summary : Where you cross path so often with Legolas your relationship seems written in the stars (or in Thranduil’s matchmaker’s mind —the king can be an embarrassing father).
author’s note : tried a different format, it’s less heavy than the rest i feel and frankly this idea fits in this sort of imagine format best! also can you tell i love adding thranduil everywhere? i don’t play about their father-son relationship. also i’m so slowww these days, final exams are coming in two weeks for me so it’s going to be a bit of a tight schedule but istg i’m working on updating the fics and fulfilling y’all’s requests and working on the different wips i said i was going to post (especially part two of meleth nin and rwbk haha trust)
➢ nini’s masterlist
➢ read on ao3
Where humans and elves have a party to celebrate the end of the Battle of the Five Armies and you see the prince here for the first time.
—Of course you have been invited to the gathering, as a member of the elven army, but you are not the only one here: the prince of the Woodland’s realm is also part of the crowd. You know it because your eyes cannot stop straying away from their path to lock on his face. The beautifully carved ceilings and walls of the Elvenking’s reception Hall are of little to no interest to you, as breathtaking as they are. It is something else entirely that catches your attention, something far from the realm of decorations and architecture. It is a rare occurrence to see the prince these days; as a matter of fact, you are fairly new to the army and have never seen him before. Your direct superior had always been the captain of the guard, a redheaded elf whom you know entertains fairly close relationships with the prince. It is the first time you see him yet he looks exactly as he was described to you: ethereal, handsomely so, with a lithe and vigorous figure, and something regal in his aura, but approachable still. The prince seems miles away from his father in this way, the king had always intimidated you to a great extent. His son does so too, but you believe with a little courage from your part you could push yourself to speak to him. Such a courage never comes.
Where Legolas feels himself enraptured beyond reason for the first time, but also suddenly taken by cowardice when he sees you.
—The prince could speak to trees in an ancient version of his mother tongue, yet find himself incapable of doing more than staring from afar the moment your form crosses his line of sight in the crowd. He has never seen you before, or he would have remembered, and it makes him regret the amount of time he has spent away from the guard. He is stuck to dumb staring, listening to what Tauriel has to say only from an ear. If Legolas could lie to himself, he would say it is the very fine fabric of your dress which flows in elegant cascades at your sleeves and waist that appeals to him, but elves are very bad liars. Especially to themselves. There is nothing Legolas can hide proficiently because being truthful and sincere had always been the ways his mother had taught him. It shows like sun in the night sky he has his mind turned elsewhere. It stays that way all nigh. Hours during which he wonders if he should talk to you, before acting upon none of his intentions and staying by himself in a corner. Nobody dares approaching him except Tauriel; the woes of being a prince. They all think him too mighty for regular company, you probably do so too. Legolas could tell tales and sing songs for hours, still he finds himself quiet at the idea of talking to you.
Where your eyes cross multiple times in the evening and you both choose to ignore it.
—It is painfully obvious you are observing each other, dancing around the idea of a stranger, so much that it is possible some people have caught it and found it odd. You look at each other like shy teenagers, shying away as soon as one catches the other staring. It’s almost like a game of cat and mouse, except you are both the fool being played and the player. You rationalise: it’s probably not you he looks at but something or someone behind you. Your importance is not great enough to interest him, your prowesses in the field not so deserving of attention to be noticed and reported to the prince. But his gaze lingers and, of course, he averts it the moment you gather the courage to try a smile.
Where Thranduil notices first the odd way his son is acting and Bard how the Elvenking’s gaze never stays in the discussion they are having.
—The king towers over everyone with his tall figure, blond hair alike to his son’s, but his eyes read only a corner of the room. Well, two. He switches from where the prince stands to where his line of sight ends: on a young elf-woman who doesn’t pay attention to her friends. Just like her, Thranduil is too busy analysing the soft smiles she sends and the way his son’s eyes soften just an instant upon seeing them to answer the question Bard asks him. Soon enough, the fisherman sees he is talking to a deaf man, and his gaze follows the king’s to know what holds his attention so much. It does not surprise him when he sees the prince; what surprises him is the newfound gentleness that lays about him. Legolas had been known for his superior attitude towards the dwarves and his temper lately, but none of that showed up now. On the contrary, he seemed transfixed, changed. Of course he glowed regal still, in the same way all of his kin appeared to Bard who was a simple human; though, if he had gotten used to Thranduil only Lady Galadriel could have bewitched him now. However, there was something unmistakable in his eyes, yet Bard could not read it. He understood what it was only when Thranduil spoke. ‘It reminds me of the first time I saw the Queen,‘ he said. He was referring to his late wife, and upon glancing at him Bard could see the extent of the love he kept for her. Loosing her had been his doom, but in his sorrow he had been left with a son to love and he was understanding too late Legolas was his greatest gift. Bard’s gaze crossed the room, following Legolas’s, and then he saw you. Beautiful in your dress, sweet like a blossom waiting to be picked, turned towards the prince with a smile like he was the sun you fed off of. ‘Do you think he will talk to her?‘ the fisherman asks to his elf friend, unaware of the more intimate character of the prince of Mirkwood. Thranduil’s lips lift with half-concealed tenderness, his silver locks seem to float in the wind against gravity when he shakes his head. ‘If he is like his father, I fear we have more chance of seeing him befriend a dwarf than talking to a nice-looking woman.‘ It makes Bard chuckle to know elves can be shy, even more when the elves in question are the handsome king and his identical son. Immortal beauty could do nothing against the ways of the heart, it seemed, for Thandruil knew Legolas’s palms were sweating at the sole idea of asking for your name and so he avoids it at all cost.
Where Thranduil knows his son as if he made him himself and decides to force the hand of fate.
—The king remembers you from your training as a guard, when your first important mission was being part of a party accompanying him to settle trade South in Rohan, and he suddenly lets you know. First, he asks for your name to a maid like it’s nothing, but clearing a report next to him is his son who doesn’t miss a syllable of the word. Keen hearing allows him to catch everything his father says about you, although it was never intended to be secret in the first place. It is the opposite, the king speaks in a clear voice with the hope that Legolas listens. Then, he deliberately asks for the schedule of all the squads pretending it needs a little remodelling. When he hands it to the elf-prince, he specifically tells him your group may need another hand —omitting the fact that he has been the one getting you rid of a member. And so Legolas finds himself scheduled to scouting like a mere guard by order of his father.
Where the prince grumbles against his task at first but then suddenly feels very inclined to complete it when a shimmering pair of eyes locks with his.
—He’d recognise you in a crowd full of people with his eyes closed. He’d recognise you by touch alone, without ever even having touched you. He doesn’t need it, he imagined the feeling far too many times. He does not speak to you, only glances and looks away when you catch him red-handed. You try to follow him, to subtly fall into his steps when he takes a path or when the group has to split, but it’s hard to know if he is the one being followed or the other way around. It seems the prince is somehow always gravitating around you, like pulled by your orbit. It stays that way all day, the subtle lingering of a glance, the prickling feeling in the back of your neck that tells you he follows behind though you cannot hear him. Leaves do not crack under the sole of his boots, the sap of trees whispers poems as he passes. Only on the way back to the Halls can you manage to steal your first interaction with the prince. Steal is the word, for it would have not happened had you been less lost in thoughts; and whose fault was that? In your fantasy, your footing becomes less assured and more wandering. You trail behind the group, wrapped in your daydreaming, and it takes less than a minute for you to stop paying attention to the ground you walk on. It’s like the forest means to teach you a lesson when you trip over a treacherous root, sticking out of the ground in an odd manner. But you had no time to reflect on the odds for this particular root to catch your foot, already you feel yourself falling head first and your body slice through the air. Unable to do anything about it but wait for the blow to hit, you close your eyes in hope it’ll make this embarrassing moment pass faster. It does not. Because the floor never breaks your nose and the scraped path does not hurt your ribs. Instead, there is a strong warmth wrapped around your arm, right under your shoulder, and it keeps you in a strange mid-fall position. You open one eye first, unsure, and then the second when the person helping you is none other than the prince. Immediately, you startle and think straight again. You cannot look weak in front of the prince you are bound to protect at the end of the day. What would he think of you if he saw that his kingdom was under the protection of an elf who does not even know how to walk properly? You stand firm on your feet in the bat of an eye, holding his gaze as you thank him profusely, though the tip of your ears turns red and you hope your hair does enough to hide it. His hand loosens its grip on your arm only when he judges you stable enough, but you do not motion to catch up with the others. Instead, you stay paralysed here, looking at each other for what seems like an eternity before he speaks; and by the gods would you like for him to never stop. ‘Careful,‘ he says. It’s not a scold or a taunt, Legolas says it with the utmost gentleness, like he really means it. You should be more careful. ‘I apologise, my Lord, I lost my focus,‘ you explain. ‘Pray, what is your name, my Lady?‘ My Lady. It is a title reserved for women of his status, women he esteems, yet he gives it to you like it has always been your title to bear. Until you strip him out of his and get the hang of calling him by his name, he will not call you by yours. Legolas Legolas Legolas Legolas Legolas, he can see it rippling from your tongue and already he knows he will love the way you coat his name with honey.
Where the stars are veiled and Legolas is asked to spend the night reading them, although there are far better star readers in the realm.
—His father schedules you to his protection, overlooking the fact that it is your day off, and you do not fight his decision. How could you? You are in his Halls and he assigns you to the side of his only son, perhaps the king wishes to test your loyalty. You are oblivious to the real schemes he plans, and so is the prince. He groans against his father once more when the information of what is expected of him falls: it is not the kind of quest Thranduil usually deems him fit for. Legolas whines and complains in the intimacy of his family, but when he steps outside the throne room and sees you waiting for him here, the frown pulling his brows disappears. His features soften and he feels his heart flutter, his blood slows like your sole presence is soothing enough. Now star reading seems like the most important task in all the elven kingdoms and he urges you to follow him before you can bow. He hurries to better keep his gaze from lingering where it shouldn’t —on your lips, on the cupid’s bow there especially, but also to escape the watchful eyes of his father. When he looks back, Legolas notices the hint of a smirk on his father’s lips and it does not please him so. If the king is always in his way, then Legolas cannot dote upon you freely. The Elvenking’s eyes catch everything, he has much more experience at observing the world than his son, and he is less oblivious than him to the changes of his character.
Where Legolas’s cape drapes around you while you are stargazing, although you both know elves do not get cold.
—It has taken him quite sometime to have you simply sit down next to him. At first, you refuses everything that could distract you from your task. You had to look after the prince, not that he needed it, but if you failed here it would be the end of your entire career. Legolas had had to sweet talk you for minutes before you could begin to graze the thought that maybe, maybe there was nothing to fear on the plateau he had chosen. Then another minute had been spent persuading you into joining him on the ground, and you had only relented when he said he was losing time reading the sky’s omen because you would not do as your prince told you. Usually, Legolas would have very little use of his privileges as prince, but to have you where he wanted you he was willing to make an exception. When eventually you had settled so close to him you could feel his warmth seeping from his body to yours, the prince let you play the role of the alerted guard while he focused on the stars. It wasn’t a grand success speaking to them tonight, they refused a single world to the immortal prince and veiled even further the moment he tried to read in their constellations. It was as if they wanted him to not be able to fulfil his task just so he had to talk to you to pass the time and then come back another night. That’s exactly what he did. Who was he to deny astral beings? Certainly not someone enough. ‘Is the breeze not chilly, this night?‘ he asks, and you do not want to disoblige him upon so small a matter. You nod once. The movement of your head is not finished before you feel the moonlit silhouette next to you shift swiftly and a weight upon your shoulders. It is warm and it encompasses your back, falls in the hole between your crossed legs in front. Legolas’s cloak feels different than yours: more luxurious and elegant, more heavy because of the expensive fabric, too big for you since he towers even as you sit down next to each other. But more than all that, it smells like him. It’s a rich scent of grass and wet dirt like the smell of the forest after the rain, like humidity leaking down the walls of a rock shelter. You are still on your guards but with a little patience the prince manages to distract you into a proper conversation with him. You don’t even register Legolas is doing all but star-reading, or pick up on the fact that the sky has been veiled since morning and that everyone could have known it was no weather for stargazing.
Where the latest folly of the king is making his son guard the cellar, though he made sure to provide him with good company.
—Legolas had been assigned many tasks as a prince, and of many natures. It was often diplomatic stays in a far away kingdom, or taking care of commercial notes and bonds, but it could be lesser things. It was not surprising to hear he was part of a party clearing the woods, or appointed to train recruits when his schedule permitted it. Still, this was exceptional. Spectacular even. To guard the cellar like a trainee? Never his Adar had done anything of the sort to him. He was a prince after all, was it even proper to schedule him to such an insignificant thing? Doubtful. And Legolas did not miss his cue to brood. But brooding didn’t work much magic with Thranduil. When he was a child, it was his father who spoiled the little prince rotten, and his mother who scolded him for it. But the lively little blond boy grew up and his mother passed away, and so his father became more guarded in his affection. So guarded his son would mistake it for mere luck. It was no luck he was once again scheduled to the same task as you were. Upon seeing you already looking like you would prefer to be anywhere but here, the prince felt his mood cheer instantly. He offered you a smile, which lit fireworks in your belly as it always did, and now you felt like cellar duty was a blessing. You had a hard time believing it when Legolas told you he was assigned here with you. Frankly, you even suspected he had done it on purpose, yet he assured you it was not the case. And just like that, the day passed at an excruciatingly fast speed. You felt you had not been able to talk for more than an hour when another pair of guards came to take your shift. Needless to say word would soon start to spread about the idea of your romance with the prince, for the two elves stepped in on a most intimate scene, they felt; and young elves especially loved gossips. You were sat down on a table in the cellar, laughing sincerely at something the prince had said, and Legolas was leaning with one hand braced on the edge of the table, grazing yours right next. He was smiling too, and his cheeks were slightly flushed. The atmosphere in the room was so warm that it was hard for your colleagues not to believe they had interrupted on something touching upon the realm of romance. In fact, you too were starting to wonder if your familiarity with the prince was not morphing into something else. He was definitely too close for elvish customs, and his shoulders had lost the light tension you noticed was always lingering there. Unfortunately, you could not indulge in having him to yourself any more; your shift was over and he probably had many princely duties to go back to.
Where you start to despair over your feelings for the prince in your room and exactly this moment there is a knock on your door and a blushing Legolas on the threshold.
—He almost trips over his own words when asking you out, something very unlikely for an elf so composed as him. Still, he feels like the utmost fool of this realm though he is only addressing a girl he likes; you strip him from his confidence. ‘I saw you once, fell in love with you because you hushed the tumult in my mind, and you have been haunting me ever since. It cannot be a coincidence you are always where my mind expects to find nothing, like the universe means prove me wrong. I believe the stars crossed our path, it cannot be any other way,‘ he pants at your doorstep, like a madman who has been restraining himself too long. Legolas is right, it is not a coincidence you always gravitate near each other, but maybe the stars are not the only ones worth giving credit to. This, he will never know.
Where Thranduil sleeps better at night, feeling he spoiled his little boy one last time.
Where Legolas sleeps better too with you in his arms, his lips pressed all night in the bridge between your shoulder and neck.
Something of an Arsehole, Sire [Legolas/Fem!Reader]
A.N: I’m back from yet another hiatus with a fic that was supposed to be short…clearly, drabbles just don’t happen with me. I got carried away. My bad. Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Request: N/A
Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader
Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is assigned to be one of Legolas’ sentries during negotiations with another elvish kingdom. During this, they discover many secrets about others and themselves.
Disclaimer: I don't own rights to LOTR. I’m just a girl with an obsession. The lore of Forodwaith was expanded and build upon—not entirely canon.
Word Count: 10k (yes, I have a problem, I know)
Warnings: angst, fluff, political schemes, cuddles, awkwardness
MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD
(Y/N), a member of the Greenwood Guard, stood firm and motionless against the cold stone wall of the council chamber as a heated trade meeting unfolded before her. Midday, winter light filtered through tall windows, mingling with the warm glow of candles scattered throughout the room. Maps and tapestries depicting Greenwood’s history and triumphs in battle adorned the walls, lending the chamber an air of solemn pride—likely intentionally selected, given the company.
King Thranduil was in the midst of negotiating a trading contract with a smaller Elvish kingdom near the Forodwaith. The emissaries hailed from a relatively obscure realm beyond those northern lines, called Nimvael, often referred to as ‘The Pale Vale,’ for it had begun to fade into subtle desolation as its resources ran dry with cold. It’s a kingdom that time and progress had seemingly left behind as Rivendell, Lothlórien, and Greenwood rose to prominence. The elves of Nimvael were outliers, if one were inclined to be polite; yet still, they were pretentious and insistent upon respect, perhaps even more so than their larger counterparts.
