness that went beyond words.
In that moment, everything else fell away. There were no battles, no royal duties, no kingdoms or legacies. There was only Aragorn, and Elira, together in the stillness of the night.
“You have given me something that I thought I had lost forever,” he said quietly, his hand gently cupping her cheek. His voice was thick with emotion. “Something I never thought I could have again.”
He had lived through so much, fought for so long, but now, with her at his side, he could finally begin to imagine a future where he was not just Aragorn, King of Gondor, but Aragorn, a man who could be loved and love in return.
Elira smiled, her fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw. “You’ve given me that too,” she said softly. “Something I never knew I needed.”
And there, beneath the endless sky, amidst the fields and the horses, they held each other, knowing that they had found in each other not only love, but a home, a place to belong. In this vast world, with all its troubles and burdens, they had found something that was truly theirs.
merlin’s got this sixth sense for when arthur’s carrying too much weight on his shoulders and he’ll just… sidle in with some dumb joke. make himself the punchline on purpose. just to see arthur smile again
