prompt: “You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”
moth’s note: this man will always be the blueprint 🤎 not gonna lie this made me tear up a bit when i first wrote this 🥹
tags: angst to fluff, orcs, mentions of torture, violence (“off-screen) hair cutting, captivity, rescue fic, healing, aragorn being the best, traumatized reader, not proofread
word count: 1.2k
The chain around your ankle was a cruel reminder of your true fate.
The orcs had laughed at your pain. When they captured you, when they cut you open, when they cut your hair. The small gash on your head still stung, the feeling of dried blood crackling on the side of your head. They had threatened to cut your ear off if you didn’t stop your weeping.
You missed your family, you missed the sun, but most of all you missed your heart, Aragorn.
A part of you wished he would never have to see you like this, weak and abused. You wondered if he would flinch away upon seeing you.
One part of your heart wanted you to die quickly, to be put of this misery. The other, still held onto hope, to love. Aragorn would find you, of course he would.
Did he even know you were captured? How would he enter Mordor? Is the Fellowship still alive?
These questions ran through your head every day. You didn’t know how long you’d been here. There was no sun in Mordor. Time bled together. You could’ve been here for months, maybe even a year now.
A slam against your cell’s bars scared you out of your daze. There were raised voices. They didn’t sound like orcs, neither uruk-hai. You looked and saw a dead orc, he was shot with an arrow. The arrow looked familiar though you couldn’t put your finger on it.
“Is she here laddie?” You knew that voice… Gimli.
Your heart started to pound. Maybe this was it, you were dying, maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, giving you one last vision before you finally passed.
“She has to be. I won’t stop looking until shes in my arms again.”
Aragorn?
Tears filled your eyes. No, no, no, he can’t be here. Not this again.
You placed your hand sober your ears and closed your eyes. Curling up, you prayed to the Valar- just stop this torment!
Rough gloved hands grasped your arms.
“No! Do not touch me!” You screamed. Eyes still closed you began to fight back as best you could.
“Y/n… My heart, open your eyes.” A soothing voice. It was him.
You shook your head fervently. “No, you’re not real! You’re not here! I’m dead, I’m dead!” Your throat was sore and dry. The orcs weren’t exactly known for their hospitality, how you were parched.
The hands left your arms and a thumb brushed against the side of your forehead. A soothing action only Aragorn would do.
Your heart seemed to stop. You open your eyes.
Before knelt Aragorn. He looked exhausted, he was covered in orc blood, but he was here.
“Aragorn?” You ask, voice still cracking.
“I’m here my heart. You’re safe now.”
“Are you real?” you ask, tears falling down your face.
“I am real. I am here to take you away from here. No more of this place.”
You reaches out and places your hand on his chest. You felt his heart beat. He was real…
You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore and you collapsed into his arms. You grabbed onto his coat as tight as you could. You sobbed in his arms as gently shushes you.
“You’re safe, no more. We are going home.”
Home.
“Aragorn, I found the key!” Legolas was also here?
Nimble hands fiddled with the chain around your ankle. It finally unlocked.
Your ankle was raw and bloodied. You gasped at the sight.
“Don’t look,” Aragorn demands softly. “I’m going to help you stand.”
You nod, still holding onto him you try to stand. A shooting pain ran up through your leg, you cry out and fall, but Aragorn was quick to catch you.
He gentle whisks you in his arms and holds you close to him, his arms under your legs, carrying you as if you were a bride.
“You curled into him, you felt exhausted. You let your eyes close as you hear Aragorn begging you to stay awake.
(time skip brought to you by tom bombadil.)
The first thing you notice was the the sun. It bled through your eyelids, it warmed you. You were lying in something in something soft. A stark contrast to what you had been used to.
A hand was in yours. You open your eyes, the light stung. You hissed and closed your eyes again, not used to the light.
“Y/n… you’re awake!”
You turned your head towards the voice. you slowly opened your eyes. You see Aragorn sitting in a chair beside you, a book in his lap. You gasped.
“Where am I?” you ask.
“You are in Gondor my Lady.”
“Gandalf?” You ask as he enters your view. He looked different from when you had seen him last. He bore striking white hair and white robes now.
“Yes my dear. You are safe. Aragorn here never left your side once. in fact he’s the one who healed you.” He adds.
You look to Aragorn. “Is this true?”
Aragorn nods humbly.
Your lips wobbled as you reached for him, he gently grabs your hand and kisses it.
“I’ll leave you two be. We’re happy you’re back Y/n. We have all missed you.” Gandalf places a hand in your shoulder and exits the room.
Aragorn touches your cheek gently. He looks deep into your eyes, sadness was etched in his.
You avoided his gaze. You looked at your arms. They weren’t covered in dirt or grime. You wounds were bandaged. You ached, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.
You sniff. “I must look frightening.”
“No. No, you are as beautiful as the day I lost you, Y/n. I made a vow to you to protect you and I failed. I would ask your forgiveness.”
You hold his hand and squeezed it. “You didn’t fail me, you found me. Although I must admit, the thought of dying there…” You shake your head.
“You aren’t there anymore, you’re safe.”
All of a sudden, questions ran through your head. “What about the Ring? Where’s the fellowship? Is Frodo still ali-“
“Sshhh, the Ring is destroyed Y/n. Yes Frodo is alive. He didn’t want to go back to the Shire before he said goodbye to you.”
“He’s so kind. I must thank him.”
Aragorn nods, a small smile on his lips.
“Aragorn? How long was I was in Mordor?”
“Three months.”
You chest heaves. Everything runs through your head again, the pain, the orcs-
“Oh stars.” You cup your hand over your mouth, trying not to cry out.
“Y/n, do not let yourself be toubled. they won’t hurt you anymore. The Ring is destroyed, Mordor is destroyed. The orcs are gone.” Aragorn tries to comfort you.
“It felt so much longer than that. I was all alone. I was so scared!”
“I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I will graciously accept any forgiveness you can give me.”
“Aragorn there is nothing to apologize for. I love you. You found me.” You repeat.
Aragorn nods and kisses your hand again, and holds it to his lips. Tears stream gently down his face. You run one away.
“I’m just so happy you’re alive.” He gets out of his chair and goes to hug you. You meet him half way.
He holds you tight against him. He buries his face into your neck, inhaling your familiar, calming scent.
“You’re never leaving my side again. No harm will ever come to again, this I promise you, my heart.”
You melt in his arms, letting his words warm you. “Thank you.”
Absolutely no AI was used in writing this. You do not have permission to repost, upload, or translate onto any other platforms.
summary — in which kíli’s elven wife is subject to his mouth
word count — 1.5k
warnings — 18+ MDNI, smut
author’s note — i hope you like this little kíli x reader!
two brothers were now the kings of erebor, sharing the glory of their kingdom proudly amongst each other. their late uncle, thorin, had raised them with the duty to protect their loved ones and kin. there was no jealousy or hatred between them as they led the kingdom in unison.
kíli, the younger of the brothers, had grown into quite a fine dwarf. his beard had grown thickets and his hair now had braids and hair cuffs, being earned from his experience and achievements. though even with all his years of drinking and eating, he maintained his fit body unlike his older brother, fíli, who always had a great pudgy belly.
years after becoming king, fíli and kíli had to make an alliance with the elves, against their best judgment, of course. though it worked in their favor, having control of a mineral mine system in the elven land, and the elves control of a portion of the dwarven army if needed. though the alliance caused lots of headaches in the beginning, kíli ended up betrothed to an elven healer.
y/n was gentle and soft-spoken compared to kíli’s extroverted and flirty nature. they completed each other nicely to put things simply.
“what’ve you done this time?” y/n asked massaging the sore muscle kíli had been complaining about the moment he took off his shirt. his face slightly contorted, making her place her hands steadily in one spot.
“practicing with a new axe,” kíli admitted, stretching his arms upwards and groaning in discomfort. y/n brought his arms back down slowly and sat him on their bed. he knew the next step would be her doing her healing. he didn’t bother denying it anymore, knowing she wouldn’t want to take no for an answer.
“you’ve not been listening when i say to stretch before you practice with your weaponry.” y/n’s voice was hushed as she was so close to his ear, though her normal voice wasn’t much louder.
“i understand now,” kíli said, biting his inner cheek as her thumbs worked into his bare muscles.
“always stubborn,” y/n mumbled before leaving the room, having to gather a few supplies to help her beloved. kíli knew better than to move from his spot on the edge of the bed and receive an earful from his wife.
she came back with warm water in a bowl filled with various herbs and an odd-smelling blend of crushed powders. she took the cloth that was laid over her forearm and soaked it in the water. she laid the cloth on his shoulder blade and massaged, feeling her husband move uncomfortably underneath her touch.