Their king, Lord Falivirn, sat at the long rectangular table alongside his representatives. He was facing King Thranduil, Prince Legolas, and several advisors of the Woodland Realm. Sharp, coarse voices filled the chamber as negotiations dragged on—altogether rather dull, if you asked (Y/N). Of course, no one had asked her. It was not her place to weigh in on matters of trade or diplomacy.
Her duty today was far simpler: she was one of two sentries assigned to Prince Legolas, tasked with remaining at his side like sap clinging to a wounded pine. In recent weeks, veiled threats against the Greenwood royal line had reached Thranduil’s ears, prompting the king to order constant protection for his son. It was not known if these threats came from Lord Falivirn and his men, but the Woodland King was not willing to take any chances—especially while the northerners were staying in his halls. (Y/N) had been chosen for the next rotation, and today marked her first day in the role.
The negotiations dragged on for hours, forcing (Y/N) to expend every bit of energy maintaining focus on the subtle movements of each individual and tracking anything directed toward Prince Legolas. It was not entirely difficult; she had been trained as a warrior since she was a young ellethling, and her charge was, by her own admission, easy on the eyes. Yet still, when the conversation wrapped up, at least for this meeting, (Y/N) felt a distinct sense of relief, for her eyes were burning from staring at the same surroundings for so long.
She and the other sentry, Ruthion, moved to Legolas’ side as he stood. They followed him through the vast doors, finally exiting the chamber. (Y/N) inhaled subtly, taking in the fresh air from the hall and letting her form adjust to the regular bustling of the Greenwood. Maids and servants moved quickly, weaving in and out of each other’s ways as they went upon their daily tasks, giving the Prince nods of respect as he passed by them.
Ruthion and (Y/N) continued trailing Legolas through the stone walls, and when the congestion of people lightened, Legolas spoke—the pace of his steps steady. “Ruthion, you have been by my side for the past couple of weeks. What is your opinion of Lord Falivirn?”
The sentry cleared his throat before speaking, his tone firm and stern. “He is a strong leader and a worthy ruler with whom your father may form a treaty. I believe he will bring prosperity to our kingdom through the trade of coal and other minerals that the Forodwaith holds.”
Legolas glanced over his shoulder, just for a moment, at the new elleth, before facing forward and addressing her. “And you? What are your thoughts on Lord Falivirn.”
(Y/N)’s expression held no emotion as she replied, “I believe him to be something of an arsehole, sire.”
Legolas turned his head to look at her again, his brows lifting as the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
This seemed to cause her to realize the reality of the words she had just spoken, clearly not thinking of the company she held, for her lips parted and her eyes widened.
He, however, just faced forward once more, the smirk softened into a subtle grin, not that she could see. “And your name?”
“(Y/N),” she answered with a nervous swallow.
“Your candor is noted, (Y/N). Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he replied, his tone steady despite that faint curl lingering upon his lips.
….
As the weeks passed, (Y/N) continued her role as one of the Prince’s sentries, occasionally taking on extra shifts of routine guard duty, such as watching the throne room or guarding the entryway—dispite the exhaustion the additional work caused. This evening, she was assigned the night watch over Legolas, a duty typically reserved for a single guard outside his door.
As she and Legolas approached his chambers, their arms full with scrolls, maps, and books that he had selected from the archive, he said, “Come in and place them on the table there. I wish to review them before I rest.”
(Y/N) did as he asked, setting the scrolls and maps down before moving to stand against the wall near the closed chamber door. She would remain there, silent and watchful, until the Prince dismissed her to the hall and retired for the night.
Legolas sat at the table and began to sort through the various parchments. His blue eyes briefly drifted up towards the elleth on duty. “(Y/N), you need not be so formal with me.” He nodded to the chair beside him, “Sit. Help me with these.”
Hesitantly, the sentry obeyed, a hint of nervousness in her step. She pulled the chair out beside him and began sifting through the materials. “And what shall I be looking for, My Lord?”
“(Y/N), what did I say about formality?”
She frowned, “To not be so, Sire.”
He raised his brows at her as she referred to him with a title.
She blinked before correcting herself with uncertainty. “...Legolas.”
Seemingly satisfied, he continued their previous conversation. “Look for anything concerning the lands of the Forodwaith. I have a feeling there is more to Nimvael’s pursuit of this alliance, and I question Falivirn’s motives.”
(Y/N) frowned again, “You feel as if Nimvael will not uphold their end of the bargain?”
He shook his head, “I feel as if there is more to the bargain that we do not know of.”
With that, the two elves bent over the piles of scrolls and maps before them.
….
The following morning, (Y/N) stood as still as a forest deer, blending into her surroundings. Stationed outside the throne room doors, she tracked every passerby, taking careful mental note of those requesting an audience with the king. Even so, she could not deny the weariness clinging to her mind like a heavy fog, making the task more difficult than it should have been.
She had been awake all night, poring over texts with the Prince until he finally bid her farewell, and she took up her post outside his chamber. Working today, her designated day off, would only deepen her exhaustion, especially now that she was regularly assigned as one of Legolas’ sentries. Yet, she needed the extra coin. They needed the extra coin.
And so she stood, fatigue settled deep in her bones, for those she cared for.
As she held her current post, Legolas approached, two sentries trailing in his wake—as expected. She watched him advance toward the towering doors, determination and authority evident in every step. His expression was stoic and assured—each movement measured, as though he was sure of every motion. Oh, how (Y/N) wished she possessed even a fraction of that certainty herself. With things as complicated as they were in her life, she felt as if every decision was the wrong one. Just once, she wished it could be simple, easy.
That is when Legolas’ expression shifted, ever so slightly. It was not any movement of his face, but rather his eyes. They focused on her and instantly became clouded with subtle confusion. It was as though he questioned her presence before the throne room doors, and little did she know that very thought was indeed the one claiming the corners of his mind.
Legolas knew he let his gaze linger on (Y/N) just a moment too long as she pulled open the door to the throne room for him. She had been stationed outside his chambers all night—she was not meant to be on duty today. The Greenwood Guard’s schedules were fair, carefully balanced to ensure no one was overworked, and yet he could see it: the subtle weight of exhaustion in her bearing.
Yet, before his thoughts could follow that line of questioning any further, his father’s voice echoed across the stone hall. “Ah, Legolas, what is it?”
Legolas met his father’s gaze, the blue of Thranduil’s eyes not so different from his own. “Do you have a moment of privacy, Ada (father)?”
Thranduil lifted his eyes from the scroll in his hand and studied his son. A brief, unspoken exchange passed between them before the King inclined his head and gestured to the guards, dismissing them from the room.
When the heavy doors closed once more, the soft thud of wood against stone carried an air of unease. Thranduil rose from his adorned throne and approached Legolas, concern threading his voice. “We did not lose another on patrol, did we?”
Legolas shook his head. “No, Ada (father). This concerns Lord Falivirn.”
The King’s brows lifted in question.
“I cannot say why, but something about him, and this treaty, troubles me. I fear there may be ulterior motives at play.”
Thranduil exhaled, his tone tinged with mild dismissal. “There are always ulterior motives in negotiations, Legolas.”
“The guards believe him to be an arsehole.”
The King snorted at the vulgar language before replying. “All of the guards?”
Legolas shifted his weight. “Well… no. Just one.”
Thranduil’s brows remained raised as he spoke. “Just one? A single guard with an uncourtly tongue?” He paused. “And why should this concern me? Is he a sector leader? Second in command of the greater host? Aredhel, perhaps—or Belthon?”
“One of my sentries. (Y/N).”
“Legolas, the thoughts of one female sentry hardly warrant reconsideration of my stance in matters of diplomacy—”
The Prince cut him off. “I am inclined to agree with her, Ada (father).” He hesitated, then continued, “I do not trust the people of Nimvael. My instincts tell me something is amiss.”
The King inhaled deeply before shaking his head, yielding to his son’s unspoken request. “You are free to examine it, if you must. Only do so with discretion, and do not disturb the course of the negotiations.”
“Yes, Ada (father),” Legolas stated, bowing his head.
…..
By day, the treaty negotiations dragged on. They were heated and tense, swinging between sharp disagreement and brief hard-won decisions, only to tumble back into argument again. And night after night, whenever (Y/N) was assigned to watch over the Prince, the two of them returned to their quiet ritual, heads bent over literature, studying the history of Forodwaith in a deep, focused silence.
It was one of those nights, with the moon high in the sky and the stars shimmering in its light, when (Y/N) came across something peculiar. Her soft voice broke the quiet, “I’ve found something, though I’m not quite sure what it means.”
Legolas set aside the scroll he had been poring over and leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against hers as he examined the ancient text. If anyone asked him, he would deny that that touch of skin was anything but accidental. Luckily for him, no one was asking.
(Y/N) swallowed, feeling the heat of his presence, but of course said nothing of it. “Here,” she murmured, tracing a passage with her finger. “The author warns against the depths of Forodwaith, near The Pale Vale. Nothing more than mentions of the First Age. I do not know what it signifies.”
His warm breath whispered against her neck as he spoke again. “Strange…Keep looking into it. I am rather curious.”
As the night continued, the candles dwindled, and (Y/N)’s eyes began to get heavy. She held her chin up with her hand as she continued to scan the passages; but, before long, the Sindarin and Quenya words of Greenwood’s great scholars began to blur together, slipping past her comprehension as fatigue settled over her mind. She didn’t notice as her head got lower and lower to the table. And, soon enough, she slipped into the land of dreams.
Before long, Legolas’s gaze drifted to the sentry at his side. Her head rested on her bent arm atop the table, her weary face turned toward him, and a page from the book pressed against her cheek. Her eyes were closed, lips parting just barely, and her breathing flowed in a calm, even rhythm. The light from the dimming candles reflected on her skin, accentuating the natural curves of her face and jaw. She looked so peaceful, yet so worn down.
“(Y/N),” he said, softly. Yet, she did not stir.
Legolas sighed as he reached towards her, wiping a loose strand of hair from her face. In a subtle murmur, he spoke, moreso to himself than to her. “What happens to the time when you are supposed to be resting, my tired sentry?”
With that, he rose from his chair, careful not to disturb the quiet of the room. He approached his bed and drew back the covers before turning his attention back to (Y/N).
Gently, he gathered her into his arms, her legs draped lightly over his forearm, her head resting against his chest. She did not move, not even a murmur. Her breathing was soft and steady—she was fast asleep, completely unaware of his careful embrace.
With quiet reverence, he laid her gently upon the mattress. He eased the sword and weapons belt from her waist, placing them with care on the bedside table, then he slid her boots off and set them neatly on the floor. Drawing the comforter and sheets around her, he wrapped her in a soft, protective cocoon. With this motion, a quiet, unconscious breath escaped her lips, and she sank further into the warmth and safety of his bed—utterly unaware of the careful devotion that surrounded her.
A soft smile lingered on Legolas’ lips as he looked down at her. He then moved to an armchair in the corner of the room, settling into it comfortably. His gaze fell on the woman in his bed, and he could not suppress the prideful smirk tugging at his lips. He could not explain it, but something about seeing her resting there filled him with a quiet, cheeky pride. And, with that, he let his eyelids close as he too drifted into slumber.
….
The first rays of the morning sun had begun to spill over Greenwood’s lands the next day, and Legolas rose quickly from the armchair to attend to his morning routine, occasionally glancing at the sentry sound asleep among his sheets.
When he was ready to begin his day, he walked toward the bedside, a soft, playful energy in his movements. He paused a few feet away, watching (Y/N) sleep with quiet amusement and something like fond admiration in his gaze.
Loudly, he cleared his throat.
Immediately, (Y/N)’s eyes flew open, landing on his face. It took only a moment for her to recognize him, and she scrambled from the sheets, but her escape was anything but graceful. She fumbled in the tangled bedding and tumbled onto the stone floor with a loud thud.
Her eyes focused on his sturdy leather shoes. “M—my lord! What—what are you doing in my chambers? Am I…am I late? I—I swear, it won’t happen again—”
He cleared his throat, again, amused.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and the reality of her surroundings finally registered. “This…this is not my room,” she stammered. “This is your room.”
He clenched his jaw; however, the corners of his mouth betrayed a faint, restrained grin. “I have many tasks to attend to today. We must make haste.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she stammered, not picking up on his humor. She sprang to her feet and fumbled with her boots and weapons as she trailed him toward the wooden door. “I—I, um…could we…perhaps stop by my chambers for a moment? I–I’d like to make myself a bit more presentable instead of wearing…you know…yesterday’s clothing, Sire.”
He inclined his head, a hint of amusement still present in his eyes. “So long as you are swift about it.” With that, he turned the doorknob and departed, still grinning, while she hurried after him, cheeks warm and heart racing.
Luckily for her, it was still early, and the halls lay quiet, ensuring that no one was there to witness her rather unkempt appearance as she followed the Prince. Oh Valar, if anyone had seen her like this—with him—what scandalous thoughts might they entertain?!
As they entered (Y/N)’s room, she quickly pulled fresh clothing from her closet and drawers. She was rather surprised that the Prince had followed her inside, but she chose not to comment on it. Making her way to the adjoining bathing chamber, she spoke to Legolas, who was quietly examining her room, clearly trying to get a deeper sense of who she was outside of her role as a sentry.
“Feel free to sit. I’ll only be a moment.”
He only nodded as she disappeared behind the closed door.
Legolas continued to let his vision wander over the room, taking in the vast forest tapestry on the wall, the various notebooks strewn about, and the burnt-down candles that were in desperate need of replacement. Finally, his gaze fell upon the small table and chairs beside him. A pile of unopened letters lay on the smooth surface. He frowned as his eyes settled on the pale blue envelope on top. The writing was in the common tongue, and the address to (Y/N) was drawn out and scrawled, slightly crude but legible—a style uncommon in Greenwood. Curiosity begged him to reach for it, but before temptation could claim him, the door to the bathing chamber creaked open. (Y/N) emerged, dressed and refreshed, sleep gone from her eyes, and her hair neatly arranged.
“So,” she said brightly, “Where to first?”
“The Sentinel’s Hall. I have some paperwork I must review for the patrols,” he lied.
She nodded in reply, and the pair exited her room, making their way through the halls. As they neared their destination, Ruthion joined them, falling in step with (Y/N) behind Legolas.
“My apologies, my lord,” he stated. “You were not in your chambers when I arrived this morning, and it took me some time to find you.”
Legolas did not turn. “I woke early,” he replied simply.
Ruthion shot (Y/N) a brief glare, clearly annoyed that she had beaten him to their station for the day and avoided the embarrassment of being late. Little did he know of the embarrassment (Y/N) had just endured.
As they arrived at Sentinel’s Hall, (Y/N) and Ruthion took position just inside the doors, and Legolas approached the main podium.
“Bring me the records of recent patrols, guard schedules, and all recent guard requests, going back a month, both approved and denied, as well as any new ones, please,” Legolas commanded to the archivist.
The archivist nodded, gathered the material requested, and placed it in front of Legolas. The Prince began leafing through the rather large pile of papers, searching for one name, and one name only: (Y/N).
It did not take long for him to find her file, crudely clipped together. Four duty requests for additional hours of basic door duty lay at the top, each stamped with a large, scrawled “Approved,” while three additional requests for extra shifts remained unmarked, waiting for approval. Legolas’ eyes lingered on them for a moment before glancing up at the woman herself. Her eyes were trained on the exits of the Sentinel’s Hall, examining intently for any threat, clearly unaware of Legolas’ subtle observation.
What drove her to take on so much additional duty when she clearly was exhausted?
The Prince turned back to the documents before him, flipping to the final sheet in her requests. It was a request for a full week off next month—unmarked, awaiting approval.
Legolas looked up at her once again, a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement weaving through his body.
He turned back to the vast pile of papers, paging through the various patrol rosters with deliberate care, masking his true focus on (Y/N)’s assignments behind the pretense of routine work. His eyes drifted over the other names, but his thoughts remained fixed on her.
…..
That evening, (Y/N) took her place in the Greenwood dining hall, which brimmed with the liveliness of the castle’s residents—guards, servants, maids, wards, and the visiting representatives from Nimvael. The hall stretched long and lofty, its vaulted ceiling upheld by carved pillars that seemed to reach for the sky itself. Moonlight spilled softly through the tall, arched windows, bathing the floor and the long tables in a warm glow. Banners of emerald and silver, embroidered with the sigils of Greenwood, swayed faintly in the whispering draft. At the far end, the high table rose upon a raised platform, where the King, the Prince, their advisors, and distinguished guests—Lord Falivirn among them—were already seated. Their presence was both commanding and graceful, drawing the eye even amid the hum of attendants and sentries moving through the hall like a river.
(Y/N) was dining with some of her closest friends, Nessa, Anari, and Faelwyn.
“And you, (Y/N),” Nessa began, a dark-haired elleth with skin the rich hue of polished mahogany, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “How fares life as the Prince’s sentry? I still cannot believe you were given that posting.”
(Y/N)’s cheeks warmed at once, the memories of the morning flashing far too vividly in her mind. “It was uneventful,” she said, far too quickly.
Anari’s green eyes narrowed, sharp and knowing. “Then why are your cheeks the color of winter berries?”
(Y/N) groaned, dropping her head briefly into her hands. “It truly was nothing.”
Anari leaned closer, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she wiggled her brows. “Did things grow warm between you and the Prince?” she teased.
“No! Absolutely not,” (Y/N) blurted, her voice rising before she caught herself. She glanced about the hall, ensuring no curious ears lingered nearby, then leaned in and lowered her voice. “I just, well, I might have woken up in his bed.”
Faelwyn sputtered, nearly choking as she spat her red wine back into her cup, the ends of her long golden hair catching a splash. “You what?!” she exclaimed.
“Shhh!” (Y/N) hissed, glancing about the hall once again. “I—I do not quite know how it happened.”
At this point, all the women were leaning in.
“What do you mean you do not know how it happened?” Nessa pressed, eyes wide. “Did you—”
“No!” (Y/N) cut in quickly. “He had me assisting with research concerning the treaty. I suppose I fell asleep at the table in his chambers, and when morning came, I woke to find him standing over me… while I was tucked into his bed.”
Anari’s voice dropped to a whisper, sharp with curiosity. “Did he sleep beside you?”
“Well—no. At least, I do not think so,” (Y/N) said, her voice faltering. “That side of the bed was still made—”
Faelwyn leaned in even closer, her eyes shining with wicked delight as she interrupted, “(Y/N), you do realize what that means, don’t you? He carried you. He picked you up and placed you in his bed.”
(Y/N)’s face burned. “That does not mean anything,” she whispered fiercely. “He was only being…kind.”
“Kind?” Anari echoed, one brow arching. “Most princes do not carry their sentries to bed.”
The sentry groaned. “I really believe you are over exaggerating the meaning behind this.”
Nessa then spoke, “Well, then tell me, did he look displeased the following morning?”
All eyes focused on (Y/N). “…no,” she admitted, hesitantly.
The three women exchanged knowing looks.
“What?!” (Y/N) hissed. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
Anari leaned back, grinning, folding her arms. “Then I fear it is already too late for you.”
“Too late?” (Y/N) questioned.
Faelwyn raised her cup in a silent toast, her eyes shimmering with glee. “Congratulations, my dear. You have been noticed.”
(Y/N) snorted, “I am not toasting to that.”
A sudden voice, low and unmistakably confident, spoke from behind her. “You're not toasting to what?”
The blood drained from (Y/N)’s face, leaving her cold all at once. Her eyes snapped to Faelwyn and Nessa across the table, both frozen mid-breath; while, beside her, Anari’s body went taut—every trace of mischief vanishing in an instant.
Prince Legolas.
(Y/N) turned her head slowly, silently praying to the valar that he had not overheard their conversation. “My lord,” she began carefully, “Is there a reason for your presence here?” She gestured toward the high table. “Shouldn’t you be seated there?”
“(Y/N),” he said mildly, “must you still insist on the formality?”
“Right, my apologies,” she hesitated, “…Legolas.”
He placed a hand upon her shoulder, and her stomach dropped at the contact.
“May I have a moment to speak with you in the hall?” he asked quietly.
She nodded at once. “Yes, of course.” She rose from the dining table and followed him, casting one last brief glance back at her friends—who, of course, were sending her unabashedly mischievous looks.
The heavy wooden doors closed behind them, and the chill of the hall rushed in, the sudden silence striking her to the bone. Anxiety continued to bubble in the sentry’s veins, claiming all of her attention. “May I ask what this is about?
Legolas lowered his voice. “Before dinner, after you were dismissed from your shift, I continued research into the Forodwaith—and I believe I uncovered something of importance. In the First Age, Forodwaith was a place where Morgoth claimed many of his servants, corrupting them.”
“Yes, this is known,” (Y/N) replied.
Legolas shook his head, indicating there was more. “I believe Nimvael was where he dwelt before claiming Mordor—where he first experimented upon Elves. The texts speak of a curse upon all who dared to dwell there, a binding evil of corruption and manipulation. It is as if the shadows of his experiments still linger.”
(Y/N) swallowed dryly. “Do you think this curse is real?”
Legolas exhaled slowly. “I do not know.”
…..
As the final treaty meeting dragged on a month later, the signings at last began. Legolas’s gaze drifted to his sentry, curious as to her thoughts on this concluding act, given their shared wariness of Nimvael. She stood motionless at her post by the door, yet upon closer inspection, that stillness was not born of discipline. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her lids fluttered, wavering between wakefulness and sleep. She was on the brink of exhaustion, weighed down by utter fatigue.
Immediately, unease settled deep in Legolas’s chest. Still, she got no rest. Whatever compelled her to forgo sleep and take on extra hours had clearly gone too far.
After the final signature was etched onto the page, Legolas stood, along with every other representative in the room. Celebratory words were exchanged among them all, yet Legolas did not revel in it. Instead, he moved towards his two sentries. As he passed by (Y/N), he subtly reached for her wrist. As he found the warmth of her skin in his own, he gave it a firm squeeze in an effort to wake her without anyone noticing she had not been fully conscious. And, it appeared to have worked, for her eyes flung open, meeting Legolas’ for just a moment. No words needed to be spoken, (Y/N) just followed him and Ruthion through the vast doors.
The day seemed to drag endlessly, much to (Y/N)’s displeasure; however, the moment the moon rose in the sky and the Prince dismissed both her and Ruthion, she headed straight for her chambers. There, she hurriedly packed a bag, stuffing it with spare clothing, her weapons, money, and whatever food she had managed to snatch from the kitchens over the past three days. She was quick to begin decorating her form with the Greenwood Guard armor and strap her various weapons to her body.
It was then that the sound of creaking wood struck her ears. Instantly, her head snapped in the direction of the door, only for her gaze to fall upon the blonde Prince.
Upon seeing her shocked expression, Legolas spoke softly, “It was not latched. I did not intend to frighten you.”
“Oh,” was her soft reply.
He stepped into the small room as he spoke again, “You're leaving.”
She did not dare look at him, focusing intently on strapping her weapons belt around her hips. “I will be back.”
“You asked for a week away,” he said. “After driving yourself past exhaustion. That concerns me.”
She frowned, briefly glancing up at him as she fumbled with the clasp. “How do you know of that, Sire?”
“You are one of my sentries, and I am the Prince. Of course, I know your schedule,” he said. “Besides, your fatigue has not escaped my attention.”
(Y/N) sighed, now working on fastening her vanbrace onto her forearm. “If you must know, I’m traveling to the market to pick up some silks for Nessa.”
Legolas lifted a brow. “Strange. Earlier, I overheard you telling her that you were scouting for rare herbs—under my orders.”
A soft curse slipped from (Y/N)’s lips as her fingers fumbled with the leather. Legolas could not tell whether the language was prompted by being caught in a lie or by the stubborn strap itself.
He stepped closer, gently taking the fastening from her hands and began securing it for her. “With armor like this,” he started quietly, “you would be traveling through the forest, where it has been struck by sickness. So tell me, what is the true reason for your leave?”
Her heart raced as she glanced up at him, aware of the warmth of his breath against her face. She forced her expression into practiced neutrality. “My business is my own.”
“(Y/N),” Legolas murmured, lifting her chin with his fingers, forcing her gaze upon his own. “Are you in trouble?”
She pulled away from him, averting her eyes. “No, of course not, my lord.”
“(Y/N),” he repeated, barely above a whisper.
She brushed past him, seizing her bag from where it rested upon the bed. “I have to go,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry.”
With that, she slipped from the room, leaving him alone amid the quiet shadows of unsurness and defeat.
….
It was just before midnight, the following day, when (Y/N) dismounted her steed in the quiet village of Ealdor. Through the gentle fall of snow, her eyes focused on the stone house on the far eastern end of the settlement, the one that she knew well. Twas simple in structure, yet it exuded a warm, inviting air. The thatched roof lent the home a snug, comforting atmosphere—one of homeliness and hospitality. A lantern glowed in the window, welcoming her arrival, and the gentle scent of chamomile tea drifted on the night air, promising the comfort she knew was there.
She approached rather quickly, eager with excitement, and tied the reins of her steed to the wooden fence post. As she raised her fist to the door, it not yet making contact, it flung open. There stood an old woman with silvery-white hair and a comforting grin upon her face.
“Elsbeth!” (Y/N) exclaimed.
“Oh, sweet, sweet (Y/N)! Come, hug your old niece! It has been far too long.”
(Y/N) wasted no time wrapping Elsbeth in her arms. “Oh, how I have missed you dearly.”
Elsbeth laughed softly. “Come, come, I have a cup of hot tea waiting for you. Aeliana and the children are asleep—let’s not wake them.”
(Y/N) and Elsbeth sat at the kitchen table, sipping the hot tea, letting its warmth chase away the chill of the winter air. They whiled away the hour in quiet conversation, speaking of the days that had passed, of small joys and burdens alike, and letting their words drift back to memories from their family line.
However, the gentle atmosphere, a hidden moment in time, was interrupted. (Y/N) turned her head as a frown crossed her face.
“What is it?” Elsbeth asked, concern sharpening her tone. “What do you hear?”
The sentry’s eyes drifted to the window, the curtains drawn, blocking her view. “Hooves. Someone is entering the village.”
Elsbeth stood, making her way to the window. “At this hour—besides you?” She pulled the curtain back, just enough to peer outside, before turning to the elleth. “It’s an elf. One of your people, I presume.”
(Y/N)’s frown deepened as she too stood. “I was followed?” She moved to the window and glanced out into the moonlight. And there he was—Prince Legolas, upon his steed and decorated in armor and weaponry.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, and a curse slipped from her lips.
Elsbeth arched a brow, a knowing note entering her voice. “I take it you know this fellow, then—hmm?”
She only nodded in reply, watching as he dismounted and tied his steed to the post beside her own, giving her horse a gentle pat as he did so. He then made his way towards the door, and a soft, gentle knock sounded.
The old woman was quick to make her way to the door, muttering softly, “Well, seeing as he is already here…”
“Wait—“ (Y/N) protested, but it was too late.
Elsbeth pulled the door open, and before she could greet the elf upon the threshold, (Y/N) appeared at her side.
“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) demanded, her tone sharp.
The Prince’s gaze softened the moment he saw her, snowflakes clinging to the pale crown of his hair. “I was concerned about you.”
“Legolas,” she hissed, casting a quick glance toward the neighboring houses, suddenly aware of how easily the village might stir. She seized his muscled bicep and pulled him inside, Elsbeth closing the door behind them. “I told you there was no need to worry and that my business is my own.”
“You were traveling through the sick forest at night. The spiders tend to stir when they are disturbed by sound,” he replied.
“I know,” she said curtly. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know that you can.” Legolas answered evenly, “I saw the trail of corpses you left behind as I tracked you.”
“You followed me?!”
“You lied to me,” he rebutted.
“I am entitled to the privacy of my own affairs—“
Elsbeth interrupted, her tone brisk but amused. “Are the two of you going to continue to bicker in my home or, (Y/N), are you going to introduce me to this fine fellow?”
The sentry huffed, then drew a steadying breath. “Elsbeth, this is Legolas. He is—“
“I serve in the Greenwood Guard alongside (Y/N),” the Prince interjected.
The sentry shot him a sharp look, displeased both by the interruption and by the half-truth he had offered in place of his full title. He tended not to like his titles, she had observed.
“It is my pleasure to meet you,” Legolas stated, placing his hand upon his heart and extending it towards the older woman.
“Humans do not greet one another like that,” (Y/N) interjected, leaning closer to murmur the correction. “They shake hands.”
“Ahh, right,” he replied, extending his hand again, this time with casual uncertainty.
“Nonsense,” Elsbeth fussed. “Any friend of (Y/N)’s is a friend of mine.” With that, she pulled Legolas into a warm embrace, much to his surprise, his armor clanking.
“Elsbeth!” (Y/N) chided, which of course was ignored.
“Now,” the older woman said as she released him, “Would you like a cup of hot tea? It is rather cold out there with that snow falling.
Legolas smiled warmly, “That would be lovely, Elsbeth. I would gladly accept.”
As the older woman disappeared into the kitchen, (Y/N) quickly drew Legolas aside. Lowering her voice, she hissed, “Sire—the Greenwood Guard isn’t going to descend on this place searching for you, are they?”
“Of course not,” he replied calmly.
She crossed her arms, jaw tightening. “You told your father, then?”
“Well, no. I left word with Ruthion.”
“This is serious. These people—these people could get hurt if your father learns you are here.”
“(Y/N),” he began gently, glancing toward the kitchen where Elsbeth moved about. “Who are these people?”
“I—“ she began, but her words were cut short.
Elsbeth’s voice rang out from the other room, sharp and amused. “Enough of your bickering, you two. You sound like my late husband and I. Come drink your tea while it’s still hot.”
Legolas and (Y/N) exchanged a look, silently agreeing to let the disagreement settle where it was…for now.
They moved towards the table, taking seats, as Elsbeth placed two hot cups in front of them.
“Now,” Elsbeth said, “It is late and I fear I need more rest than I used to. I shall take my leave.” She placed a hand upon Legolas' shoulder. “Stay the night, deary. It is too cold out there to travel.” She motioned to the sentry. “Don’t let her force you out either. I expect to see you here in the morning.”
He smiled warmly at her, “Thank you, ma’am.”
With that, Elsbeth retired for the night, leaving the two elves alone. They sat in uneasy silence, cradling their cups as though the warmth might soothe the tension lingering between them.
It felt like an age had passed before Legolas spoke again. “(Y/N), why are you here?”
She sighed, glancing at him once before letting her gaze settle on the pale gold of the tea in her mug. “That woman….Elsbeth. I was there when she was born. She is my niece.”
She looked up then, meeting his eyes. His expression held confusion and surprise, but no hint of judgment.
“My father,” she continued softly, her voice carrying the weight of centuries, “had an affair with a human woman. They had a child—my half-sister. She chose the life of humans, remained in this village, met a man, and fell in love. Together, they had Elsbeth. Elsbeth, in turn, had a daughter of her own, and now her grandchildren walk the earth, carrying only a trace of Elvish blood. That blood is thin now—longer lives than most humans, yes, but only by a decade or so. Soon, even that gift will fade from their line.” She paused, clearing her throat. “They are the only family I have left.”
The Prince's expression softened. “And the rest of your family?” he asked gently. “What became of them?”
Her eyes darkened slightly with memory. “My father and mother were taken from me not long after my half-sister was born. Orcs.” She swallowed. “Your father… well, Greenwood, took me in, and I was brought up among the guards, learning my place, learning duty, learning our culture. And though the years have been long, I have kept watch over what little family remains to me.”
Legolas exhaled slowly, nodding. “That is why you lied. That is why you have been requesting extra shifts. For them.”
“Yes,” she replied. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued. “They need the help. The harvest this year was poor, and raiders have been taking what little they have left. The least I can do is offer a bit of extra coin when I can.”
“Why didn’t you come to me for help?” he asked, with a tone full of genuine concern.
The sentry sighed, letting her eyes settle on him. “I couldn’t have. You—you are a Prince and I am just your sentry. Besides,” she added quietly, “I know how our people speak of unions with humans—of blood that thins with time. It is not kindness that follows such whispers. I could not risk harm coming to them because of me.”
“(Y/N),” he stated softly, gently placing his hand upon her arm. “Rank does not outweigh loyalty. I would never let harm come to your family.”
She stilled at his touch, the weight of centuries of discipline warring with something far more raw, before she replied. “Thank you.”
Silence entered the conversation, just for a moment, before the Prince’s voice rang out again—this time with a hint of humor. “Well, now that I have knowledge of the humanity in your family, at least I can properly understand why you try so hard to lean into formalities and regularly fail.”
Offended, (Y/N) gasped. “I do not regularly fail!”
He grinned. “The first time we spoke you used the term ‘arsehole’ to refer to an elvish lord.”
She snorted. “It was deserved.”
Legolas chuckled lightly in reply.
They spoke until the night thinned around them, Legolas having discarded his armor from his form—placing it next to (Y/N)’s—as he settled into the homeliness of the cottage. They conversed of patrols and careful research, of tales they had never told, and of family gone and those held dear. The tension between them did not fade, but it softened, settling into something unspoken yet steady. And when the first pale light of dawn crept through the drawn curtains, it found them still awake, cups long since gone cold, the world outside unchanged—yet something between them undeniably shifted.
The household slowly began to stir. First came Aeliana, then Elsbeth, then Aeliana’s husband, Samuel, and finally the children—each bounding about with barely contained excitement at the sight of (Y/N).
The seven-year-old, Murie, was the first to reach the table, chatter spilling from her lips as fast as her little feet could carry her.