“deep breath in,” the elf stated, as kíli inhaled she used a fist to massage instead of only a few fingers as she had before. she felt kíli exhale and left him to sit upright for a few moments before taking off the hot compress and began wrapping a long bandage from his unaffected shoulder, across his pectoral muscle, and over his sore muscle. she continued to wrap until the bandage came to an end.
“an elven witch you be with these methods,” kíli said feeling slightly better. he went to lift his sore arm to grab his shirt from the ground, but the elf put his arm down quickly.
“don’t move it, you need rest,” she said, propping the pillows on their bed so her husband could lay back comfortably. she put his shirt against his chest and patted it gently.
“you’re not done,” the dwarf grabbed her hand before she began putting away her herbal remedies. he grabbed her hand with his uninjured arm, pulling her closer.
y/n eyed her husband and placed a hand gently on his well-maintained chest. he caressed her soft cheek and placed an appreciative kiss on her lips. the elf closed her eyes, taking a moment to savor his lips. as she tried to pull away, kíli intensified the kiss, taking his hand from her cheek to her hip. her silky dress on his calloused hands was very satisfying to the dwarf, enjoying their differences in style. rough and rugged compared to dainty and ethereal. he squeezed her hip, making y/n open her mouth slightly.
the elf, though pleased by kíli’s actions, stopped him. “that would not be considered rest.” she, nudged him back against the pillow.
“but–” kíli, interjected, his wife turning her head swiftly to look at her husband with a stern look. the dwarf instead laid against the pillow.
after two weeks and much daily care for his pulled muscles, y/n released kíli for his full working abilities again. the only reason the dwarf did not go against the elf’s wishes was because he wanted a chance to lay with his wife as quickly as possible.
y/n lay lounging on the day bed in the sun. the warm light filled the room shining down on the she-elf. her eyes were closed as she basked in the sun, her entire body relaxed. she did not move when she heard kíli’s footsteps enter the sunroom. her sharp, pointed ears could pick up on even the smallest noises.
“the drops of sun add to your beauty,” he said, approaching and sitting next to her on the long sofa.
“i suppose,” y/n said, sighing in relief as she felt his hand run along her thigh. her eyes didn’t open due to the bright light, feeling the mild glow from the natural lighting.
kíli began to slowly lift her dress above her knee and catch a glimpse of her panties. his hand trailed from her kneecap down to her foot. he only wanted to take in every inch of her body and appreciate it after the few weeks he was unable to properly use his arm.
y/n allowed her husband to continue his touches, her hands resting on his chest, waiting in anticipation of his next move. he placed his hand against the front of her panties and tilted his head to look at the relaxed nature of his wife.
the elf adjusted her shoulder blades into the couch and swallowed. feeling her panties being dragged off she opened her eyes curiously. “what are you doing?” she asked, her dress being placed onto her stomach.
“taking care of you,” kíli stated, spreading her legs by taking his hand slowly and parting them, his head diving down. “you always take care of me,” kíli meant that in more ways than just one. his mind was occupied with the thoughts of temptation in front of him.
y/n moaned in agreement, feeling the dwarf’s tongue linger on her thighs before kissing the space right above her clit. kíli’s head was soon buried in her heat, paying extra attention to her clit. suckling, lapping, and gently pulling at it with his lips trying to coerce her into moaning. the elf, who was sighing quietly, had her hands laced in his dark hair and was attempting to lift her hips to meet his mouth.
kíli was holding her firmly to the daybed, still wanting to have a sense of control over y/n. his head was fully immersed in her cunt. the wetness, spreading onto his beard and chin, only gave him more motivation to continue his pleasure. he lifted her legs over his shoulders and spread her asscheeks. he wanted a larger area to continue his naughty antics.
he occasionally would shake his head so his tongue would enter her wet hole. moving up and down, occasionally teasing her asshole as he licked. his normally quiet wife was spewing moans that echoed in the mostly empty sunroom. her eyes were tightly shut as groaned in complete and utter fulfillment.
kíli was enjoying the taste of her cunt like an indecent delicacy. when he was too involved in darting his tongue across her many folds, y/n managed to raise her hip, forcing him to be enveloped further in her heat. the dwarf was startled at this quick movement, causing him to moan into her sloppy wetness.
his hairy forearm laid across her stomach, pushing her back down only so he could breathe better and continue the hungry motions against her most intimate area. the elf groaned with frustration at being forced down. the only grip she had on reality was the one in kíli’s hair. she was panting needily, kíli not aiding in the situation by exploiting her cunt.
the moment he went back to her clit, the elf felt her stomach tighten, her walls contracting over and over from the recognition given to her clit. coming down from her high, kíli buried his face again, lapping her folds before y/n released his thick hair from its tight hold and threw her head back.
kíli laid his head on her thigh, wiping his mouth and beard. the elf, having been vocal for so long, cleared her throat.
the two quietly layed on the daybed until the sunlight faded due to the clouds covering it.
Fluff/romance #13 with Legolas. Maybe reader is a servant or guard in Mirkwood?
I... am ashamed of how long it's taken me to answer this. And I truly am sorry. I hope that you can still enjoy this oneshot, and thank you for requesting ❤️
(prompt n.13 "Do you have to make my job so difficult, your royal highness?")
❝𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬❞ « one-shot »
Pairing : Legolas X Reader
Wordcount : 4.3k
Gender-neutral reader | TWs : None
Summary: Elves are invited to visit Dale, and to see the rebuilding of a new town. The main change in your life, however, is being promoted to the royal guard. And catching the interest of a certain prince while travelling together.
The honour of being chosen for the royal guard was not something you ever expected, and as you stare at the neat writing again you're still not sure it can be correct. But the seal on the letter bears the mark of the king, and the neat, scripted handwriting is exactly what you would expect a royal's handwriting to look like (if you'd ever given it much thought). Still, when you keep the letter on you while going down to breakfast your mind doesn't believe it. A mixture of frozen disbelief and a worry that it's a mistake.
Sitting down with your food, you can only really stare at it before registering the sound of someone sitting down next to you. An elven face stares back at you, and your mind unhelpfully supplies that you should know their name. Their rank. It's just... decided to not give it to you. Before you have to ask, they speak. "So, how does being part of the royal guard feel?"
The name comes to you as Tirnessa, youngest of the royal guard. Second youngest now. There doesn't seem to be judgement in his gaze, and so you answer honestly, "I'm not entirely sure my mind's accepted it yet."
That makes him smile, "It does not always feel real to me, still. Although I am looking forward to no longer being the newest member."
Hearing the jest in his tone you respond in kind, and the rest of breakfast passes remarkably easily. Your first meeting with the rest of the guard goes smoothly as well, and the routine begins to feel... not normal, but no longer uncomfortable. In truth it is not dissimilar from previous guard duties, although now you stand next to a throne or personal chambers instead of an entrance to Mirkwood. You are one of three new guards as well, the reason for suddenly having a number of new recruits being revealed only a week into your new role.
The elves have been invited back to Dale, so that two kingdoms may become allies once again. You are one of few elves to be going in the official party, the last few places being awarded to merchants and the occasional artist. The prospect of going to Dale is more wanted than you had anticipated, and soon most of your days are spent outside of the throne room while controlling the line of petitioners.
It's simple work and you shouldn't complain - but part of you wants to do something more exciting. To be assigned to the prince for a short time, being able to go into Mirkwood with him while he is on patrol, sounds like a blessing from the monotony you're doing now.
And then the day comes to leave.
The job of the royal guards now is to be a mostly unobtrusive presence, and so when the king and prince start to ride you follow an appropriate distance behind. Sitting straight, the commands you've been given for this journey play in your mind again. You are now one of the ones who must watch the prince and ensure he does not come to any harm. The first day passes without issue, and without much of notice either.
It is only when you stop for the night that the royals seem to truly see you. Settling in the clearing, you and Tirnessa sweep the west of the perimeter and find nothing. It is an odd feeling, to finally be observed, and your movement suddenly feels stiff and unnatural. How you could fail on a simple border sweep you're not sure, but the unchanging gaze of Thranduil makes you feel like you have. Eventually your king's gaze falls away from you, and as you relax for a moment the thought enters your mind. Why was he so interested in a new guard at all?