“Aunt (Y/N)!” She exclaimed, flinging herself into the sentry’s arms.
(Y/N) laughed, quickly hoisting the child into her lap. Murie immediately continued her chatter while eating the berries off (Y/N)’s plate—berries clearly from the Greenwood kitchens.
It took nearly five minutes for Murie to notice the stranger sitting at the table. Her eyes went wide. “Who are you?” she asked, barely giving him a moment to respond. “(Y/N), who is he? Is he your—your betrothed?!”
“No—no,” (Y/N) stammered, her cheeks flushing as she shot a glance at Legolas, who raised his brows smugly. “This is Legolas. A…a friend.”
Murie turned to look at the elf. “How did you get your hair like that? Did you do those braids yourself, or did your mother do them for you?”
A low chuckle left Legolas' lips. He leaned forward slightly. “I did them myself, if you must know.”
“That’s cool!” Murie replied. “Have you ever had (Y/N) do your hair? She’s really good. She did mine last year and they lasted for a week!”
Legolas raised a brow. “I have not had that honor.”
“Murie!” Aeliana called out, a hint of embarrassment on her face as she noticed the flicker of discomfort across (Y/N)’s expression. “Enough pestering our guests. Go wake your sisters and your brother.”
With that, Murie darted off.
Aeliana came to collect the now-empty plates from the table. “I apologize, Sir Legolas. She does not know much of the elvish customs.”
Legolas shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No apology is necessary. I am rather glad to meet (Y/N)’s family.”
Aeliana smiled warmly.
“Miss Aeliana,” Legolas began again, lowering his voice slightly, “I hope I do not intrude, but (Y/N) mentioned you have had troubles with raiders.”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, yes, we have. A man named Falivirn has been coming to confiscate the town's harvest. It has been a great strain.”
“Pardon,” (Y/N) interjected. “Did you say Falivirn?”
“Yes,” Aeliana replied. “He comes every few months with his men, all clad in heavy armor, helmets drawn low, threatening our children if we do not give him what he demands. We are few and they are strong—we have no choice but to comply.” She looked down, and her voice became low and fearful. “If they stick to their regular schedule, they should be coming any day now.”
Instantly, the Prince and Sentry exchanged a look—Lord Falivirn of Nimvael.
However, before the conversation could continue, more small feet came skittering into the room, voices chanting, “Aunt (Y/N)!”
….
As the sun drew higher, the children went out to play in the snow, leaving the adults inside the cozy cottage. Legolas watched as his sentry interacted with her family. He saw the light breathed back into her—the joy, the peace, and the freedom of strict custom. Yet still, the dark circles under her eyes grew more prominent with every moment.
“(Y/N),” Legolas began softly. “When was the last time you slept?”
It was then that all eyes drifted to her face—examining her.
“Deary me,” Elsbeth stated. “By the gods, he’s right. You look terrible.”
“Mother!” Aeliana gawked at her words.
(Y/N) only laughed, shaking her head. “I suppose it has been a couple days…”
“That will not do,” the old woman replied. “Go rest by the fire. There are warm blankets over there. We will keep the children from waking you for some time.
The sentry glanced at Legolas, uncertain, but his stern expression left no room for argument. With a resigned sigh, she made her way to the flickering flames. A large fur rug lay spread before the hearth, and she tugged a nearby blanket from a chair, wrapping it around herself as she settled on her side, facing the fire. Her heavy eyes soon closed, and within moments, she was fast asleep.
Elsbeth busied herself with the household, sending Samuel to chop more wood for the fire and Aeliana to keep an eye on the carefree children. The older woman turned her attention to supper, gathering potatoes, carrots, and onions from baskets on the counter and beginning to prepare a meal.
“Elsbeth, may I be of some use to you?” he asked. “I fear I do not do well with idle time.”
“Well, I never turn down a helping hand.” She gestured to the vegetables. “Chop those for the stew while I prepare the rabbit hide.”
The Prince nodded, taking the knife in hand and beginning to follow her instructions. Even as he worked, his gaze continued to drift to the sleeping elleth, quietly ensuring she was safe and could obtain the rest she so desperately needed.
“Ahh,” Elsbeth stated, observing this. “That is a look I recognize all too well.”
Legolas turned his attention to her, slightly startled. “Pardon?”
“The way you look at her,” she replied casually while rubbing herbs upon the meat. “Tis’ the way Samuel looks at Aeliana and the way my husband had looked at me.”
The elf’s cheeks flushed slightly, “I–I fear I do not know of what you speak–”
She rolled her eyes. “I may be younger than you, dear elf, but I am not an idiot. By the gods—you followed her here!”
Legolas blinked at her unflinching directness, reminding him of that boldness (Y/N) carried on her tongue. His blue eyes flicked to the woman curled up in the soft furs, then back to the root vegetables he was slicing. He let out a slow, measured breath. “Is it that obvious?” he questioned, almost sheepishly.
Elsbeth chuckled, “I’m afraid so.”
Legolas’ hand paused mid-chop, the knife hovering over the root vegetables. “I…did not intend for it to be noticed by any,” he admitted quietly, his voice low.
She rolled her eyes with humor hinting in her tone. “You elven warrior types—always thinking your thoughts are as hidden as the stars at noon.” Her tone then shifted, falling back into a gentle, serious manner. “Intentions often matter little when hearts are involved, Sir Legolas. But worry not—she is cleverer than most, yet even cleverness does not mask what burns so plainly in your eyes…and hers.”
Legolas felt heat rise to his cheeks, and for a moment, the weight of the world—the coming battles, the brewing evils, the political schemes—seemed to slip away. His eyes moved toward the hearth once more, where (Y/N) slept, the soft rise and fall of her chest tugging at something deep inside him.
“Take care of her, boy,” Elsbeth said, her voice gentle. “She is more precious than you know. She’s watched over us all these years, and I do what I can to aid her—giving her some comfort in this lonely world. But, I will not be here forever.” She paused, meeting eyes with Legolas. ”Guard her well. Do not be afraid to let her see you, fully. That look in your eyes—it will not remain hidden forever, if a part of her doesn't already see it.”
“I will protect her with my life,” he replied, sternly and full of commitment.
….
The night had settled in the sky, like a dark blanket of wood. Moonlight reflected off the snow, casting a cool, lantern-like glow across the land. Peace filled the cottage as the stew, slow-simmered for hours, was ladled out and served to each of them. It was peaceful and comforting.
Legolas carried a bowl to (Y/N) and set it on the small side table near the hearth. He crouched beside her, resting a careful hand on her shoulder, and spoke her name softly, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles.
She blinked awake, eyes heavy with sleep.
“You must eat,” he murmured. “It will help restore your strength.”
She pushed herself upright, rolling her eyes faintly. “I am not ill. I have not lost my strength.”
He placed the bowl and spoon into her hands anyway. “Exhaustion can rob even the strongest of us,” he said gently. “And you are exhausted.”
She huffed but did not argue further, lifting a spoonful and savoring the warmth of the stew.
As the night deepened, so too did the stillness of the room; the group gathered close around the fire. The elves shared tales of their travels and their people—of high mountains and winding rivers, of the golden light of Lothlórien, the quiet grace of Rivendell, of the plains of Rohan, and the white stone of Gondor. The children listened with wide eyes and hushed breaths, brimming with awe and gratitude for every word.
Before long, the humans retired for the night, leaving the hearth to (Y/N) and Legolas. Blankets were laid out in abundance, and the fire burned low and warm—the coals brimming with a deep orange color. The pair remained seated beside one another, shoulder to shoulder, the blankets drawn loosely around them as the flames flickered on in comfortable silence.
“Legolas,” (Y/N) began. “What are we going to do about Lord Falivirn.”
The Prince shrugged. “Intimidate him, turn him away, send him running with his tail between his legs.”
The sentry frowned. “How? It’s just the two of us.”
“He does not yet know we are here,” Legolas replied evenly. “Nor will he expect resistance. I can threaten him with the Greenwood Guard—let him believe my father’s forces are already moving.”
“But the treaty—”
Legolas shook his head. “It is null and void. This village lies within my father’s lands. Falivirn has been pillaging Greenwood and threatening its people. By his own actions, he has broken it.”
“Even though they are human?” (Y/N) asked.
His gaze settled firmly on her. “Yes.”
She drew her knees to her chest, eye gaze focused on the fire before her. “I still do not fully understand. How did elves become this harsh? We are above this—above raiding and terrorizing human villages.”
Legolas sighed. “I believe it began with the poisoning of Forodwaith. If that was where Morgoth committed his greatest acts of desecration, then the corruption and the curse make sense. The land itself was twisted with poison and all who draw their lives from it suffer the stain.”
“I suppose that makes sense. It is rather unnerving to see how his power still funnels through the lands of Arda.”
Legolas turned his head towards her. “Shadow does not mean the absence of light,” he said softly.
Her eyes met his, and their faces were close—lips only inches away from each other. (Y/N) could feel his breath extending towards her own as if the air itself was begging her to come closer—to intertwine with her own.
(Y/N) abruptly pulled away, clearing her throat. “We–we should rest. We do not know when the kin of the Pale Vale may arrive.”
“Right, yes,” Legolas uttered, awkwardly.
The two then began pulling at the blankets, desperately trying to place a level of distance between them. They set up makeshift beds one right beside the other and lay down upon them, their backs turned to each other, yet their hearts pounding. The fire crackled softly behind them, embers shifting and sighing as though the hearth itself were unwilling to rest due to the elves’ tension. Still, the cottage settled into its nighttime sounds—the wind brushing against the walls, the distant creak of timber, the faint breath of those sleeping beyond the room.
Soon enough, (Y/N)’s breathing evened, slow and steady, and the tension in her shoulders eased as sleep finally took her. Legolas, however, lay rigid upon the furs. He was unable to get comfortable, finally resorting to lying on his back and studying the darkened wood of the rafters above. He could feel (Y/N)’s presence beside him. He could hear each soft exhale, and it unsettled him far more than any battlefield ever had, for it felt incomplete and alone.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to confirm what he already knew—that she slept facing away from him. Her form was curled inward as though she was guarding herself and begging for warmth.
The sight tugged at something deep within his chest. The very thing that had held his heart in a cage for months now—the careful restraint demanded of a prince. He had followed her here under the guise of duty, yet the truth lay bare in the quiet of stillness of his mind: duty had merely given his heart permission to act, and now he just needed to do that very thing—act.
Legolas was unsure how long he spent in the corners of his mind, debating and unsure, but long enough it seemed for (Y/N) to stir ever so slightly. A small sound escaped her lips, a deep breath and exhale. She then shifted—closer to him. Clearly, she was unaware that the space between them had narrowed to almost nothing.
The Prince froze.
She shifted again, this time turning onto her other side. However, due to their proximity, she rolled toward him—and straight into his side—her face settling into the crook of his neck. In her unconscious state, she inhaled deeply before snuggling in. Content.
He could not help himself—not now, not with her already there. Legolas drew his arms around her, careful and reverent. Though he knew he ought not to, he could not resist leaning closer and pressing a quiet, tender kiss to her forehead. He then allowed himself to savor that simple closeness—the quiet comfort of another body, of the one who had claimed his curiosity for oh so long.
…..
The two elves, still loosely entwined in sleep, were startled awake by a small hand shaking (Y/N) desperately.
“Aunt (Y/N)!” Murie cried, tears running down her cheeks.
(Y/N) sat upright at once, Legolas’ arms falling away from her body as she turned fully to the child. “Murie? What is it? What is wrong?”
Legolas rose as well, concern knitting in his brows as he watched the girl tremble.
“I know I shouldn’t have—I know I’m not supposed to,” Murie sobbed, her words tumbling over one another. “But I wanted to see the snow at sunrise.”
“Sweetheart, what do you mean?” (Y/N) questioned softly, rubbing Murie’s back.
“I–I went outside…in the forest a–and I saw them.”
“Who did you see, Murie?” Legolas asked, leaning forward, his chest pressing firmly against (Y/N)’s back.
“The raiders,” she whispered.
(Y/N)’s heart dropped hard in her chest, but she forced her expression to remain calm for the child’s sake. She cupped Murie’s face gently. “You did the right thing by telling us. Now go—wake your parents and your grandmother.”
She nodded and rushed off, tears still streaming down her face.
Without a word exchanged, both the Prince and the sentry sprang from the bedding and moved toward where their armor lay discarded from the night before. With practiced precision, muscle memory guiding each motion, they began to clad themselves in the finely worked metals of Greenwood. Breastplates were secured, pauldrons set into place, and vambraces tightened around forearms. Weapons were strapped on last, each familiar weight settling against their bodies.
As they prepared, the rest of (Y/N)’s family emerged, their faces etched with fear and unease at the news—and at the sight of the two warriors clad in gleaming battle gear.
“You all will stay back,” (Y/N) instructed firmly, “while we handle this.”
“Aunt (Y/N),” Aeliana said, concern lacing her voice, “I know you two are elves, but there are so many of them, and they are so strong.”
“We are their match,” Legolas replied steadily. “Falivirn and his men are elven, but corrupted by Morgoth’s curse. Their strength is twisted, not true.”
“I–I dont understand–” Aeliana began.
The sentry interrupted her. “You don’t need to understand. We will make sure you stay safe.”
The sound of hooves thundered through the village as the two elves moved swiftly from the cottage into the courtyard at its center, their boots sinking slightly into the snow but standing firm.
(Y/N) felt the village stir in panic—doors creaked open and villagers peered out, uncertain and frightened at the sight of two Greenwood elves standing ready to defend them. Her own family stood at the doorway of their home, eyes wide, their attention fixed entirely on her.
(Y/N) drew her bow, notching an arrow as the raiders halted at the sight of Greenwood’s warriors.
“Well, well,” Lord Falivirn said, removing his helmet to reveal pointed ears and a sharp, cruel face—one that spent the last couple of months in their halls. “What do we have here? Prince Legolas and one of his guards?”
Whispers rippled through the gathered townsfolk, hushed murmurs carrying from door to door. The sentry felt her stomach tighten—she knew her family had not missed the title spoken before Legolas’ name. Prince. There would be questions later…many of them.
Legolas remained perfectly still, his expression looked as if it was carved from ice. “One wrong move,” he said evenly, “and my so-called ‘guard’ will put an arrow straight between your eyes.”
Falivirn laughed, low and mocking, as he dismounted his steed and stood before them. “I doubt it would ever meet its mark.”
“She’s a good shot,” Legolas replied without hesitation, his voice calm but unyielding. “She does not miss.”
(Y/N)’s grip tightened on the bowstring, the tension building beneath her fingers. The arrow remained trained on Falivirn’s face, unwavering and steady. Around them, the village held its breath, caught between fear and the fragile hope that Greenwood now stood at their doorstep.
“There are only a few ways this ends, Falivirn,” Legolas began, his tone almost casual yet brimming with authority. “You and your men may choose to fight us, and you will lose several of them in the attempt. If I die here, the full weight of Greenwood’s army will descend upon you. If I live—” He tilted his head slightly. “—the full weight of Greenwood’s army will descend upon you all the same. Either way, your forces would be eradicated, and your stronghold in Nimvael reduced to ash.”
He paused, letting the threat settle into the cold air.
“Or,” Legolas continued, “You turn away now. You return to the Forodwaith and remain there in exile—no trade, no passage, no claim south of the border. Our treaty is null and void by your own violations. This village lies within Greenwood’s lands, and it is under our protection.”
A hush fell over the square, the only sound the faint creak of armor and the restless snort of horses.
Falivirn’s smile thinned. His gaze flicked to the arrow aimed squarely at his brow, then to the elves standing unyieldingly before him. “Bold words,” he scoffed. “For two.”
Legolas did not move. “You mistake boldness for certainty.”
(Y/N) then spoke, “You know who we are. You know what Greenwood will do if you test us.”
Falivirn’s eyes narrowed. He glanced behind him, to his men—raiders hardened by cruelty and fear, yet now shifting uneasily beneath the weight of an unseen army promising their demise. They had expected frightened villagers. Not a prince. Not Greenwood.
“So what will it be, Falivirn? Will you risk your people for a few extra bags of grain?”
Falivirn’s jaw clenched. For a moment, it seemed he might give the order anyway—out of spite and anger alone. But then his gaze returned to (Y/N) and to the arrow still trained unwaveringly on him, and something flickered in his eyes: self-doubt.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one hand. “Stand down,” he barked to his men.
A murmur rippled through the raiders, but another sharp gesture silenced them. Falivirn replaced his helmet, his movements stiff with restrained fury. “This is not finished,” he warned. “The Forodwaith does not forget. You may win this one, Prince. Yet this is not over. I will separate your head from your shoulders if we ever meet on the battlefield.”
Legolas smirked, “You are welcome to try, but I fear it would mean your end. I have been trained to kill since birth.”
The Lord of Nimvael glared at the Prince of the Woodland Realm. He then tugged on the reins of his steed and wheeled around. One by one, his men followed, hooves churning up snow as they retreated from the village—their reign of terror leaving with them.
Around them, the village stirred—whispers swelling into cautious relief. Doors opened wider. People stepped forward, eyes fixed on the two elves who had stood between them and ruin.
(Y/N) lowered her arrow, placing it back in her quiver, as she took a couple of steps forward, closer to Legolas.
“You were right,” Legolas said, his eyes still following the raiders as they retreated.
“Right about what?”
He turned to her, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “He is something of an arsehole.”
(Y/N) laughed aloud, the sound bright and freeing, like sunlight cutting through shadow. Seeing her like this, Legolas stepped closer. Now or never. He reached for her waist, drawing her flush against him, and pressed his lips to hers—letting their breath finally become one.
Cheers and clapping erupted from the villagers around them.
(Y/N) responded without hesitation, dropping her bow and letting her hands trace up his muscled biceps and slide around his neck until her fingers tangled in his hair.
From somewhere nearby, Murie’s small, excited voice rang out: “Mama! Does this mean we’re now Greenwood Royalty?”
Legolas and (Y/N) broke for just a moment, grinning into each other’s eyes before their laughter melted back into another tender kiss, letting their mouths move together once again in hope.
….
Taglist in the comments because there are too many of you <3
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: I just wanted to write some fluff!
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝑨𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒏 🗡️
・At first, he tilts his head, lips parting like he might question it. But then he sees your expression; calm, trusting, maybe a little playful, and something in him softens.
“I can try,” he says, voice rough around the edges, but warm.
“It’s been… a long time since I’ve braided anyone’s hair.”
・You sit together near the fire. His sword is laid beside him, boots still dusty from the road.
・And yet, he treats the moment like it deserves stillness. Like your request has pulled him out of time.
・His hands are calloused, weather-worn.
・You can feel him being careful not to tug too hard.
・He works in silence, brows furrowed in concentration.
・His fingers move slower than Legolas’, less sure than Faramir’s, but steadier than you’d expect.
・Every now and then, he huffs out a breath that sounds like a quiet laugh.
“You have too much hair for this to go unnoticed,” he murmurs.
“The braid will hold, but only just. It may rebel before the day is done.”
・But still, he continues.
・And when he finishes...it’s a bit uneven. Slightly lopsided with a few bits of hair hanging out.
・Yet it was done with love and effort and the kind of care no one taught him
・He rests a hand briefly at the base of your braid, like he’s grounding you. Or himself.
“There. You’re ready.”
・And when he sits back, he doesn’t say anything else.
・But throughout the day he watches you, making sure it holds, and if were to come loose, you can come back to him.
・He'll braid it again. Every time.
𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒔 🌙
・He blinks once, slow and surprised, then tilts his head, curious.
“It would be my honor,” he says, with the kind of sincerity that makes your chest tighten.
・Legolas doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t tease.
・He treats the request with deep, quiet admiration. Almost as if you've asked him to perform an ancient rite...which you kinda have.
・He steps behind you in complete silence.
・With featherlight, gentle hands (you hardly feel them at first), he works. And he does it quite quickly.
・You realise this isn't the first time he's braided hair before.
“Each braid has meaning,” he murmurs.
“Length. Type. Tension. In my realm, we braid for protection. For remembrance. For love.”
・You go still. He doesn’t elaborate.
・And then he sings.
・It's soft, in Elvish.
・And not one that you know. But it feels old. Comforting. Like wrapping your arms around a loved one you haven't seen in a while.
・When he finishes, he runs one finger gently along the braid’s edge
・And when you turn to look at him; eyes shining and heart full, he meets your gaze and adds, ever so softly:
“You should ask me again sometime.”
・Because this wasn’t just a braid.
・It was a memory.
・And he plans to make more of them with you.
𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒓 🛡️
・Oh how he melts.
“I’ve never been asked to do something like that...But I'll try.”
・He moves to sit behind you, shuffling so that his legs are around you.
・Boromir's hands are big, definitely too big for this, but he continues anyway.
・As he gathers your hair, gently brushing it out of your face and into his palm, he mutters:
“You’ll have to forgive me if it’s not Elvish-perfect,” he murmurs.
“We weren’t taught much about braids in the White Tower.”
・And then he grows quiet, thoughtful. This isn’t just a braid anymore. It’s a way to show you affection...a part of him enjoys it.
・Although he is trying to make it perfect.
・At the end, the braid is a little loose, a little uneven, but strong.
・Woven like a promise.
・He secures it with a small leather tie from his own belongings; nothing special, but something his.
“There. Done.”
A pause.
“I hope it’s alright.”
・You turn to thank him, but he’s already looking away, trying not to smile.
・Fingers twitching like he wants to touch your hair again but won’t; unless you ask.
“If it ever comes undone,” he adds quietly, “you know where to find me.”
𝑬́𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓 🏹
・He thinks of it as a challenge...straight away.
“You don’t think I can?”
"Ugh! That's not what I meant?"
"What did you mean?"
"Just wanted someone to braid my hair, you ass."
・You weren't even teasing him, but then it becomes a whole thing.
・He kneels down behind you like a man preparing for war. Cracks his knuckles. Rolls his shoulders. And in turn, you roll your eyes.
・When he actually starts, there's a shift. The bravado eases and he becomes focused.
・His rough fingers, to your surprise, are steady.
・And you can feel the care as well...and feel, a protective energy.
・Like if anyone tried to touch your braid he'd punch them.
・When he’s done? He absolutely beams. And before getting up, he tugs the end playfully, then stands back with his arms crossed.
"There. Just got your hair braided by a Third Marshal...that's got to be worth something."
・If someone compliments it later, he absolutely puffs up with pride (but plays it off like it was no big deal)
“Looks good doesn't it. I did it. She asked me. Only right I made sure it was done proper.”
・And although Eomer doesn’t say it out loud, in his mind he promises something wolfish and loyal:
No one touches what I’ve claimed with my hands.
𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒓 🌾
・At first, he blinks—slow and surprised, like he thinks he misheard you.
“You would trust me with something so personal?”
・He isn't teasing. No, Faramir is genuinely honoured.
・Because he's the kind of man who sees tenderness as something rare and doesn’t take it lightly.
・You sit between his knees, and he treats your hair like something sacred.
・The word 'gentle' repeats in his head over and over.
・His hands are warm as he gathers your hair from your shoulders
・His fingers accidentally touch the bareness of your neck and goosebumps erupt.
・You go red; luckily he can't see your face.
・Faramir barely speaks, only jums softly under his breath; something old, maybe a lullaby he remembers from his mother.
・Every now and then he asks, in a light voice:
“Does this feel alright?”
“Too tight?”
“Shall I start again?”
・Once he's done, (he took his time on purpose), he wraps the end with a small ribbon.
One you didn't know he'd been keeping. As he ties it, it's as if he's sealing a promise.
・For a moment longer than they need to, his fingers linger.
“There. You’re ready to meet kings and storms alike.”
・And if you could see his face, you would notice a faint flush on his cheeks
・Like he's been given something sacred...and he hopes you'll ask him again tomorrow.
𝑮𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒇 🪄
・His first reaction is a slight chuckle, partially amused.
“My dear, it has been centuries since I was asked for that favor.”
・He takes a seat and motions for you to sit in front of him. Your legs are crossed on the floor, and your hands are fidgeting in your lap.
・You can feel his long, elegant fingers begin to pick up hair. A slight shiver runs down your spine at the image of it.
・At first he murmurs, in a language you do not know. But his voice is peaceful, and you can hear the chirping of night bugs.
・He knows exactly what he's doing. You’d expect an old wizard to fumble, but Gandalf’s hands are steady
・It takes a while, but the murmurs turn into little humming and you cannot help but smile.
・The braid is meticulous, elegant, maybe a little too perfect.
・You end up with something that feels sacred, like it should be worn into battle or a coronation.
・After he's done, he gives a small hum of approval. In a wistful voice he says:
“So the wind will not catch your thoughts and carry them away.”
・And then he lights his pipe, looks off toward the horizon, and pretends it was no big deal.
・...But for the rest of the journey, he walks a little closer to you.
legolas greenleaf x gn!reader, friends to lovers, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, confessions, reader is part of the fellowship, set years after return of the king, human!reader, aragorn & reader very close/platonic interaction
SYNOPSIS : the war had taken a toll on you and you wished for yourself to be in the arms of a close companion, someone you had longed to hold for a very long time. fate seems to surprise you when you see him again.
WORD COUNT : 4.7k words
WARNINGS : not proofread. names for the reader (wanderer, my liege, meleth nin), kissing, singing-ish, reader doesn’t understand sindarin, reader is traumatized because of the war on the ring + other implied backstory, questions/talks of : ( time, aging, and death, the war, fighting, scars, wounds, passing away, and burial ), mix of book/film legolas. viewer discretion advised.
NOTES : this is in some way related to my other legolas fic patience but can stand on its own.
MASTERLIST | AVAILABLE ON AO3
★・ now playing : like real people do by hozier
The air sways like the quiet whistle of a carved wooden bird, singing a harmonious and tender tune. It was the kind of soothing music that still takes its time to settle onto you. You had a difficult time settling into the quiet of the forest, even if it was usually a calm sound that the forest carried when you travelled as a Wanderer, you could still remember the death that rotted it.
It somehow felt more uncommon to see these trees alive, as you try to move away from all the burdens that you had tried to carry on by walking further and further away from the forest and into the bustling noise.
The capital city of Gondor was just nearby, yet you felt your heart asking for rest, not from the walk, from everything that had happened, and your only response was to still keep going; the War had already ended, and yet you kept going.
You hold on to the hilt of your sword, which rests in its scabbard. You begin to hum, something to soothe your ragged heart.
Years had passed since the War of the Ring, and the wounds of terror had begun to heal as soil became richer and water became clearer. It is evident now that, as people try to restore the places they used to call home, they try to continue living.
You still felt like you needed to breathe.
Each step became lighter as you were moved forward, which then made you take another; as you began to step on stones that shine like pearls, you realized where you finally were. Minas Tirith, the city you have come to frequent for the current moment of your time after the war. You remember it clearly when humanity won the creeping darkness that came from the depths of Mordor; those years of constant waiting, and the ruin it had gained. It was slow, but time moves.
You can see it in the people; they seemed more merry as they walked along. You remember how quietly the people used to move. The uncertainty and the hopelessness of a King that could never have existed.
Each person, one by one, slowly look up to the moving character, as the people see you enter their home quietly; they knew of you, but they knew not to bother you—you weren’t really a fan of the larger crowds, it was less of a hazard than before, still, you weren’t fond of the strangers that followed, as you don’t look at the people who started. Continuing on foot, moving closer to the castle grounds.
You had nothing to boast to these people; you wanted to visit simply because. You tried to smile at the younger people who had seemingly recognized you from afar, but they immediately didn’t bother with what’s right as they followed you. Parents hold their kids close to them so they would not follow you, but most didn’t bother, letting them follow you even beyond their line of vision.
You wonder what kinds of stories their parents tell them. Did they talk about a young hero who was part of the fellowship? Or, did they talk about how you appeared in Middle-earth, like some sort of ghost that had recently gained their humanity? You think about the strangers of people who seemed to be fascinated as to where you came from, and you tell them you don’t remember either, letting them run their imaginations amok.
It wasn’t fun listening to people learn about where you had come from. You didn’t want to remember where you belonged; it didn’t matter if you couldn’t control the way they spoke to you like a person who never existed. It still wasn’t right to talk to someone like that; it was never fun.
A young boy tugs the hem of your blouse, distracting you from your thoughts and even promptly halting the quiet walk of trying to ignore the people. As he extends his whispers to you, it is quiet and light. “Wanderer, that is what the people call you?”
Innocence, you thought to yourself. But you weren’t sure if this would lead to more questions being asked. But still, curiosity, it was something you longed for, how you used to be. Nodding at the young boy, you crouch down to look at him at his level, “I’m certain that the King has told you about my true name?”
That made him smile, “Yes, but I believe Wanderer is a much better name than what the King calls you.”
Now you were the next one to smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. Remembering the reasons you kept your self-proclaimed title of Wanderer, you remember how proud you were of the name. “It is a name that I also adore, but I believe my days as a Wanderer have ended.”
“Why? Don’t you want to continue to travel?” The young boy asks, and there is a feeling of disappointment that was left when he said it.
You look at him, you wanted to tell him the exhaustion it had held, and how you still wanted to travel without worry, to let yourself drift without the weight of something that even you don’t know, pulling you further down.
You feel your eyes gaze to the side and away from the young boy as you see a stranger in a coat of armor approaching you. Ringing bells in your head, it could be something dangerous as you feel your arms move to shield the young boy when you hear your name being called.
“Wanderer.” The guard repeated, this time calling you by your title.
“What do you want?” You spat unintentionally, harsh and abrasive.
For whatever you had in your heart to protect something stronger than reason, it didn’t matter if the people looked at you strangely. How could they not see the potential threat?
“The King asks for your presence.” That was all the Guard said. Standing tall, he waited for you to get up, looking down at you, not in a mocking manner. At least you hope it wasn’t.
You stare at him, confused, “What...?”
Kneeling, the guard removes his headgear, revealing an older man whose face looks kinder behind the sharp exterior of the Gondorian armor. “My liege, the King wishes to see an old friend.”
Pity, there was pity in his face.
You let go of the young boy, and you look at him for a moment, smiling quietly. But the boy didn’t smile back; instead, a look of worry was present on his face.
“Are you alright?” The young boy asked you before a hand swiftly grabbed you, taking you to the steps of the white fortress.
You couldn’t forget the look on the young boy’s face as you followed the Gondorian guard.
The King of Gondor, and your close friend, Aragorn, as much as he has now become much busier in his duties as a King, he always finds just enough time to spend one morning with a companion. Of course, that lucky companion would be you.
“My liege. Welcome to Minas Tirith.” Aragorn said, he placed his hand on his chest before bowing slightly. It was a greeting that you were only familiar with because of Aragorn.
Behind him were the courtiers who greeted you; knowing it was time, the courtiers whispered to the King, and you wondered as to what it could be before they quietly left the halls, leaving the two of you alone in the warm morning.
Aragorn quickly gives you a tight embrace; even in his age, there is still a sense of power that overwhelms you. Maybe it was the status of a high king, embracing a lowly Wanderer.
“Do you wish to walk to visit the gardens?” Aragorn asked, “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“That would be nice, though I do not know where that would be.”
“You’ll find it to be everywhere where you need it to be.” Aragorn finishes before walking towards you. Patiently, he lets you take the lead for once.
The walk was easy; it reminded you of how leaves take their time to let go of the branch. You notice the surprise greenery that appeared throughout different halls that you had yet to explore. You find yourself stopping, one specific hall caught your line of sight, and your steps become slowed.
The fountain was grand, it was like the adventures that you had gone to, where you would visit the waters. Clear and with no signs of grime on the water. It looked too beautiful to ignore.
Aragorn notices the way you linger just a little longer to look at the fountain that flowed beautifully, as if this is the first fountain you’d ever seen. “My friend,” Aragorn said, “Is there something on your mind?” And then a question.
There was a lot on your mind, from the nightmares that seemed to jolt you awake every time, even when things had been peaceful, to the forest when he had left to travel.
Why now did he appear in the back of your mind was even out of your control. You haven’t seen Legolas in a very long time, nor has he seen you either; the only form of communication that you two had begun to do was writing letters.
The letters that he had written to you, talking about his current adventures with one of your friends, Gimli, and how he had wished that you could have joined him in restoring Middle-earth; they were one of the things that had brought you a bit of joy every time you had awakened.
“Many that are difficult to describe. Exhaustion, how I almost insulted one of your guards,” you tell him, moving just a little closer as you feel the warmth of the sun hit your face, “I’ve told you about most. I believe that you might have grown tired of them already.”
“Nonsense.”
Aragorn remembers the stories you told, and the excitement you had when the journey began, which reminded him much of the young Hobbit, Pippin. Aragorn notes that your stories were usually full of love and uncertainty. Aragorn knew that there was something in your heart, one that longed for more than peace. Wishing to return to the day things felt right to you. Aragorn learned of your latest writing, how you wished to return to going on adventures without feeling lost through it.
“I had heard from many that you are visiting Mirkwood in a few days?” As light passed through the halls of his kingdom, warmth didn't pass on to Aragorn’s tired face; there was a sense of worry. Aragorn knew that there were still things that needed to be worked with in the forest of Mirkwood. And, although it was not his home that he had worried about, you are his friend.
“How did you know?” You look at him, confused; it was not something that had been talked about while you two walked around in the gardens.
“You loved to talk about the beauty in their realm.” Aragorn smiles, he knew that Legolas would keep you safe if he learnt about it.