Thranduil's gaze alleviating means you can feel another watching you - although this one seems far less judgmental. The prince's gaze holds much more curiosity, and there is a lightness about it (if an intensity you can't quite place). Turning away from the forest and into the temporary encampment, you suddenly catch his eye for a moment. Legolas simply smiles and dips his head to you; as he turns away to address someone near him you find yourself smiling back.
The smile stays on your face for a short while, until Tirnessa points it out and asks if he should be expecting to see some form of blush on your face in the near future. Your annoyance with him doesn't completely fade when he cheerfully informs you that you've been chosen for the longest stretch of night watch, and that it's best to sleep now if you can. "Maybe you can have a good dream, hm? A dream of someone?"
Deciding to take the high ground, if it can be considered that, you chose to simply ignore him and try to go to sleep. Eventually you do manage to slip into unconsciousness, and when you awake it's to a soft shake and a sky that's still inky black. Trying not to yawn too loudly, you change into some simpler armour before standing in the outskirts of the clearing and simply waiting. Mirkwood in the pitch black is rather peaceful, even if you dislike the depth some of the shadows seem to be able to reach.
And then there's the rustling of movement.
Trained reflexes make your hand rush to your weapon, steel drawn in the direction of the noise. Then logic tells you that the noise is coming from the centre of the camp, and that you would've heard this thing move beforehand if it was an intruder. You still take a step forward to see more clearly in the darkness, before some of the clearing is illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern. Prince Legolas holds it in his hand, arms held slightly up in a mock pose of surrender.
The firelight reflects off your blade and you instantly drop into a bow, "My prince. I apologise for drawing a weapon on you, had I known-"
"You'd make a worse guard if you didn't respond to movement in the dark." His interruption is not harsh, and to your surprise his tone is more appropriate to speaking to a friend than someone of your status. "If I must accept your apology, then take mine for startling you."
"It's entirely reasonable to wake up in the night." The distance between you is an awkward gap, where you're not quite close enough to have a conversation but not far enough away for it to be impersonal.
Silence settles for a moment, before he speaks again. "You're one of the three new guards, are you not?"
"Yes, your highness."
Legolas's face briefly falls at the title, before it recovers again, "There's no need to address me by a title. It is good to become more familiar with my guards."
Before you can guess exactly what he means by that, his gaze is drawn to edges of the clearing. "I doubt I'll immediately find sleep. Walk with me?"
You don't want to refuse him - both on a formal role and at a personal level. But the sensible voice in your head protests, "I'm not entirely sure that's wise... Legolas. Mirkwood will be dangerous at night."
"My father has let me go out at midnight before, with the expressed goal of cleansing Mirkwood of some of the darkness inside it." He starts to move a little, movement now silent as he closes the gap and stands next to you. "And I'll have a guard with you."
"I don't think I've ever seen you leave without an escort of at least ten." Your response is immediate, but to your relief the prince simply laughs at you questioning him.
"Then we won't go far," Legolas's voice gets slightly softer, and you suddenly understand why the prince seems to get his way so often. Because as he looks at you, illuminated only by the firelight, you realise you aren't going to refuse what he asks. "Walk with me for a short distance?"
"If you insist." The words are a formality, a way you can tell yourself (lie to yourself) that you did try to be the responsible one in this situation. The grin that appears on his face tells you he knows your real answer is a simple 'yes'. There's silence as the two of you exit the centre of the camp, but once the little bit of clearing gives way into true forest Legolas begins to talk again.
It's mainly simple questions about you. If there wasn't such sincerity in his voice, you would think the prince was faking his interest. But he smiles in the right places, laughs where you had hoped there would be laughter. Even when walking together through Mirkwood at midnight, it somehow feels remarkably normal. Eventually you steer the conversation back to him, and you're surprised again by his honesty. Legolas has a consistent sense of being genuine that you wouldn't expect from a prince.
Your walk is mostly simple, but even with everything there is still a part of you that's on guard. It rises instantly when Legolas suddenly stops, and you move forward to be beside him for whatever is about to come - before realising there is nothing there. Seeing your blade half raised, Legolas laughs softly. "I did not mean to startle you. I only stopped to look at the flowers."
In truth, your attention had been too split between Legolas and any threats to notice the simpler things in your surroundings. Trying to relax again, you notice how the forest seems to have grown a blanket of them - small white buds that stick close together. "They're beautiful."
"Yes." Legolas bends slightly and takes ones in his hand, "It is a shame the petals aren't open, they look more lovely when in full bloom."
"If they grow here in such abundance we'll probably run into them more on the way to Dale." It's a small offer, and your mind focuses on the fact you said 'we'. As if you and Legolas were going to continue doing anything similar to this once the night was over.
"They will bloom given daybreak, I think." Legolas's hand stills on the flower for a moment, thinking about something, before his hand leaves it and he stands tall again. "I suppose that, if these should not appear on our road to Dale, we could always sneak away again?"
"I imagine it'll be harder to sneak you away during daylight." The offer Legolas makes is not lost on you, but you try to deflect it more subtly.
"Then perhaps we won't need to sneak. You are a member of my royal guard, after all." He lets there be silence for a moment, the two of you simply close together with Legolas smiling at you. Then his gaze drifts upwards again, "How much longer do we have out here, by your estimation?"
You've hardly been counting down the time you've spent with Legolas, and so the answer takes some thought. "A little less than an hour, I imagine. Although I doubt the guards will wake until I force them too."
Legolas nods at your answer, and the smile on his face becomes more mischievous than intimate. "Can you climb quickly?"
There's no judgement in his question, and so you're quick to answer. Trying to ignore what else you're conveying when you speak the simple words, "I can try."
To his credit, Legolas has a good eye for which trees are easier than others. For a while the two of you simply retrace your tracks, but his eyes are constantly flickering upwards to try and make out a path. This time you don't reach for your weapon when he suddenly stops, only looking upwards to note the path he's chosen. Legolas evaluates it in silence before turning to you, "I will leave the lantern down here, if you trust me enough to be your guide?"
"I'm the one who should be trying to protect you, your royal highness."
At his title he almost protests, before recognising the somewhat teasing and somewhat sarcastic tone to your voice. There's a beautiful grace to his movement as he climbs up into the lowest part of the tree before extending his hand to yours, "I promise to care very much about your life as we climb."
That promise is kept as the two of you start to ascend together, Legolas careful to never get too far ahead of you and stopping whenever it's needed. Eventually you're high enough to almost reach the canopy and he stops on a branch, waiting for you. It's a closer distance than he normally waits, and although you gladly take his hand there's a question in your eyes.
"I wanted us both to see the sky together." Legolas says it casually before quickly turning away, foot on the branch and ready to push through the leaves. Waiting for you to get your footing, Legolas waits for your nod to push through the leaves and see the night sky.
You've seen this view before, although rarely, and it is still just as breathtaking.
The leaves seem to be almost silver as moonlight dances upon them as they stretch out as far as the eye can see; compared to the gloom of Mirkwood the tops of the trees seem to be almost bathed in light with a glow from the moon. It's been almost a year since you've seen this view, and longer since it's been in a place as gorgeous as this, that you're completely absorbed by it. Absorbed enough to not notice how Legolas's gaze only looks upon the treetops for a few moments before settling comfortably on you.
The magic of the sight doesn't fail, although you get used to it enough to turn your gaze back to Legolas. That sight takes your breath away for a moment as well.
His hair usually has a silver look about it, but in lighting it almost looks as though it's made out of liquid silver as it moves with him. His eyes shimmer in the light as well, and they seem to light up even more when you meet his gaze. "Everything looks perfect up here, does it not?"
Casting your eyes back over the landscape, you nod in agreement. "The views are perfect."
His voice is gentle as he corrects you, and in the light you can see a faint bit of blush on his cheeks. "I did not mean just the landscape."
---
You want to respond to him, truly, but the words somehow stick in your throat. You wish to compare your prince's beauty to that around you, or at least acknowledge the compliment. Acknowledge his blush and how warm your own cheeks now feel. But instead of pressuring you, Legolas's gaze goes to the moon and stars. "How long can we stay here, before we will be missed?"
A dreamer wants to say forever. The practical person gives consideration, "A few minutes, at least."
"Then we may stay for these few minutes together." Legolas makes no further move or comment as the two of you wait together, although now that you've noticed it you can feel when his gaze rests on you in a quiet admiration.
Eventually the minutes pass by, and you look to the leaves to take you back down to the ground and to reality. Moving with you, Legolas disappears mostly below the canopy before offering you his hand. Climbing down the tree is easier than climbing up, as you keep your focus on the prince and on the still glowing lantern light. Stooping, he picks it up before turning to you. The firelight glow makes him look gorgeous, but it does not suit him as well as a smile under the moon and stars. Then you briefly scold yourself for letting the thought creep in now that you are back on the ground.