You don’t notice the way he mumbles to himself in Sindarin, you quietly think to yourself that you should have studied the language when you had the time.
“I trust that our friend Legolas is escorting you to the Mirkwood forest?” Aragorn stops in his tracks, noticing a flower that had been cut off accidentally. “If Legolas were to learn of your visit, he would be very elated.”
“He will be visiting the glittering caves with our friend, Gimli!” You say as if it is a fact. Picking up the flower, you pass it on to Aragorn and smile when he quietly plays with its petals.
“I see, then I suppose you are alright with travelling by yourself?”
“You never trust me, do you, Aragorn? First, my skills in protecting my companions, and now this? You’re unbelievable.” You cross your arms before letting out a huff, looking away at the King of Gondor, who looks at you with slight confusion.
There wasn’t a bone of hatred in your blood, and as you look at Aragorn, he sheepishly looks back at you. You both let out a laugh.
It was a good laugh too, one that you haven’t had in a long while. Looking at the sunlight that was finally at its peak, you look at Aragorn. There was still a ragged heart that beat. You choose to ignore it.
“When are you going to continue with your duties?” you ask Aragorn.
“In a few.” Aragorn steps forward, taking the lead. “I’ll have someone escort you around the castle; you may walk freely before you leave.”
“Before I leave? The fortress is too big for me to leave tonight.” Smiling, you quickly follow Aragorn. Feeling a small sense of nostalgia, it reminded you much of your journey with him, but there was now less of a deadline to race to.
“Then you can walk around tomorrow,” Aragorn says, placing a hand on your back.
“Just like old times?” A hint of uncertainty was placed in the tone of your voice. You notice how Aragorn looks up at the distance ahead, it seems a lot was running through the mind of the King.
Truly, it did remind Aragorn much of the walks the two of you had together, “Might as well. My lover and our child believe it to be a good bonding time; they quite enjoy your company.”
“I do as well.”
It had been days before you found yourself back in the wide, lush forest. It had its moments of beauty; the ground you stepped on moved slowly, awake and full. You look at the roots that trailed on the surface, looking beautiful as ever. Flowers had already bloomed, and you noticed that one had already fallen.
It reminded you of the leaves beginning to fall, and as you picked up the flower, you began to ponder. Humans were such fragile beings, you thought to yourself. They were like leaves on the trees that fell on the palm of your hand, except that trees lived long enough to heal their wounds. Humans would pass before they could even let themselves heal.
It was a thought that you grimaced.
“Mirkwood,” you mumble to yourself, trying to move away from the certain dread that continues to pull you down, “Are you still the peaceful land that was once held by the green lush that he had adored?” He, the one you spoke of, was the light-haired friend who seemed to continue to linger on your mind.
You begin to hum a story; one where Legolas has held you, beyond the onlooking terror of the orcs, you could still feel it in the weight of his hand. It felt normal, even beyond the cold winds blowing against your skin. And as he had let go of your hand, you felt the winds shift; the arrow blowing as the elf shot down the orc precisely, and when you turned around, you noticed the twitching body of the fiend.
You didn’t know how to describe Legolas in your song; he felt impossible to describe. The sway of your body as you make a whirl. From a hug, a stare, you imagine yourself in Legolas’ embrace. Feeling secure in the strength of his arms, he made rest calm even in the loud song of celebration behind the tents.
In the quiet and mournful night, where the moon soared high, he let himself become your only source of light even in the darkness. By the fire where exhaustion hit you, you remember lying your head on the lap of the elf, telling him that it was only going to be a moment before you would get off of him.
Not knowing it, you would awaken by the shake of Gimli’s hand, in which he had told you you had slept for quite a long time, laughing at Legolas’ predicament. Looking up at the elf, Legolas simply smiled at you, as if it wasn’t a bit of a bother. The way he tilted his head when he did so, you hum about the moment, even through the embarrassment.
You tried to remember Legolas and the way he looked; it made you think of the light colored hair of the elf, and fondly you think of the moments you had with it, the careful braiding, mumbling against his ear as you complimented how smooth he takes care of it.
Remembering the slight twinge in his ears, perhaps because of how close you were, he quietly talked about the flowers that were adorned on his hair. Their history and their symbolism, not knowing what the one that Legolas placed on your hair, you let your body lean behind him, a whisper as to what your flower symbolized.
Legolas laughed, and you felt the occasional movement against your back when he did so. He told you that he would tell you when the right moment comes, as he mumbles the meaning in a language you couldn’t decipher.
Legolas was everything you could ever imagine for a close companion; kissing the flower on your hand, you danced. You wish to be in his arms once more. The night would be brighter and mornings sweeter when you danced with him.
"I knew I would find you here!" His voice yelled out for you, and it felt real.
You can hear the horse grunt over the distance as it becomes clearer. Within the depths of your heart, there was a rush and warmth that seemed to spread through your ribs.
You stopped singing.
As you turn to look at the closing distance of a trotting horse moving towards you, Legolas rides along, his hand holding onto the sash with a relaxed grip, trusting his steed that it would not run away from him. Those familiar blue eyes that looked at you with comforting fondness.
"Legolas? How, what..?" you mutter to yourself, realizing the strength of an elf’s ability to listen, you note that Legolas had probably heard your mumbling.
“Mellon nin; Wanderer, it has been years,” Legolas says, letting his horse come to a halt as he drops himself off. Legolas whispers to his horse, assuming it is in the language you cannot understand, as the horse trots away.
“What about your venture to the forests? The letters that you sent told me you weren’t to return until a year?”
“Gimli is to visit his homeland,” Legolas says, crossing his arms as he walks forward to where you stood still, “And I wanted to see you again.”
Legolas notices the way you stood; it had been long since he had last seen you. You have grown older, and there was a slight wrinkle every time you grinned; your eyes, however, looked a little more exhausted. Lack of proper rest, he thought to himself, and he felt worried at the thought that you might not be getting enough sleep.
“Let us walk? I know that you are fond of walking.” Legolas says as he extends his hand to you.
"We are almost there..." Legolas said quietly, his hand intertwined with yours, with a sense of familiarity, as if the memory of holding your hand had happened a few weeks ago, when really, it had been years.
You didn't know where you two were going, and Legolas was mostly the one leading the way. Mud streaks your boots, as the ground was still damp from midnight's rainfall.
"I could have brought my own horse Legolas," you say, but you weren’t really complaining. If walking a fair distance meant just a quiet moment with the man you hadn’t seen in years, you would take it in a heartbeat. Reminding you of moments with him back when you had little time for repose.
“I know, but it reminds me much of how we spent our days with the Fellowship.”
Legolas seems to know how to read minds now.
The walk was calm, you followed familiar and at the same time, unfamiliar roads along with Legolas, who seemed not to look behind you and was adamant on walking forward to the destination.
“Do you remember this forest?” Legolas asks you, squeezing your hand as he does so, an acknowledgment or jog in the memory.
“We’ve seen a lot of forests, Legolas. What you're asking could be one of many.”
“The first time we had ever met.” He hinted, “I remember you hugging someone.”
“I was protecting a young child who was right in front of an orc,” you quietly correct him with a smile on your face. “I didn’t know that it was you who saved me. No wonder you looked familiar.”
“They were getting closer to you when I found you, yet you didn’t look afraid,” Legolas said, “I was fascinated with your bravery.”
You didn’t know how to respond to such a compliment. Legolas had complimented you during the journey for your strength, yet, hearing him close to you as he spoke praise in your valor. You felt the slight flush on your cheeks, not including the praise.
It felt nice.
Looking at the distance right in front of you, you can see a large tree, large as a willow, though its leaves resembled more of a maple. It seems the wind pulls you closer to the elf, who hums an old melody from his home.
“Are you afraid of something then?” Legolas asked, letting go of your hand, he takes a few steps back, “Is it death?”
Did you fear death? As you stood in front of the tree, it seemed to look down on you, though there was nothing that brought fear onto you, even in its large size. You think about the things that you have truly feared.
Being forgotten, without a burial, or a memory of what you were like before you had passed, your casket, in which your name has been carved out, will soon smooth out with the years to come.
That was something you feared. At least, you believed it to be. You didn’t know if there was something that you were afraid of.
“I am afraid of being forgotten,” you mumbled, yet even the thought of being forgotten wasn’t scary enough. It felt as if there was something else that you didn’t know of.
Legolas looked at you. He was quiet and impossible to decipher; thinking about the time you had met him, you remembered how difficult it was to understand him. But even with those difficulties, you couldn’t help but fall in love somehow. Not through the mystery behind his eyes or even the songs he sang as a lullaby for you to sleep to, but simply because he was simple even through everything.
You remember how you described Legolas as an endless river. You thought of yourself as someone who would follow a trail of a river, no matter how long and arduous that trail would take you; you were determined to find the mouth of the river.
Those that reminded you of rivers filled your curiosity. You wondered where the river of his would end. Legolas had a history that you still don’t know of, for what was he like before he had met you?
“Legolas.”
“Yes?” Legolas' gaze softens, and carefully, you see that he places his hands behind him.
“I…”
“Tell me,” Legolas tilts his head, and you could see him smile slightly, “I can wait.”
You wanted to know what he was thinking. Why did he smile at you, even when you couldn’t ask a question? You look at his eyes, similar that of the river that you loved.
Silence fills the two of you. You hear the humming of the birds and see him, you know how much he loved to take in with his scenery, telling much about how he loved the world that surrounded him. But he doesn’t look anywhere but you. Legolas focused his being onto yours,
Wind blows past the bare parts of your skin, the blonde of his hair tickles against your cheeks, and now you have realized the space between the two of you has simply disappeared. You were seeing him move, closer and closer, and you looked at his eyes, unchanging, but still, it felt as if it was holding back something that you couldn’t describe. The light of his hand almost misses yours; he holds your hand.
“Can I kiss you?” You ask him.
“Please.”
You give Legolas an unhurried and gentle kiss, lips brushing against the hollow of his cheeks. The smell of wood and pine fills the air you breathe, and you attempt to pull him closer to you. Your fingertips graze against his knuckles, a careful tug on his hand so as not to let him stray further away.
Legolas doesn’t move any further, as if it is a signal for you to continue—patiently and earnestly, he lets you have him. A song that can never be forgotten, not even when you pass.
You look at him. Your hands instinctively move to hold his face—it was soft, and Legolas leans in against your touch immediately. How time has never affected him, even now, he still looks the way he did when you first met him.
“Gi Melin,” Legolas muttered, leaning against your ear as he whispers to you, “No matter where you are, my heart will follow, I will love, and I will always remember.”
"You love me…?" You mumble, being pulled further and further, as you try to release your hand from his face when he slowly presses his hands closer against yours, letting his skin feel yours. Different and changing, he lets his fingertips graze against your rough scars that couldn’t be repaired.
“Legolas, please stop this.” This is what you were afraid of, “I am nothing but a fickle life, Legolas, please.”
“But I want to,” Legolas's brow furrows, shaking away the thought in your head by leaning close to you, “I loved you like embers that glowed when we talked by the fireplace. Was I mistaken?”
“No Legolas, I love you.” You look at him, feeling a tight knot in your throat, “But, I am afraid of the fact that I can’t live a life knowing that you love me. Legolas, you will grow past my lifetime. I don’t want to put you through this. I don’t want you to love me like this—”
“I care not for who you are, or who you once were. The time that you will spend with me will be very little for the time of an elf.” Legolas interrupts, “I cannot become mortal, to love the same way Lady Arwen loves our King Aragorn.” Legolas gazes at you with glassy eyes, as tears begin to fall, unbeknownst to him.
“But please, meleth nín, even in this moment with you will be enough for me to never forget.” Meleth nín. My love. The love that began to beat in his chest; it was a phrase that he never uses, as he lets himself lean in to melt into your kiss. He feels the way you move closer to feel the softness of your lips as you let your hands hold onto him. Legolas hears you mumble in between the kisses—you ask him to never let go.
Legolas kisses you, feeling you pull away as you look at him with those eyes that never changed when he first saw you by these same paths—he wants to kiss you again. He hugs you instead.
It didn’t matter to him that you were someone who couldn’t have a fixed history. Perhaps you let it burn somewhere, away from the world, even where he couldn’t see, and it wouldn’t matter to him. No matter the years that will pass, when you are no longer living in this world. If the world did realize the truth of who you really were, he would still love you.
Legolas would bury you and let you be adorned with the flowers that he had placed on your hair all those years ago. In a language you can’t decipher, he will give you flowers that show the feelings that he had concealed ever since he saw you protecting that young child.
I will always love you. I will never forget you.
He will love. Yes, he will love you forevermore.
NOTES : man,,,i don't know how to feel about this fic because this is the second legolas fic that i had ever written and i think i rushed it,,but please let me know what you guys think! reblogging and commenting about it is much appreciated!
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“This forests feels sick.” – you let out, standing at the edge of the woods. Feeling slightly nauseous. If you should take one more step, the disease would sicken you even more. – “You are right.” – a deep voice came through, coming at your side. Making you slightly turn your head to the wizard. – “This forest is very sick, my friend.” – Gandalf continued with a deep breath.
Leaning against his staff. – “And… and we are to pass it through?” – A higher voice came in, making you turn your other side. Gaze much lower. – “Yes Bilbo Baggins.” – Gandalf responded. Taking a few breaths before staring in front of him. – “It is our only way.” – he finished. You looked over your shoulder, seeing the dwarves take a moment to catch their breath.
Kili taking off his boot, turning it over so any small rocks could fall out. Thorin keeping a watchful eye at you. You inhaled deep coming to lean closer to the wizard. – “Gandalf.” – you simply started. The wizard already knowing enough. Nodding his head with slightly pouted lips.
“You will lead them to safety.” – he said making you widen your eyes. – “Me? Where are you going?” – you asked as he already stepped away from the forest. – “Gandalf!” – you called out catching the attention of the dwarves. Gandalf hopped onto his horse as you came running over to him.
Grabbing his horse by the reins. – “I have other business to attend. We shall meet again in haste.” – he spoke, giving his horse a kick. You let go of the reins, stumbling back. – “Where is he off to?” – Kili asked confused. You took a deep breath before turning to the thirteen dwarves and a hobbit. – “Gandalf will meet us soon.” – you informed them.
“Gather all your things. We must venture through the woods if we wish to keep the orcs off our backs.” – you told them walking towards the woods. – “I’m not listening to you in charge!” – Thorin said loudly. It made you stop and sigh deeply. – “No chance I am following an elf in there!” – he finished.
“Thorin!” – Bilbo called out stepping in. You held your hand out, letting the hobbit know it was alright. – “If those are your believes, I shall not contradict them, but do know I only have the best interests. Is there anyone that wishes to follow me?” – you asked.
Bilbo raised his hand, coming to stand beside you. Thorin glared at him. – “She’s our best chance and you know it Thorin.” – Bilbo spoke, keeping his thumbs in his pockets with a little shrug. Fili and Kili both raised their hands as well. Stepping over to your side.
“Has she not proven her loyalty long enough uncle?” – Fili asked. More dwarves came standing by your side. – “The forest is the quickest way through. It will take us weeks if we go around. Weeks we do not have. Durin’s day is approaching.” – you reminded him. Thorin huffed loud. Walking over, avoiding all eye contact. All of you ventured into the woods. Remaining close.
You took the lead, minding your every step. Gaze forwards as you had the sharpest vision and hearing. – “Y/n.” – you hummed loud to acknowledge the person that spoke to you. A small presence coming at your side. – “Do you know these woods?” – it was Bilbo who asked.
“These woods are Mirkwood.” – you explained to him, keeping your focus in front of you. – “Long ago woodland elves roamed these woods.” – you went on. Bilbo interested in the world far beyond his cozy hobbit hole. – “Where are they now?” – Kili asked huffing loud to keep up with you. – “I do not know.” – you responded.
“Perhaps long gone, for this forest is sick. It is very sick.” – you spoke stepping over a branch. – “How can you tell it is sick?” – Kili questioned further. – “The air is thick and full of stench. The forest is not healthy.” – you gestured at the ground. Kili looked down seeing how dead the ground was. Making him swallow hard.
The deeper you went into the forest, the darker and gloomier the forest became. Taking a deep breath at the webs woven between the trees. – “I feel like we’ve been here before.” – Bifur called out, scratching the back of his head. – “Are we going in circles?” – Fili asked. Bilbo furrowed his brows, watching his feet carry him further.
Thorin rushed to the front, grabbing you by your clothing, shoving you with your back against a rock. Pulling out his sword. – “Have you been leading us in circles? Make us loose our minds so we could be easy prey?” – he called out. – “Thorin stop!” – Bilbo called out. – “Quiet master burglar!” – Thorin snapped back. – “Answer me elf!” – he spitted out like it was a curse word.
You did not flinch. Keeping your gaze stern on the dwarf. – “It is the forest. Keeping us here. Taunting with our minds.” – you replied. – “Do you not feel it. The nauseating feeling inside of you. It is the sickness entering your mind.” – you explained to him. – “I do not wish to harm you Thorin Oakenshield!” – you called out, shoving his sword away from your throat. – “I am here to help you. That is why I signed that contract.”- you reminded him of so many nights ago in a hobbit hole.
Thorin grunted loud taking a step back. Fili took him by his arm. Thorin didn’t wish to know anything of it, shoving his grip off. – “What do we do now?” – Dwalin asked curious. You looked up to the trees. Barely any rustling through their leaves. – “I shall take a look from above.” – you called out.
With swiftness you jumped up. Grabbing a hold of a branch and pull yourself further up. Higher and higher you went. Feeling lighter with each step. At the very top, you popped up from between the leaves. Feeling the midday sun on your face. Taking a moment to let it all in. It felt liberating. Healthier. You then gazed at the horizon. – “I can see the edge of the forest!” – you shouted loud.
“It is but a day’s path.” – you went on. Trying to listen for any response. It remained silent. – “Dwarves?” – you called out, wanting to hear an answer. Lowering yourself a bit more, you knelt down on a branch at the highest top. Looking down at the dark and sickening forest. – “Dwarves?” – you repeated waiting for an answer.
It was then that you heard a shout, making you gasp loud. Quickly you made your way down. Seeing how the webs had increased. A path of woven webs between the trees. Your head turned in the direction where you heard more shouts.
Quickening your pace, you ran from branch to branch. Remaining up high, jumping over to the closest branch. Taking your sword out, letting it hang stiff backwards. You jumped further onto another branch. Seeing thick sacks of web. Some of them still squirming. Moving your sword swiftly forwards you ran up to a sack. Taking a leap as you cut the cord.
Landing gently on another branch. The sack had fallen down with a loud thud. Seeing how it was squirming on the ground for a way out. You jumped for the next sack, cutting it loose as well. When you made your way over to the third one, you were finally greeted by it’s master.
A giant spider punched his front legs up, showing you it’s sharp fangs. Angry that you were cutting loose their food. Looking sharply over your shoulder, you saw more spiders crawl up. Quick on their eight legs. The spider in front of you thumped their front legs forwards as you jumped back.
Swinging your sword across to cut off a bit of it’s leg. It squealed and rattled it’s fangs together with a clicking sound. Hopping to the next sack, you cut it loose watching it fall on top of another sack. In one of them had Thorin been able to free himself from the webs. He briefly looked up to you, standing amidst the spiders. They kept tapping their front legs in your direction.
You held your sword above your head, glaring back at them. Knowing they craved your elvish bones as well. Whatever that could feed them. A spider launched at you. It made you jump up, stomping your foot on its face. It’s head got pushed down. You ran further over it’s body, setting yourself off to cut off another sack of webs.
Knowing down below, Thorin was freeing those that had fallen. Suddenly you heard some grunts, making you turn your head. From between the thick webs you saw another sword slash through. Cutting a few sacks of webs. – “Bilbo!” – you called out, overjoyed that he was unharmed. It startled him, looking around for your voice. He spotted you between the webs, his eyes suddenly widening. – “Y/n!” – he shouted loud with a shaky point.
You already felt the presence behind you. The clicking of fangs together. You quickly spun around, taking out a dagger. As the spider lifted it’s body up, you stabbed it right from underneath it. Pulling your dagger free as green goo came leaking out. You then cut off a leg with your sword. The spider screeched loud, stumbling back. You turned back around to Bilbo, seeing danger behind him. You threw your dagger towards him.
Bilbo’s eyes widening as he saw the dagger go his way. Fly past him as it made him turn around. The dagger hitting a spider right in a few of it’s gathered eyes. The spider screeched, stomping it’s legs around. One of its legs kicked Bilbo, sending him down. – “Bilbo!” – you shouted loud watching him fall. Falling through webs that seemed to ease his fall down.
Taking a web, you used it to slide down. Spiders above you, making their way down as well. From above you saw some spiders had made their way down. Blocking Thorin’s path. He rose his sword ready to fight. Then his attention got drawn away. Something in the trees moving quick and swift.
You immediately saw that they were elves. Coming from the trees, making their way down to slash the spiders. You dropped to the ground, standing sturdy on your feet. Searching for Bilbo through the mess of webs. – “Master Baggins! Master Baggins!” – you called out. – “Over here!” – you heard a faint voice reach out. Slashing your way through webs. Cutting your way through to him.
He sighed relieved at the sight of you. You pulled him up to his feet, giving him a little shove in the right direction. Spotting how the elves had gathered around the dwarves, made you tap Bilbo on his shoulder to stay out of sight. He nodded, slipping off.
You hid between the trees once more. Sneaking up to the other elves. Drawing your bow as you pointed it at one of them. – “Lower your weapons!” - you called out. Immediately a few other elves turned their bows at you. – “You travel with these dwarves?” – the person you held under shot spoke. Slowly turning his head to you.
His bow raised at you as well. – “With whom I travel is my business.” – you answered with a glare. The elvish boy quirked his eyebrow up. You kept staring at him, something about him feeling familiar. Hearing sudden shouting made you pull your attention away. Draw your bow away and fire a shot.
The arrow hitting a spider right in the mouth as it lowered. Kili looking frantically behind him at you. – “A dwarven nalla speaks a' lle.” – the elf spoke in an Elvish tongue. Hinting that the dwarven cry had taken your attention. – “Amin listen a' i' nalla en' nosse.” – you replied.
“What is she saying?” – you heard Bifur whisper to Bombur. – “Don’t let him trick you Y/n!” – Bifur then called out. Making the elvish boy quirk his eyebrow even more up. – “Y/n?” – he repeated intrigued. You blinked surprised when he lowered his bow on you.
Stepping closer to you. Getting very close to observe your features. It made you lean back, keeping your gaze away from him. Wondering what drove him this close to you. Perhaps something drove him to you. – “It cannot be.” – he whispered out in shock. You slowly let your gaze go towards him. Slowly recognizing something in them.
Something old and familiar. Something or someone you had long not seen. – “Legolas?” – you said with furrowed brows. The elvish boy nodded with a smile. – “Y/n!” – he repeated gesturing at the others to lower their bows on you. So they did. Legolas smiled brightly, wrapping his arms around you.
“She’s hugging the elf… should we be worried.” – Bifur whispered to Fili. Fili kept glaring at Legolas. You broke the hug free. – “Release my dwarven friends, Legolas.” – you told him. Legolas held a hand on your shoulder, turning you slightly away from them. – “You call these dwarves friends?” – he questioned.
“And you damn well know it!”- Fili called out with an interruption. – “You are trespassing. I have no other choice but to bring them to the Elven king.” – Legolas called out. You stepped away from him, coming to stand with your friends. – “Then you must capture me as well.” – you let out. – “Y/n!” – Legolas whispered to you, letting you know you were doing something stupid. You stood your ground, remaining by their side. – “Take us to your king.” – you told him. Legolas cleared his throat before giving out the signal.
Some elves pushed your friends forwards to march. Legolas falling in step with you. Unable to stop looking at you. Stop looking at the friend he had not seen since childhood so many times ago. A friend he didn’t think he would see again. You glanced back at him, unable to hide your smile. Feeling a little more save with him around.
Summary: Request - Heyy I really like how you write Legolas and also your writing in general so I thought I'd request a Legolas x reader where in reader saves him from an orc attack and got hurt in the process. Hehe that's all have a good day!
A/N: Ahhh I really like this one. Ty Anon for the amazing request as always.
Pairing: Legolas x Elf Female Reader
Word Count: 4.2k +
TW: Orcs, attack, shot with an arrow, poison, angst, sad Legolas
Growing up in the lush, enigmatic depths of Mirkwood had shaped you into the warrior you are today. Side by side with Legolas you had spent countless hours under the tutelage of the same masters learning the arts of combat and stealth. Though your paths within the kingdom's defense forces eventually diverged with Legolas rising to accompany his father on diplomatic missions and you embedding deeper into the scout units you never lost the connection forged in those formative years.
Your friendship with Legolas was based on a foundation of deep respect and a shared love for the vast, mysterious woodland that was your home. Over the years, King Thranduil himself had come to hold you in high regard as he appreciated how you continually challenged and supported his son. Making sure to keep him grounded and focused.
After many seasons apart, duty finally brought you back together. It was a reunion marked by warm smiles and a quick rekindling of your lifelong friendship. Eager to make the most of this reunion you both decided to embark on a patrol through some of the darker much less traveled parts of Mirkwood. These regions were where the trees grew dense, and the shadows lingered. They were known for being unpredictable, yet they offered a serene beauty that was unmatched elsewhere in the kingdom.
As you walked alongside Legolas, your steps silent and your senses alert, you found comfort in the familiar presence of your friend. The air was filled with the sounds of distant waterfalls and the occasional call of a wood pigeon. Conversation flowed easily between you. It was filled with stories of past exploits and shared adventures. It was as if no time had passed at all, and you were just two young elves exploring the woods as you had all those hundreds of years ago.
Yet, the peace of the forest was deceptive and as seasoned warriors both of you remained vigilant. It was a routine patrol on the surface but in Mirkwood with the darkness ever growing one could never be too careful. Little did you know the shadows held more than just the whispers of ancient trees that day.
In the shadow-drenched depths of Mirkwood where the dense canopy stifled even the slightest beam of sunlight you and Legolas moved with the silent grace of seasoned warriors. The forest's deceptive calm should have been your first warning, but you were so engrossed in his presence you didn’t think too much of it. It was a heavy stillness that shrouded the advance of danger. It was in this eerie silence that the ambush was sprung as a large band of orcs burst from their hidden positions among the twisted undergrowth.
In the midst of the intense and chaotic battle with the clash of metal resounding through the ancient trees of Mirkwood a sudden, jarring sound made your heart skip a beat. It was the distinct twang of a bowstring. A sound you’d recognize anywhere amidst the close-quarters combat that it sent a ripple of alarm through you.
You and Legolas were back-to-back and fighting in seamless coordination Legolas's breath hitched audibly, a rare sign of his alarm. His voice was urgent and tinged with a touch of panic as it reached your ears over the din of battle.
"Y/N, the leader, he's aiming for—"
Before he could finish you saw the movement. A shadowy figure at a distance with a notched arrow gleaming with a sinister sheen that could only mean poison. Time seemed to slow as you realized the target was none other than Legolas himself.
With a surge of adrenaline, you acted on pure instinct. "Legolas, down!" you shouted pushing him towards the ground even as you leaped to intercept the flight path of the arrow.
Legolas who was forced down by your push hit the forest floor hard. He turned just in time to see your actions. "No, Y/N!" His voice was laced with horror and desperation as he realized what you were about to do.
The arrow struck and the sound of your grunt of pain was drowned out by Legolas's anguished yell. He scrambled to his feet eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury. "Why would you do this?" he bellowed. His voice cracking with a mix of horror and desperation. His eyes were wide with shock and nearing tears. They searched yours for an answer he could not find in the chaos of his own emotions.
As you staggered from the impact the world began to blur at the edges as the poison was already coursing through your veins. With what strength you had left you managed to whisper, trying to reassure him despite the growing darkness clouding your vision. "Had to... save you. Watch out... he has more..."
Legolas was now beside himself with worry and rage. He turned his attention back to the orc leader with a fierce glare. His usual calm demeanor was shattered by the sight of you injured because of him. He drew his own arrow with a swift, deadly precision that was uncharacteristic but fueled by his tumultuous emotions. "No one harms you and escapes unscathed," he murmured almost to himself as he prepared to return the favor with lethal intent.
What followed was a blur of motion and violence. Legolas moved like a tempest. His arrows finding their marks with lethal precision. Each strike was a blow against his own anguish, a defiance of the fate that had struck you down. The orcs fell one by one. They were no match for the wrath of a prince fighting for the life of a friend he so dearly loved.
As the last of the orcs crumpled to the forest floor, silenced forever, Legolas turned back to where you lay, your face pale and your breaths shallow. He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he gently lifted you into his arms. The forest seemed to hold its breath. The usual whispers of the leaves stilled by the gravity of the moment.
Legolas's steps were swift and sure as he began the urgent journey back to the healers. Each step was a race against the relentless creep of the poison within you. As he moved with his arms secure around you he began to whisper. His voice a soft contrast to the earlier fury that had consumed him.
"Stay with me," he murmured. His words tinged with a desperation he had never known. "You must stay with me." His voice broke as the reality of the situation pressed upon him. The weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm his stoic facade.
The forest blurred past as Legolas with you cradled securely in his arms. He pushed through the undergrowth with an urgency born of sheer desperation. The poison from the orc’s arrow was relentless and with each labored breath you took his heart clenched tighter.
As he hurried his voice was a steady stream of encouragement meant to fortify both your spirits and his own resolve. “You’re so strong. You can fight this,” he urged quietly. His tone gentle yet firm. The dense foliage seemed to part before his determination. The shadows of Mirkwood bending to his will.
“You have to hold on. I need you to hold on,” he continued. His voice only for you. A personal warmth amidst the encroaching darkness of your pain. His words were a lifeline thrown in the hope that your spirit would grasp it and cling to life.
Within his mind a storm of thoughts raged. As he looked down at your face contorted with the effort to stay conscious he was struck by a revelation so profound it rooted itself deep within his soul. I love her, he realized with startling clarity. The thought was both a balm and a torment emerging amidst the terror of possibly losing you. Why did it take the brink of losing her to see how vital she is to me? His heart ached with the weight of his newfound understanding. An understanding that came at such a cruel cost.
Meanwhile, you, despite the searing pain, felt the urgency in his voice and it gave you a focus. A point to anchor your fading strength. You tried to respond. To give him some sign that you heard him. That you were fighting not just for your own life, but for him, for the future you hadn't yet considered might be possible together. Your lips moved slightly as a whisper of sound that was more an exhale of pain than coherent words.
Legolas felt the faint stir of your attempt to speak and it spurred him on. His strides growing even more determined. “Just a little farther,” he promised you, and perhaps himself. “We’re almost there. Stay with me.”
His mind continued to race with thoughts of love and loss, but he kept these revelations locked within choosing instead to flood you with hopeful, encouraging words. Every step was a silent vow. Every heartbeat a silent plea to whatever fates watched over the elves of Mirkwood.
As the gates of the palace finally came into sighta surge of tentative relief washed over him. The guards recognized the dire nature of your condition and rushed to meet him calling for the healers swiftly. Legolas’s arms relinquished you with a reluctance that was palpable. His hands lingering until the last possible moment as he handed you over to their care.
Watching the guards swiftly carry you away Legolas could only stand there for a moment, alone and suddenly bereft. The depth of his emotions swirling chaotically within. Hold on, please hold on, he thought. His heart echoing each word of encouragement he had given you. Now a silent mantra for the both of you.
In the somber halls of the Mirkwood palace, Thranduil arrived, drawn by the urgent whispers of his guards about an incident involving his son and one of his most valued elves. As he entered his eyes found Legolas who stood alone. His posture betraying a mix of shock and despair rarely seen on the prince.
Approaching quietly Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder, his presence immediately steadying. "Legolas, tell me what has happened," he urged. His voice firm yet lined with concern.
Legolas's response was choked. A surge of emotions breaking through his usually composed demeanor. Turning to face his father, tears welled in his eye. It was a terribly rare sight that shook Thranduil to his core. "She... she saved me," Legolas stammered. The words laced with pain and guilt. "An orc aimed a poisoned arrow at me, and she stepped in front. She took the hit herself. It should have been me, Father."
The king's eyes widened in horror as he processed the gravity of the situation. His mind racing with the implications of your selfless act. "Legolas," Thranduil said softly as he guided his son to sit beside him on a nearby bench, an effort to offer comfort amidst the cold stone surroundings. "You must not blame yourself for her bravery. She acted out of loyalty and courage. These are qualities that are to be honored, not lamented."
Legolas wiped at his eyes, struggling to compose himself. "But I love her, Father. And now, I might lose her because I could not protect her," he confessed. The words tumbling out amidst sobs. The admission of his feelings which were spoken aloud for the first time seemed to both relieve and burden him further.
Thranduil was taken aback by the depth of his son’s emotions. He reached out, his own composure tinged with empathy. "My son, love is both a strength and a vulnerability. You must hold onto the hope that she will recover. And should she wake, it is your duty—and your right—to tell her of your feelings."
The king stood, resolute. "I will speak with the healers to ensure that everything possible is being done," he promised. Returning his attention to Legolas, he added, "Stay strong, Legolas. She fought to save you. Now you must be strong for her."
Thranduil placed a reassuring hand on Legolas's shoulder. His gaze intense and commanding. "There is something you can do, Legolas. Go to her," he instructed firmly. "The healers say that even in unconsciousness the presence of someone familiar may be felt. Your presence could provide the strength she needs to fight this poison."