"Will you ride alongside me tomorrow?" Legolas phrases it as more of an offer than a command. "I would be thankful for your company."
"Your guards are positioned in such a way to maximise the security we can afford you."
"If the royal guards are truly the best in the realm, they should be able to adapt to a simple change in position." There's a challenge in his eyes now, and he begins to walk away as if he knows what you'll say. As if he knows that you'll give into him, eventually.
And you do. Walking slightly behind him, as not to look him in the eyes when you concede, you allow yourself a short sigh. "Do you have to make my job so difficult, your royal highness?"
That makes him laugh, fully as he turns to you with a smile. "I simply thought I would be more safe in trusted company."
Giving you a little grace, Legolas does not broach the subject again as you make your way back to camp - merely bidding you a goodnight as he goes back to where he is sleeping, and you go to wake the next guard for you. Although even as sleep tries to take you, your mind can't help but buzz and think about the prince's asks and what will happen.
The camp is packed up with remarkable efficiency in the morning, and your duties are standard up until you mount your horse. Your position in formation lasts for a few minutes before Legolas appears next to you, not yet on his own mount. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"
"I thought the sleep would give you a better perspective on your safety and on responsibility," you choose to respond, words diplomatic.
"The guard is usually the sensible one." Legolas's tone makes it clear he's got something up his sleeve, "And the prince is not. But to my luck, it is still the prince that is listened too."
Before you can respond he leaves to his own horse, mounting it easily and then steadying it. His horse does not trot to you, and the question hangs in the air as to if you'll ride out. Everyone can see the smile on his face when you choose to join him, although you can mostly hide the exasperation on your own.
In the end, Legolas turns out to be a good riding partner - and one you can tell was clearly itching for company. Trees that are particularly beautiful are pointed out to you, and whenever a bird call sounds in the wood he'll attempt to identify it. There is a special delight in his eyes when you notice the small white flowers blooming from the night before, their petals now unfurled and absorbing what sunlight they can. As you pass a cluster of them growing upon a higher place, he reaches out and gently eases a few strands off before looking at them in his hands and confessing they remind him of a friend.
Less than an hour later, you're presented with a neatly woven bracelet of the same white flowers.
The next few days pass mostly in the same way, although you will sometimes ride alone and Legolas goes to his father once the camp is settled in. He does meet you once at midnight, persuading you to walk with him again via a mixture of sweet words and puppy-dog eyes. As the two of you escape again, you find yourself briefly pausing with a question in your mind. What are the two of you?
An elf who briefly saw the two of you walking through the trees together and laughing might think you friends. But they could just as easily say lovers. And you aren't sure which label you would rather they use.
Thankfully, during your walk Legolas makes it easy not to think about that. To simply be able to enjoy time with him. It is almost as though you are not his guard and he is not your prince, a fact that he could easily forget if not for the few quips he makes. The sighs you let out when he does something that could be considered reckless. (He's glad that you indulge him in this, unlike some guards his father has forced to shadow him.)
He would ask you to be his guard at Dale regardless of how overbearing you were, but the fact you let him have freedoms is something he truly appreciates.
You're honoured, and still surprised, when Legolas asks if you'll be his personal escort while in Dale. He stresses that you do not have to give an answer right away, merely a day or so notice, but your answer is immediate. Your answer is yes.
Once Dale is only a short distance away much of the elven procession halts, as ceremonial banners begin to fly and the elves go from simply marching to being ready to represent their kingdom. For your part, it is relatively easy to slip into your armour - a set made especially for you as a member of the royal guard (and far better than the slightly too big set you'd had previously). The armour itself is a good mix between ceremonial and professional, and although it is heavier than your usual armour there's little restriction on mobility. (And you do look better, truly representing the royals.)
Instead of taking your now standard position beside Legolas you fall in line with the other guards for the elves' arrival, although there is still an hour or so where you all simply ride forward. Legolas looks even more stunning than usual, in a green gown with delicate leaf patterns sprawling up it - every bit a prince. It does not even take elven eyes to see how his cheeks turn more red when he catches sight of you in full armour, although his small bow to you requires a keener eye to spot.
There are even more crowds in Dale than you would expect, and it is a strange experience to be alongside so many humans in one place. At peace. It is even stranger when adoring eyes and fawning turns not just to your royals but to you as well, with whispers of the elves in armour being loud enough for you to hear (some being loud enough you're rather certain it's intentional). Your focus is still kept on Legolas and Thranduil as you ride forward; a little of your worries alleviate when you all dismount and can get closer to them. Although it is clear that there are no fighters in this crowd.
To your surprise, the royal guard is offered to stay where the royals are as well - albeit in the servants quarters. There's a brief talk of some of you staying at a nicer inn, but duty has you turn it down - and once you arrive in the quarters they are inoffensive. For Legolas's first night in Dale he makes small talk and connections with many of the town's people, rekindling some bonds with those he had only briefly met, although to his frustration he does not speak to you.
You're not too far away either, only a few feet, but you are standing to attention instead of sitting across from him at a table. Should the event have been more informal he would have stood by your side for most of the night, but instead he waits. Reminds himself this will not be your only night in Dale, and that he can spend at least some with you.
Finally retiring, your presence by his side as he begins to walk to his room is comforting. There is silence for the few moments you spend together under everyone's gaze, but once you've escaped some of it conversation begins to flow again. Legolas allows himself to look at you in the armour and how it fits your form, "It looks beautiful on you."
"It's the same ceremonial armour all of your guards are wearing."
"And that is why I have specified that it looks beautiful on you." Legolas emphasises the last two words, enjoying seeing you fluster slightly at them. "I am sorry I couldn't speak to you more."
"There's nothing to be sorry for. It's simply my job." You look him up and down, eyes taking in the fancy outfit properly, "As it is your job to sit and look charming."
Legolas laughs at your comment, although before the noise begins he's only silent with rose pink gathering to his cheeks. "Thank you."
The conversation between the two of you flows easily as you continue to walk, and again you wonder what the people of Dale are thinking of the two of you. Royal and guard are most likely, for you now look the part; but what of your actions? They are certainly not just of a guard and their ward - but at least of friends. Of something more? Once outside his chambers the conversation lulls, and you wait for him to slip inside his room.
Instead Legolas stays on the boundary, silent and in thought. It begins to become awkward when he speaks again, "You'll be ready for me tomorrow?"
"Of course." You answer quickly but don't leave. Your sticking by his side was discussed weeks ago, and can't be the question he truly wants to ask.
Hesitating a moment more, Legolas opens the door before turning to face you completely. "Must you come to me as my guard?"
You can feel your cheeks warm as you shake your head, "What would you have me come as?"
"A date. A lover. As mine."
A/N: Hello again everyone. This is the Legolas request that, despite being in last place for the majority of the poll, managed to battle it out to second. So sorry for it coming last. (Also discovered just how much people want to see the elves with that poll.) Hopefully everyone enjoyed! Did anyone catch the very unsubtle reference to another character? More bonus points if anyone can understands why the guard OCs name makes me laugh.
A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3
Word count: 3.8k
Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?
Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe
Also all translations are at the end!
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺
Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.
The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king.
She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.
As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence.
“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.
Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.
"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."
As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.
Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.
A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.
She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.
“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.
His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it.
He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.
Gods, had he missed her.
The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.
“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.
His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.
“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.
Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.
He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.
Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.
“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.
His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.
Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.
His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.
"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."
His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?
“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.
Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.
Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.
He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.
"Írimë... I have come to realize...”
Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat.
And she did.
Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.
“Írimë! Elrond!”
The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.
She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them.
“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.
Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.
As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.
"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.
The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”
Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”
The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."
As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺
The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.
Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.
Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…
A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.
And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.
Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert.
His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.
The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.
As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.
He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.
“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond.
He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"
Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.
Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."
His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?
She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.
Do not shed tears, she thought to herself.
Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.
Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.
Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.
"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."
Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.
She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.
Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.
He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"
Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s.
A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.”
She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.
The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.
"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.
He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"
His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?
But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?
Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”
A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke.
Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.
“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm.
Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”
Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.
He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"
His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.
She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.
The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life.
His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.
“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.
Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said.
“Elrond,” her voice squeaked.
A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.
"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.
He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.
After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”
When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.
The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.
Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.
His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.
She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.
They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens.
A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks.
“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name.
He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.
His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.
Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined.
Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought.
The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.
A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.
His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.
"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.
She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.
Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.