Legolas looked at his father. The determination in Thranduil's voice sparking a flicker of hope within him. "Talk to her, hold her hand, let her feel your presence. Keep her grounded to this world. Your voice, your touch… it may reach her when our medicine cannot."
Rising from the bench with renewed purpose Legolas nodded solemnly. "I will not leave her side," he vowed. The resolve in his voice masking the tremor of his underlying fear.
Thranduil watched as his son strode towards the healers quarters. His posture that of a prince, yet driven by the raw, powerful emotions of an elf in love. "She saved you for a reason, Legolas. Now, give her a reason to return," Thranduil murmured to himself as he watched Legolas disappear behind the delicate curtains that shrouded the healing chambers.
Inside, Legolas approached your side with his heart pounding as he took in your serene yet pained expression. Gingerly, he took your hand in his. The coolness of your skin against his warm palm stirring a mix of emotions within him. Sitting beside you he began to speak his voice soft but clear threading through the quiet hum of the healing ward.
"I'm here just like you've always been there for me. Remember the storms we weathered together? The quiet moments we shared under the stars of our beautiful Mirkwood? Hold onto those memories now as I hold onto your hand. You must come back to us, to me," Legolas whispered. His words a tender plea laced with strength and love.
As he continued to speak he recounted tales of their past adventures and shared dreams. Legolas's presence became a silent, steadfast hope, anchoring you in the fight against the darkness that threatened to claim you.
"Remember the time we chased the fireflies at dusk?" Legolas continued. His voice a soft murmur meant only for you. "We wandered so far that night we almost missed the evening banquet. Your laughter echoed through the woods, brighter even than the lights we chased. I think that was the moment I realized how dear you were to me though I never had the courage to say it. I wish I said it."
He paused. His thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, each memory a pull trying to guide you back. "And then there was the storm. The one that caught us off guard near the northern border. We took shelter under that old oak. The one that's stood for a thousand years. You were so calm, so brave, even as the thunder roared around us. It was more than bravery. It was a peace within you that even the storm couldn't disturb. I truly fell in love with you then."
His voice grew softer, each word laden with emotion. "I've always admired that about you—your strength, your serenity. It's been a constant source of comfort to me, more often than you know." A sigh escaped him, a mixture of admiration and deep-seated fear. "I need that strength now, more than ever. You have to fight through this. I... I can't envision a world without you in it mellon vaer nîn, meleth nîn." He whispered to you.
Legolas's gaze lingered on your face. His eyes tracing the familiar features as if trying to imprint them deeper into his memory. "There are so many things I still want to share with you. The sunrise over the Silverlode. Quiet mornings in the glades. So many adventures yet to be had. I need you to come back to me."
As he continued to speak recalling tales of their past his voice became your lifeline, tethered to the hope of your recovery. With each story he tried to weave you back to consciousness. To draw you away from the shadows that clung too closely.
Hours passed, a silent vigil marked only by the rhythm of his voice and the faint but steady beat of your heart. It was during one such tale as Legolas recounted a particularly daring escapade from their youth that he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but to Legolas, it was as profound as the sun breaking through a week of rain.
His heart leapt and his words faltered for a moment. "Are you there? Can you hear me?" he asked. His voice a blend of hope and urgency. When there was no further response he settled back with a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. "I'll keep talking… just keep listening. You're not alone." Legolas's resolve hardened, bolstered by the faint sign of your fighting spirit. He continued to talk. Each word a pledge of his presence and protection. His stories a bridge carrying you back from the brink.
The healing ward was bathed in the soft, ethereal light of dawn filtering through the high windows. Legolas sat steadfast by your side with his hand still holding yours as a silent anchor in the hushed space. He continued to speak with his voice a soft, continuous presence in the hushed space continuously recounting tales, and shared dreams. He was weaving a tapestry of memories meant to guide you back.
As he recounted a particularly fond memory of a midsummer festival where you both had danced under the stars until the world seemed nothing more than a swirl of lights and laughter your eyelids began to flutter. It was a slight movement but enough to pause the flow of his words.
Your eyes slowly opened as they adjusted to the dim light of the room, focusing with effort on the figure who had not left your side. Legolas watched you carefully. His breath held in a mixture of hope and anxiety. Seeing your eyes finally meet his, a wave of relief and joy washed over him, though he tempered his reaction. The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you.
"You're awake," he said softly. His voice a mix of wonder and warmth, his grip on your hand tightening gently.
You managed a weak smile. Your voice barely a whisper but filled with gratitude and warmth. "Legolas..." you breathed, your eyes locking onto his conveying everything you felt but couldn't yet say.
He leaned closer with his forehead nearly touching yours. His eyes were bright with emotion. "You are home," he whispered as his voice trembled slightly. "You're here with me. That is all that matters."
You nodded weakly, your smile widening just a bit. "Home," you agreed softly, the word holding so much more than its simple meaning. It was a promise, a recognition of the bond that had brought you back from the brink.
Legolas brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His touch ever so gentle and reverent. "I was so afraid of losing you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your bravery, your sacrifice... I cannot bear the thought of a world without you in it."
Your hand squeezed his lightly. A small gesture but one that conveyed strength and reassurance. "I'm here," you whispered back, the effort taxing but necessary. "And I'm not going anywhere."
"We have so much more to see together. So many more memories to share," Legolas continued with a smile playing on his lips. "I promise from now on every moment will be a testament to the life you fought so hard to return to."
Your smile widened a bit more, your energy still faint but growing with every moment of connection. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world," you replied. Your voice was stronger this time, filled with the promise of many tomorrows.
In that quiet evening with the last light painting the world in hues of pink and gold, Legolas and you shared a moment of profound gratitude and love. A bond deepened by trials and now unbreakable by anything that the future might hold.
As your strength slowly returned Legolas took you to a secluded glade one evening. A hidden sanctuary where the world's concerns seemed to dissolve under the brilliance of the starlit sky. The air was cool and carried the sweet scent of blooming night flowers. You both settled on a soft blanket surrounded by the tranquil whisper of the forest.
Looking up at the stars Legolas turned toward you, his blue eyes reflecting the celestial light. He took a deep breath as if preparing to share something significant, and then began to speak. His voice soft yet clear. "I've spent many nights under these stars," he said, "but none felt as profound as tonight, being here with you." He paused giving you a moment to absorb the words. "When you were hurt, when I thought I might lose you, I realized something vital. Just how much you mean to me, how deeply I care about you."
Your heart fluttered with a mixture of surprise and joy. The sincerity in his voice and the earnest look in his eyes it was all you had ever hoped for yet never dared to expect. "Legolas, I...," you started your emotions thickening your voice. "I've felt the same way for a long time. But I never thought—"
"That we might have a future together?" Legolas interjected gently. "I know. I've been a fool, letting time pass without speaking my heart. But I don't want to hide my feelings anymore. I love you. More than I can say."
Tears welled in your eyes but not from sadness but from a profound relief and happiness. "I love you too," you replied. Your voice a soft echo of his own declaration. "I always have."
Legolas reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentle touch. "Then let us make a promise tonight," he suggested. His gaze locked with yours, "to never hold back our feelings. To cherish each moment, we have together and to face whatever comes with unity and strength."
You nodded, feeling the weight and warmth of his hand in yours. "I promise," you said. "To all of that."
The night deepened around you, but in the glade, illuminated by starlight, a new chapter of your life together began. It was a promise made not just in words but in the shared glances, the gentle touches, and the quiet commitment to face life's complexities together. With Legolas by your side the future seemed not just a path to walk but a journey to cherish.
The next morning, with the promise of the previous night still fresh and luminous like the dawn Legolas sought his father in the tranquil palace gardens. Dappled sunlight filtered through the ancient trees casting golden patterns on the mossy floor.
"Father," Legolas began with his voice carrying a newfound confidence mixed with joy, "last night under the stars, Y/N and I made a promise. I wish to ask her to let me court her with the intention of marriage."
Thranduil paused with his gaze piercing as he turned to face his son. For a moment his expression was unreadable. Then, a wide, genuine smile transformed his face. "Finally," he exclaimed with a rare chuckle. "You have truly found your path, my son. It is about time."
Legolas smiled, a weight lifting from his shoulders with his father's blessing. Bolstered by this support he planned a special moment to formally begin the courtship. He chose a small, exquisite pendant shaped like a star. An echo of the night that had sealed your shared destiny.
Later that day as you stood in the lush Mirkwood gardens Legolas approached you. The late afternoon sun lit the clearing casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. In his hand he held the delicate star-shaped pendant which sparkled as it caught the light.
"Y/N," he said gently, drawing your attention. His hand extended offering the pendant to you. "Last night, under the starlight, we promised to face whatever comes together. With all my heart, I ask you now, will you let me court you with the hope and intention that one day you will be my wife?"
The moment was overwhelming. More tears sprang to your eyes as the magnitude of what this meant filled you. You had loved Legolas for so long, sometimes fearing your affection was a solitary flame. Now hearing his heartfelt words, confirming that he felt the same, was a relief so profound that sobs of joy escaped you.
"Yes, Legolas," you managed to say between gentle sobs. Your voice thick with emotion as you reached out to take the pendant. "Yes, of course I will."
Legolas stepped closer. His eyes shining with the same emotion. He took the pendant and carefully clasped it around your neck. He cupped your face in his hands wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
"This is just the beginning meleth nîn," he whispered. His voice as tender as the touch of the evening breeze. "A promise of a lifetime together, filled with love and understanding."
In that enchanted moment with the beauty of Mirkwood surrounding you and the promise of a future together everything felt utterly perfect. The garden seemed to hold its breath, the leaves whispering in the wind, as if nature itself was acknowledging the depth of your bond. The journey ahead would indeed have challenges but with the strength of your love you knew you could face them with him.
Content & Warnings: mild sexual content, fade to black, kissing, sneaking away, flirting, fluff
Word Count: 1.5k
During a celebration in the Woodland Realm, Legolas suggests that the two of you sneak away for some alone time.
ao3 // main masterlist
Dedicated to @firelightinferno
Above you, the stars glimmer.
You don’t know how Legolas managed it, but the night sky is there, twinkling through pockets of canopy. Perhaps he sang to the trees, promised them sweet water or fair winds for their leaves to dance in. Whatever he did, they have opened up, revealing the dark sky and silvery bursts of light that break the inky expanse.
Smiling up at the dazzling lights, you twirl gently in a tight circle, the sheer fabric of your dress spinning with you. All around you, your fellow Elves dance by themselves or with a partner. Music plays, and there is gentle, contented laughter everywhere. It is a moment of celebration and of peace.
Warm hands grab hold of your waist but you’re not startled. Instead, you step into it, inhaling. A familiar woodsy scent fills your nostrils and then your lungs. Twisting in said grip, you find a face that you’d know anywhere.
His name hardly leaves your lips before he pulls you close.
“Legolas,” you breathe, voice nearly a sigh.
“My star,” he replies softly.
Heat creeps up your neck to inflame your cheeks. When it comes to public affection, Legolas is not one for boldness. He is typically subdued and reserved, and this singular moment is enough to surprise you.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” you compliment, gesturing outward to indicate the room.
Legolas blushes slightly under the praise.
It is true, and he should take pride in what he has accomplished. The large hall is beautifully decorated, hinting toward the oncoming summer that will draw forth warmer weather and the migrations of different creatures. The forest will shift, and new life will emerge. Everything is in bloom. Everything is earthy and rich.
“Your approval is a comfort,” he responds in that soft tone.
You turn to face Legolas completely. “But is my approval the only one you seek?”
The answer is already known to you, but you want to remind him why he’s done all this in the first place. Birthdays are not often celebrated by the Elves because time moves differently. For those who have dwelled for hundreds if not thousands of years, birthdays become insignificant. They are small memories, sometimes completely forgotten.
Yet Legolas decided to celebrate anyway. For his father.
Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, hasn’t celebrated anything since the death of his wife. Since that time, he has been stoic and cold. There has been celebrations and other such occasions, but Thranduil has either been absent or only made a brief appearance.
This party is a surprise. A way for a son to show his father that he cares.
Legolas turns in the direction of the throne, and you follow his gaze.
Thranduil is surrounded by his people. He is talking. Animated. A gentle smile on his face. The raven-haired woman sitting beside him says something, and Thranduil laughs, his smile widening.
You haven’t seen him this expressive in years.
“Do you think I’ve made him happy?”
You turn back to Legolas who gazes upon his father. The middle of his brow is tightly pinched.
“Your father?”
Legolas hesitates and then nods, like he isn’t entirely sure his father is appreciative of his efforts. When you don’t answer, Legolas tears his gaze away from his father and gives it to you. Before you is the man you love seeking validation.
“What do you think?” you ask softly, nodding toward the throne.
Legolas sighs and then glances back at his father. As Legolas watches, his features melt from hardness to peaceful contentment.
“You’ve done well,” you say. “He is happy.”
“He is,” sighs Legolas, a dreamy look on his face.
Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder. Legolas wraps an arm around your waist and starts to sway to the music. Time passes, the two of you simply moving together, breathing in the essence of the other.
Legolas turns his head slightly, placing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Would you like to slip away?”
You pull back enough to glance up at him. Legolas’ smile is a bit sultry and it immediately warms you everywhere.
“What did you have in mind?” you ask curiously.
“We won’t be missed. We should take advantage of the opportunity.”
Private moments between the two of you have been scarce. Legolas may be your betrothed, but you hardly see him. Duty comes first, and sometimes that doesn’t always include you. A few hours alone would be nice. Perfect.
“I agree,” you answer, and Legolas beams. “Lead the way, my love.”
Legolas’ smile turns into a delighted grin. Sliding your hand into his, he guides you away from the dancing bodies and past the large casks of wine. No one turns to look or to question where the two of you might be off to. There is only your hand in his, and the teasing way he stops to push you into dark corners for chaste kisses before taking off again.
This boldness is new, and you find that you like it. He leads you to his private quarters, the place that will soon by your home. When the door completely shuts, Legolas pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your body like vines.
This time, his kisses are not chaste.
They are liquid heat and from it comes a burst of fire in your chest.
“Legolas,” you murmur, a hint of need in your tone. “My love.”
He only draws back enough to look into your eyes. His eyelids are heavy like he wants to devour you. A stuttering exhale leaves him, and then Legolas is grasping the side of your face, pulling you back to him.
Your bodies are pressed close. Hands roaming.
Elves mate only once. Legolas is it for you. There is to be a ceremony, but that is just a formality. To be skin to skin, to accept him into your body, is your acceptance of him.
Legolas’ hand slips between the delicate folds of fabric to graze over your bare thigh. You inhale sharply and Legolas steals the exhalation, his tongue delving for a taste. Your dress is nothing in his hands, the sheer material bunching as he touches.
“Is this too much?” he asks, voice raspy with need.
You shake your head, fingers digging into his shoulders. “No. I want more.”
Legolas hungrily draws you back to his mouth and your heart hammers in your chest. It is so loud it is all you hear.
To seal the bond, the two of you must become one. To be bare. Open.
The ceremony is only for the people.
“I love you,” murmurs Legolas against your lips. “With all my heart and all the stars in the sky.”
You grin. “And I love you. I never wish to be apart.”
Legolas makes a little purr in his throat. It sounds like contentment. “That will no longer trouble us come the end of summer.”
“Must we wait?” you ask softly. You slide your hands off his shoulders, bringing them to the twisted straps of your dress. You pull on them, drawing them over and down your shoulders. “I do not wish to.”
Legolas’ pale skin flushes before his mind catches up. “I cannot resist when you ask this sweetly.”
“That is why I asked,” you reply, matching his tone.
The dress falls from your body landing in a pool at your feet. His sultry gaze morphs into appreciation. His fingertips lightly trace over your flesh, leaving a trailing heat behind.
“Are you certain?”
“You are my betrothed. It is not wrong to want this.”
Legolas runs the back of his knuckles down your throat and over one breast. He leans forward, and sucks the nipple into his mouth. You moan, arching into him, one hand sliding to the back of his head. His other hand delves between your thighs, and that too twists your stomach into knots.
He brings that nipple to a stiff peak, and then moves to the other, his other hand still moving between your legs. That too springs to life, and then Legolas’ mouth trails further south over your stomach. Lower still to kiss between your thighs.
You gasp. Groan. Shudder as he learns your taste and brings you to an endless sea of stars.
“You are perfect,” he nearly growls, his words drifting upward to caress.
“I am yours,” you gasp out, fingers tangling in his silky hair.
He continues to explore with his tongue, and then he’s standing before you, removing his formal tunic, shedding all this clothes to match your own bareness.
“Let us go to bed,” you murmur, palms pressing against his bare chest.
Legolas’ hands slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts and you’re locking your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. You cling to him, tasting yourself on him.
The bedsheets are cool against your back.
Legolas nuzzles the side of your face, his lips pressed against your ear as he speaks. “I shall give you no rest.”