She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.
“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.
Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.
His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.
Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.
His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.
Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.
He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.
What was this?
Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.
“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.
“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.
Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.
His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.
"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.
She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.
”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.
His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them.
“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺
mellon nin: my friend
meleth nîn: my love
melnā: beloved
Írimë: lovely, desirable
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺
A soft, sweet one-shot with our favorite sunshine half-elf. Feelings are brewing, tears are flowing, and festivities ar...
Rain clung to the rocks and leaves, turning the world into a blue haze of water and shadow.
Elowyn sat braced against the stone outcrop, one arm folded tightly at her side. Her breath was measured, careful, each rise of her chest controlled, disciplined, betraying nothing of the pain beneath her ribs. Blood darkened the edge of her tunic, seeping through despite her restraint.
Aragorn knelt before her at once, already drawing his cloak around her shoulders. His movements were sure, practiced, but his eyes betrayed him, sharp with fear he would never name.
“Edraith,” he murmured. Hold fast.
“Ú-bae, Elowyn.” Do not struggle.
He pressed the bandage into place, one hand firm at her side, the other tying it tight. When her breath wavered despite her control, his arm came around her without thought, anchoring her against him.
“Lasto,” he said softly near her temple. Listen.
“Im gin melin,” he breathed, the words slipping free in Sindarin before caution could claim them, I am with you.
She leaned into him, just for a moment, her forehead resting against his shoulder. The pain surged, sharp and merciless, and she held herself together through it, fingers tightening in the wet wool of his cloak.
Aragorn held her steady, his grip unyielding, as if by will alone he could keep her from breaking. “Breatha,” he murmured. Breathe.
“Ú-daro. Im menui aníra.” Do not fall. I need you awake.
The moment passed, leaving her trembling but upright. The rain softened. The world steadie.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Her hand slid from his cloak to his chest, resting there, unthinking, feeling the strong, relentless beat beneath leather and mail.
For a heartbeat, Aragorn did not stop her.
Then his breath caught.
“Elowyn…” Her name fell from him like a warning.
He gently closed his hand around her wrist, his touch careful, almost reverent. With infinite slowness, he guided her hand away from his heart, placing it back against her own side.
“Ú-bae,” he said again, softer now. Do not.
There was sorrow in his eyes, and something harder; resolve sharpened by duty and old oaths. “Henion nîn,” he added quietly. Forgive me.
She searched his face, finding no rejection there, only restraint held like a blade turned inward.
Understanding passed between them without word.
He released her wrist, though his thumb lingered a moment longer at her pulse before withdrawing. Rising, he offered his hand, ,not in longing, but in promise.
When she took it and stood, he stepped back, restoring the distance neither of them had chosen.
Yet as he turned to make camp, his voice reached her, low and unwavering.
“Aníra i galad,” he said. The light still desires you.
“Na ú-chebin estel.” Do not lose hope.
Elowyn watched him disappear into the rain, her hand still warm where he had touched it. Held together by him, and then, just as carefully, let go.
Description: Cassandra: shining upon man, a name bestowed by the mortals that surrounded your husband's kingdom. Being bestowed the gift of foresight, you have seen things in motion - that is until a tragedy happens. One that you did not foresee.
"What is it like to be a prophet? Everywhere Cassandra went she found that she was already there."
Pairing: thranduil/reader. (elrond's daughter)
Genre: angst [major character death]
Warning: I make my own timeline.
There were many things in the darkness that stayed unseen. The darkness plagued your dreams, a tangible darkness that watched in the background beside you as the events unfolded. As a child, the dreams were tame - Elladan breaking your mother's favorite vase or Elrohir scraping his knees while running down the halls.
When you grew older, the dreams turned grim. The tangible darkness that used to watch beside you now became a character of these dreams. It played in your head repeatedly; Greenwood marred by darkness, the elves fleeing to Valinor.
It haunted you.
"My child." Ada places a guiding hand on your shoulder. One of the few elves that shared your burden of foresight. "Darling," he whispered seeing the tears pool on the corners of your eyes.
Despite his gentle nudging, all attempts of reviving you from the drown - the trance does not break. You remain inside your dream. Elrond furrows his eyebrows, sensing fear and sadness in you.
"Does she wake?" Elladan leans on the doorframe.
This has been a common occurrence in the household. When the moon is in clarity, and the members in deep sleep - they get stirred awake by the sound of your tears - by the sound of objects falling from your room. "No," Elrond responds seeing your tight grip on the bedsheet - mumbling curses that he could not fathom.
A sigh escapes the younger twin's mouth.
He takes a step towards the bed, sitting beside the plump pillows that surrounded her body. "You must jump off the boat now," he mumbled, reaching for your clenched fists - opening it slowly. "When the rain comes we'll prepare the barrels, but awaken and enjoy the warmth of the sun." he pleaded.
Out of all the siblings, Elladan admired you the most. His oldest sister who had a gentle disposition and a caring voice. He did not like seeing you in pain; haunted by the inevitable.
Almost instantly, your eyes opened.
Father tries to calm you down but you are haunted. You tried to break free from the haunting, but something prevents you to speak. That tangible darkness that continued to hold you back.
You clawed at your forearm. In disbelief of what's to come.
"Naneth," you managed to whisper out. At the end of the night, you weren't alone in the haunting.
Soon after the prophecy, your father called for all his soldiers to trek the dangerous road that your mother was travelling on. Elladan tried to ask you questions, but there were no words that left your mouth. You tried to speak, tried to open your mouth - but no sound escaped.
'Everywhere Cassandra ran, she found that she was already there.'
A month later, Elladan and Elrohir arrived carrying the shell of your mother. All remnants of self-control leaves your body.
"She'll live. Your father is the greatest healer in all of Arda." your grandsire comforts, you burrow deeper into the sheets.
Celeborn takes a deep breath.
"There are scars that cannot be healed by time." the first time you spoke in months. You turned your body to look at him. Seeing the very same fear, sadness and anger in his eyes.
There were titles bestowed to people with deceased parents. There were titles bestowed to people with deceased lovers. But there were no titles bestowed to those with deceased children, for they shall be title-less and the greatest honors be taken away.
The following day, mother left for the Grey Havens. She left no comforting words or letters, but she kissed your foreheads in the middle of the night and father escorted her to the shores.
"My child," Galadriel smiles warmly, seeing you leaning on the doorframe as she broke her fast with your siblings. "- sit, you must eat." her voice was filled with tenderness.
Then suddenly memories of your mother's imprisonment flash through your eyes - your appetite is ruined for years to come. Galadriel tries to open her mouth again but you run away.
You run away from the dreams that plague your mind.
"Will she be alright?" Arwen inquires. They were used to your terrible dreams, even admired the times that you'd push through with a smile on your face, but this reaction was new to them.
Fleeing and disassociating with reality.
With their mother gone and their oldest sister drowning.
The family was lost too.
Lady Galadriel takes a sip of her tea, watching as her good-son attempts to mask his sorrow. That's what they were all doing, anyways. Hiding their grief because it's much easier than facing the truth, that Celebrian is in the Grey Havens and they are alone.
Alone again.
Alone until they decide to flee; it will be a long time. It will take centuries and thousands of years.
"She must come with me." she breathes.
Elrond's eyebrows merge together. "My daughter must stay here." he argued, not wanting another member of his family to be out of reach.
"She dreamt of her mother. She's seen the atrocities of which Celebrian refuses to speak of - I know that you have experience with this too but her dreams are different, not detached verses of massacres and war but personal deaths. She needs my help, and the love that I bare for her is deep and true. I feel her pain." Galadriel continues. She wanted to protect you. Forever.
"- my daughter was scarred, wounds inflicted upon her soul. I fear that these dreams may happen again, that she may dream of a future that we cannot see - and we'll lose her." she whispered.
Elrond reluctantly agrees with Galadriel's plan.
Your father was right!
Lothlorien filled you with tranquility. A feeling of safety that you've lost to the abyss. It felt like your mother's embrace, caging you and preventing the fall. Lady Galadriel continued monitoring you - keeping the darkness at bay, ensuring that you wouldn't remember your dreams even if they were to happen at night.
Soon after, happiness returned.
One night, while you were sleeping - your dreams were able to seep through the web of your grandmother's enchantment, and you dreamt of an elven-prince.
He was fair in the face, his hair was long and golden. He wore a crown of flowers and his voice was like honey to the ear. His name was Prince Thranduil of Greenwood, and he was to be yours.
(AMON LANC)
"What causes your joy, meleth?" Thranduil wraps his arms around your waist, allowing the moonlight to illuminate your features.
"I remembered something." you hummed, burying your face in his chest. The smell of vanilla and sandalwood invades your nose. You continued inhaling his scent, a scent that reminded you of home.
"Pray tell," he whispered - allowing the peace to settle in your chambers. "The birth of our twins," you smiled.
The happiest day of your life. Erynlas and Legolas were born, they were born in the longest summer of Greenwood. Your father told you that it was a good omen, that your children would bring good harvest. The locals of Laketown were quick to send gifts down the river for the elfling, and all was well in Arda.
"I remember your panic-stricken face." you pointed out, he responded with a small chuckle. "I was afraid, but seeing our children brought relief." he admitted.
"We must enjoy it while it lasts. I remember Elladan and Elrohir, they grew up swiftly and my parents were left longing for the days when they were elflings." you continued. "Our children inherited your gentle disposition," he noted.
"- and none of your petulance." you were quick to retort.
"None yet." he smiled, as if knowing something that I didn't.
There was silence between them; the kind of silence that persevered between two people who understood one another.
"You were dreaming, yesterday." he opened his mouth, unable to see your face that was buried in his chest. "Dreaming about what?" you raised an eyebrow, long having forfeited the power of remembering your dreams. "You were mumbling things, kept saying 'no'." he reported, concern was evident in his features.
As much as you tried to remember the dreams, you couldn't.
"Was it your foresight that made you dream such?" he inquired. Your eyebrows merged together, and that familiar tightness on your chest returned. What if something was to happen on your family?
You had to exhaust every possible option to keep them safe. "I-I don't know, but it could've been just a nightmare." you comforted him. You pulled away from his embrace, opting to stare at his face.
"- and if it wasn't then I promise to keep us safe." you promised.
"I promise the same." he vowed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "- but you must rest, for we shall have an early morning tomorrow." he noted, reminding you that you were about to leave Amon Lanc to escape the darkness that wished to take hold of Greenwood.
You awakened in the middle of the night. Lifting the covers off your body, you frowned, not seeing your husband so you decide to tiptoe towards the children's rooms. A groan escapes your mouth, feeling that horrible headache forming at the back of your head. Could this be? This must be another one of your dreams.
Your husband was telling you about the words that escaped your mouth whilst sleeping. Was the truth about to reveal itself?
You walked through the empty hallways, seeing no guards on their post. Peculiar. Your hands danced through the fabric of the tapestries that littered the walls. Weaves of forests and elves.
Even art created by Thranduil.
You entered the Twins' bedroom, seeing them slumber peacefully in their beds. Erynlas, the heir, inherited your husband's features. Her long flowing locks and piercing blue eyes, a copy of your husband.
Legolas, was the same, although he had your eyes and your demeanor. He was always patient, allowing his sister to play with his toys, not shedding a single tear when she grabs it from his hands.
You pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads.
If this was a dream, then why isn't anything happening?
Have your dreams evolved to find a different form? That tangible darkness wasn't watching or standing beside you. The darkness wasn't in this room. Have you found peace?
You shouldn't have spoken too soon, because a second later a dagger was pressed to her neck. "Look what I've found," the human opened his mouth with a chuckle. They were mercenaries. You've seen that crest before, but you couldn't remember where.
"Idiot, the bounty says that we're supposed to kill the prince." the other man rolled his eyes, but the man holding a dagger to your neck chuckled. "I think this ones an elf, a princess methinks." he took a slice of your neck, allowing little blood to trickle down your nightgown.
This scene has already played before, in your dreams, but you couldn't remember it - you couldn't remember until it's already happened. And wherever you went, you found that you were already there. "I wonder how much they'd pay for her head." he pondered.
"The Lurgburz would give us a fortune, but we were sent here to kill an heir. She is not an heir." the other man responded. You wanted to speak, but the darkness prevents you from raising your voice. 'I am an heir too. Lord Elrond's.' but the visions make you mute.
There were tears spilling out of your eyes. You felt weak. Hopeless against them.
"Then let's kill the prince's heir. Much easier than killing the prince. He's a great warrior, I've heard and if his wife's awake. Won't he be awake too?" the man continued holding the dagger on your neck.
"Which means that we have to make this quick." the other man reached for the dagger in his pockets. "Which one's the heir?" the man stared at you, and he'll forever be haunted by that look in your eyes. Red, wide, in fear.
"No," you mumbled watching as the other man stands in the middle of their cribs. "If you don't tell us then we'll kill them both." he threatened and air runs out of your lungs.
"No," you continued to mumble. They found joy in toying with you. They found joy in threatening a creature that was older than them. The other man lifted Erynlas' blankets, seeing a pink nightgown on her body. "This one's the heir," the other man stated.
"We should kill the boy, a boy is more valuable than a girl." the man surmised, forcing his mortal standards unto your elvish ones. "No, not the boy." you whispered - your subconscious knowing something that your conscious mind didn't.
Your subconscious knew that Legolas was the key to Arda's freedom. That he'd be a part of the Fellowship, and thus, he couldn't die. "She speaks," the other man teased, raising his dagger pointing it on your daughter's neck. And the tangible darkness that used to haunt you, that used to watch beside you, became a guiding hand.
Told you to grab Legolas and run.
The man's grip on you softened, he walked towards your daughter's crib. "No, no...." you mumbled, staring at the room once covered with leaves and little toys that you bought from Laketown.
You reluctantly reach for Legolas in his bed. Lifting him off the mattress while he continued his slumber. The darkness told you that Erynlas was born to die, while your son was born to live.
You walked down the stairs, about to return to your chambers but the darkness stops you from doing that. Instead leading you towards King Oropher's chambers. You open his doors - to your surprise they weren't locked tonight.
King Oropher stirs awake, seeing a figure enter his chambers. "Good morrow?" he paused, thinking that it was his handmaidens that had come to wake him. But once his vision turns back to normal, he realizes that it was you - and he sees the tears in your eyes, lips mumbling words that he could not fathom.
He repeats your name, seeing you sit on the floor - rocking your body back and forth. He was about to speak again, but you prevent him from doing so. "They took the heir." you cried out - unable to even speak like a mother, in fear, forced to speak like your perpetrators.
A/N: Made for my own self-indulgence. Inspired by EP1 of HOTDS2.
anonymous asked: hello !! hope you have a nice day <3 can you please write a soft/fluff Legolas x Reader with the drabble 2 ?
Notes: I swear the ending is cute!! But there's a silly fight first😭 it's my first time writing for Legolas, I hope you like it, good reading!
"I only think about you" - Legolas
Warnings: Legolas x gn!reader; reader is children of Elrond; mention of quarrel and fight; Legolas confused by his own feelings; SFW.
- I still don't understand why this would be my responsibility - the son questioned his father.
- Because I'm ordering! - Thranduil spoke already irritated - They are children of Elrond, and if they don't return safely from this journey, you will regret it.
And it was with this conversation that Legolas stuck with you on this long journey. You were Elrond's youngest heir, the youngest, and most irritating to Legolas. You always got into trouble, it was obvious that you would need protection. The elf prince only regretted that he was chosen for this. It wasn't enough for you to disturb his thoughts from the first time you met at the ball - your beauty able to leave him breathless and your attitude overflowing with confidence - now he was forced to put up with your physical presence too.
- Let's stop here, it's already getting dark, let's take advantage of the remaining light to set up camp - said the blonde.
You agreed, and after everything was ready, you asked for privacy to bathe in the nearby river. Legolas warned that it wasn't a good idea, but you, stubborn as ever, didn't listen and assured him that you'd be fine on your own. It was only a few minutes before the elf heard the sounds of fighting coming from the direction you were. As he approached, he soon recognized the figure that had his back to him trying to approach you in the river, it was a goblin. Without hesitation, Legolas shot an arrow right through the center of the creature's skull, which landed in front of you, revealing your traveling companion close behind.
- I told you it was a bad idea! - he approached, irritated by your carelessness.
- You didn't have to come, I had everything under control! - you shouted back.
- Really? Well, it didn't seem that way, do I always have to watch out for you?!
- If it bothers you so much you didn't have to come, you can leave, then you won't have to think about me anymore!
- I'd love not to think about you all the fucking time!
Legolas shouted from the bottom of his lungs, stressed and tired, not just from the journey, but from the feelings that were growing for you and consuming him more every day. You kept quiet, surprised because you had never seen him like this, sinking a little deeper into the water to hide your naked body more, realizing your shame only now. Legolas, who had only just realized it too, turned around to give you some privacy, but also before you could notice the blush growing on his cheeks.
- I'm sorry... That's not what I meant, I'm just tired... Let's go, if there's a goblin here there must be others nearby.
Silently, you agreed and obeyed, and after getting out of the river and changing, you broke camp and moved on.
The trip followed in silence, now an awkward atmosphere between you two, more distant than ever. Feeling responsible for that, Legolas decided to break the silence when you stopped to eat.
- I shouldn't have screamed, I'm just worried because I'm responsible for you, so if something happened to you...
- No, I understand, it was my stupid idea and... I understand if you don't want to continue the trip, I don't want to be a burden for you.
- You would never be a burden - he spoke automatically, without filtering before how revealing the words could be - Even if I left, I would keep thinking about you - and with that he decided to shut up, realizing how the words accumulated in his mind now just leave without him being able to control it.
- Really? Would you keep thinking about me even after all the stress I've caused you?
- You don't understand, I only think about you. My worry and stress would only increase if I left, because... Because I really like you - the last sentence came out as a whisper.
The blush had returned to his face, his anxious heart beating harder, his eyes unable to face you now. Legolas tried to stand firm, but he was crumbling under your lingering gaze.
- Oh, that's good to know - you smiled - because you have also been tormenting my thoughts, Legolas.
Prompt: "I'd love not to think about you all the fucking time!"
For Anon, who requested a one-shot of an innkeeper's daughter unwilling to let Boromir continue through the storm. But oops! There's only one room left... Hers.
I spent far too long dithering on how far to push the spice, so we have a fade to black to be safe!
Hope you enjoy it!
Torrential rain was Eathril’s favourite weather, not only did the steady drumming of rain upon the roof tiles drown out any rowdiness from the common room, but it also covered the sounds from the rooms of the inn, be it snoring or other noises. Rain was calming, it was soothing, and it meant that the inn was utterly filled to capacity, therefore the lockbox would also be full, and they’d be able to eat come winter.
But a storm like this, meant the Silver Stallion Tavern wasn’t just full, but fit to burst.
Already every room in the building had been sold off, the summer traders having gotten in quick and some even doubling up, then the following travellers and merchants had to make do with bedding down in any free corner of the common room or the leaky stables. This late at night, there was scarcely any room to walk, let alone sleep.
Which meant when the room to the inn was flung open as a gust of wind and a figure bullied their way inside, more than a few disgruntled voices rose in protest.
Thankfully the door didn’t remain open for long.
Having almost been finished cleaning up behind the bar, Eathril bit back a sigh of frustration at the sight of water being dripped all over the floor, as the rather tall figure carefully made their way towards her. But she stood up straight, set aside her cleaning rags, and fixed a pleasant if forced smile upon her face.
It was late, she wanted to sleep, and then this hulking great brick outhouse of a man just let half a river and several trees worth of leaves into the common room. The common room she’d only just finished sweeping. Ugh.
“Can I help you?” she asked, through slightly gritted teeth.
“Apologies for the mess.”
Eathril blinked. Those weren’t the words she’d expected to hear, let alone what followed next.
“If you have a brush, I’ll clear it up.” The cloaked and hooded figure was saying, looking back over their shoulder towards the wet trail of dirt and muck. “Since it’s my fault I’ve dirtied your floors, the weather is rather vicious out there…”
She was staring. It wasn’t polite.
He –judging by the voice she was fairly certain it was a he– was tall, having to mind his head least he get clipped by a rafter. Broad too, with a heavy pack on one shoulder, a great round shield strapped to it that looked Rohirric in design, and a long sword at his belt. But beyond that, she couldn’t make out much.
He didn’t seem to be wearing armour like a solider, was he a mercenary? They often meant trouble, and trouble was the last thing she and her father needed with a crowded inn and irritable patrons having to kip on the floor.
Whoever he was, he turned to her, reaching up, and pulling his hood back. Dark hair plastered to his face, a short well-kept beard, and grey eyes with laughter lines at their corners. A gloved hand dragged through his hair, slicking it back out of his face.
He was, admittedly, rather handsome for a mercenary…
“Miss?”
Oh shit she’d been staring she should say something.
“No.” Well that was eloquent. “I mean I’ll clear it up in the morning,” she hastened to add. And then braced for what she had to say next. “But if you’re here for rooms we’re all sold out.”
Judging by the way his broad shoulders dropped in defeat, it had come out a little blunt.
“Ah, I should have guessed,” he said, with a rueful smile that made his grey eyes crinkle pleasantly, “the roads are empty from here to Gondor, as are the streets. I’m not surprised everyone has sought out shelter.”
He… he wasn’t pissed? Annoyed? Upset that there was no room left?
Eathril reassessed her earlier thought of him being a mercenary. He was armed, but so were most men in this region. Was he just a traveller? Although… now his hood was down she could see the collar of his tunic, a rich red satin with gold embroidery. Not a mercenary, or a solider… maybe a lord?
“Is there any chance of a hot meal? Or just a hot drink?” he was asking.
Good grief she needed to stop staring.
“The chefs finished up for the night, but we’ve got some cider warming and I can see about finding some cold cuts if you’d like?” she offered cautiously.
“That would be wonderful, thank you…?”
“Eathril.”
“Thank you, Miss Eathril.”
Gesturing to a barstool for him to settle, she passed him a dry cloth for his hair and face, before setting about finding a mug and plate for him. If he’d been a dick, she’d have quickly turned him away. But no, this possible Lord was surprisingly polite, so since he wasn’t able to stay, the least she could do was feed him and get him something warm to drink. She didn’t know many Lords that would be willing to sweep the floor…
Then again she didn’t know many Lords at all.
“Here you go,” she said upon her return, a tankard of steaming cider, and a plate with the last rolls of bread, several slices of chicken, a few cold roast potatoes, a hunk of cheese, and a slightly bruised apple. “I’m sorry it’s not much.”
“It’s more than enough, thank you Eathril.”
Oh well now she was feeling guilty.
Especially as he tucked into the scant meal as though it was the first food he’d eaten in days. Maybe it was, it had been raining near constantly for the past three, if he’d been caught in the deluge then perhaps he had ridden through it in a bid to find shelter.
Only to find that the inn was full.
And not complained.
Well shit now she really felt guilty…
“Is it just you running this place?” he asked, apparently having noted her watchful gaze.
“No, my da owns it, while I do the accounts and help run the bar,” she replied, moving closer to lean upon the countertop while he ate. “Have you travelled far?”
“From Minas Tirith.”
That was a solid four-day ride east, which meant he probably had ridden through the storm.
“Do you live there?” She already knew the answer to that, could tell by the finery of his clothing, but it was politer to ask than assume. “Are you a lord?”
“I do and I am,” he replied with an amused smile, and then held out a hand to her. “Lord Boromir, at your service.”
Amused, Eathril set her hand in his to shake, and then blinked owlishly as he bowed over her hand. It looked a little ridiculous, considering he was sat down and still had a good foot of height on her, but the intention was there regardless.
She wasn’t a doe-eyed teenager, but she could feel her cheeks burning at that simple gesture.
“You’re more polite than most the Gondorian Lords we get round here.”
The words were blurted in a bid to cover up her flustered reaction, but it was too late to take it back, as Lord Boromir’s brows shot towards his hairline. For a heart-stopping moment, Eathril feared she’d just insulted the man, but then he grinned, a smile so broad and bright it shifted his face from noble to almost… boyish.
“Well I’m both glad and disappointed to hear that,” he replied, finishing his meal and neatly stacking the knife and fork to one side, before wrapping his hands about the warm mug of cider. “Any names you can think of? I can always punish them once I’m back home.”
Alarmed noise rose in her throat, eyes flying wide at the thought.
But then Boromir chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that had Eathril’s stomach flipping. “I jest my Lady—”
“Lady?” she interrupted incredulously.
Ladies of Gondor were tall, elegant, beautiful, sophisticated, with stunning dresses, polite airs and graces, and skilled in conversation, dance, and the arts. She, on the other hand, was a barmaid, too stocky and well-built for her own tastes, and more than a little scuffed up and sweaty from the life of labour, wearing homespun clothing that had been patched one too many times. The one thing she was proud of, her long black hair, was nearly always dragged into a tight bun for practicality’s sakes. No, she wasn’t a Lady, no matter what he might say.
“What part of me makes you think I’m a Lady?”
“All of you.”
The sincerity of his words had Eathril’s mind going blank, staring at him in outright surprise and no small amount of doubt. Another blush was rising to her cheeks, unable to prevent her confused stare at the Lord sat at her bar.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable, forgive me,” Boromir apologised, taking an awkward sip of the warmed cider, as though he needed to give his hands and mouth something to do.
She wasn’t uncomfortable, not really. But watching his hands absently turn the mug, tracing the old engraving across its surface, Eathril found herself wondering what they were like without the gloves. Calloused from years of battle? Scared? Warm? Cold? She wasn’t uncomfortable… and she wouldn’t be complaining if he flirted some more.
“It’s fine,” she managed to say, voice slightly more breathless than intended. Clearing her throat, Eathril straightened up, gathering his empty plate, intending to return it to the kitchen. “I’m just not used to… compliments.”
“Really?”
Lord Boromir sounded so perplexed by that, that she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at him from the kitchen door. It wasn’t just his words, even his expression was confused, as though she’d posed him a riddle and demanded an answer. With an amused huff, she’d left him to it, let him wonder, let him puzzle it out.
Stepping into the kitchen, the door swung shut behind her, and Eathril let out a pent-up breath.
Maybe he had an ulterior motive, maybe he was just trying to get into her bed, maybe he was trying to get a free meal and drinks. It didn’t matter, she might not be accustomed to compliments, but that didn’t mean she was oblivious to the manipulation tactics of men. Especially soggy men who were hoping for a soft bed and possibly some company too.
Scraping the remains of food into the waste bucket, she left the plate alongside the sink, she’d see if he needed a refill, and then clean up and turn in for the night.
Stepping back out into the common room, Eathril froze.
The barstool was empty.
Except for two gold set alongside the now empty tankard. Enough for a room, and certainly far more than the meal and drink had been worth.
Had he left?
Shit. He thought she was uncomfortable with his flirting and had decided a fucking rainstorm was the better option? Was he going to sleep in the stables or was he going to keep riding and brave the elements? Was he insane?
Probably.
Which made Eathril utterly batshit crazy when she snatched up a cloak and bolted after him.
The full force of the storm slammed into her the second she made it outside, and the cloak hastily flung about her shoulders was rendered pointless immediately. Rain sleeted into her face, soaking her hair, her clothes, her skin. It felt like she was drowning on dry land.
One hand thrown up to try and shield her eyes, Eathril staggered to the stables, and ducked inside. It was noisy, it was leaking, but at least she could open her eyes, even if she couldn’t hear that well.
“Eathril?”
Thank the Valar he’d not left yet.
“I lied,” she blurted, earning an utterly bewildered look from the Lord in the midst of saddling his horse. Yes apparently the lunatic was planning to keep riding. “There is a room, we, we keep one in reserve for visiting dignitaries.”
A slight lie, since if she knew her Gondorian Lords, Boromir was that dignitary.
For a moment he didn’t move, remaining alongside his large mare, one hand on its mane the other on the leather saddle. But his eyes were very much on her. What must she look like? Shivering, soaked through, stood in the middle of the stables all but begging him not to ride out in the storm.
“You can’t ride out in this, the storm’ll kill you off,” she tried instead.
“It would take more than some rain to kill m—”
As though answering the challenge in his voice, a crack of thunder sounded, rattling the walls of the stable. Eathril jumped, a startled noise leaving her throat, and even Lord Boromir cursed, his horse tossing its head in alarm.
“Please, just, come back inside!”
“Alright, alright,” he relented, “one moment.”
It didn’t take long for him to unsaddle the mare, and even less time to lead her back into the stall and fling a blanket across her back. That done, he gathered up his pack, and joined Eathril at the entrance to the stables. For a moment, the pair watched as the rain moved in clear ripples and waves, the path between the stables and the inn turned into a quagmire. It was a miracle she’d made it to the stables without slipping and breaking her neck.
With a glance up at him, Eathril dragged her cloak tighter about her shoulders, and lead the way.
For all of two steps.
The wind and rain slammed into her, forcing her back a step, almost losing her balance. It was only the broad arm of Boromir hooking about her shoulders that prevented Eathril from taking a nasty tumble. He said something, voice snatched away by the wind, but she found herself tucked against his side, and the pair made it back towards the inn.
It was shockingly quiet once the door shut.
“T-this way,” she chattered, leading him towards a corridor.
On route, she snatched a pair of rough blankets from the storage cupboard, blindly passing one to the Lord following in her footsteps, and wiping at her own face. The spare room wasn’t upstairs with those of the other patrons, but tucked behind the kitchens, utilising the lingering warmth of the hearth. It was smaller, cosy, but the bed was comfortable and there were thick blankets.
Stepping inside, Eathril was quick to move across the room and pull the little lead paned window closed, and the sound of the thunderstorm dropped from a loud roar to a dull hum.
“It-it’s not much, but it’s a room,” she managed to say, beginning to sort the blankets heaped upon the bed, and trying not to drip too much water as she did so.
“This is your room, isn’t it?”
The quiet comment had Eathril pausing in surprise, looking over from where she was turning down the bed, and finding the tall Lord inspecting the shelves by the door. A couple of books, a few nicknacks, gifts from family and friends, dried flowers, and even a few trinkets from traders of distant lands. Boromir was careful to look, but not touch, which she appreciated.
But he’d caught her lie, knew that this room wasn’t reserved for dignitaries.
“It is,” she admitted, turning back to the bed, “w-we’re out of regular rooms, father’s already given up his to a horse trader from Rohan, so now it’s my turn.”
“And where will you sleep…?”
“The kitchens hearth will still be warm,” Eathril answered, turning away from the bed.
“No, no, you remain here, my Lady,” he countered, and picked up the bag he’d set down. “I must insist that you take the bed, I’ll take the kitchens.”
“You’ve already paid good gold for the room, and the bed.”
“I’d rather lose the gold than sleep in your bed while knowing you were uncomfortable.”
Oh.
Oh he was good.
Eathril breathed a laugh shaking her head in mock disbelief.
“I’m insisting you t-take the bed, you’re insisting I take the bed,” she murmured, “both of us are too stubborn to consider the ra-rather obvious solution.”
“And what would that be, my Lady?” he asked, pack now resting on his shoulder, looking fully prepared to head back out into the storm once again, no matter how dangerous it would be. “As far as I’m concerned the answer is clear, you’ll take the bed and I’ll—”
“Join me.”
Whatever Lord Boromir had been intending to say was silenced instantly with a click of teeth. Staring at her once more in confusion and shock, like she was a foe or opponent, he scanned her face for any misgivings, sought out any signs of distrust, of unwillingness.
Arms wrapped about herself to stave of the chill, she met his gaze levelly, watching as he blinked and then gave a low huff of surprise, shaking his head ruefully. Had she crossed a line? She wasn’t quite throwing herself at him, but it made sense to share if they were both so insistent.
“Are you sure, Lady Eathril?”
“I am.”
Apparently the fact she didn’t hesitate or have to reconsider, was surprising, as his brows rose briefly, but was quickly schooled. His head tilted, as though considering her anew, eyes roving across her face before dropping to her soaked clothing.
“Then I’ll see if any of my clothing survived the storm,” Lord Boromir relented, and unbuckled his pack. “And give you a moment to get changed.”
It didn’t take long for him to pull free a shirt and pair of breeches which were mostly dry, at which point he stepped from the room.
And Eathril tried not to exhale explosively.
Valar what had gotten into her, offering a Lord her own room and then suggesting they shared. Good grief was she really deluding herself that he had been flirting?
No, no if he’d been flirting, he’d have not resisted so strongly to sharing her bed, nor would he have stepped out of the room while she changed, or any number of things that he could have used to get closer to her or approach her or, or, or…
Okay maybe she was deluding herself.
Or he was being polite.
Shoving any more salacious thoughts from her mind, Eathril was quick to dry off the best she could. Her hair was damp against her back, but she’d need to leave it loose to dry quicker, and while a braid would have been more appropriate, her scalp felt tight after wearing a bun all day. Changed into one of her nightgowns, she threw a thick shawl about her shoulders in a bid to stave off the chill air, with minimal success.
A light knock at the door had her stomach flipping.
Squashing down that reaction, Eathril opened the door and immediately struggled to keep her eyes on his face.
Lord Boromir was tall, he was broad, he was well built, and that white undershirt was leaving very little to the imagination. Her scandalous thoughts became considerably harder to ignore when his chest was on a level with her eyes, and the dampness of his hair and body had it sticking to his skin in the most interesting of ways.
As the Lord stepped into the room her bed chamber abruptly felt cramped, not cosy. Like there wasn’t enough room, there wasn’t enough space between them. The bed shoved into the corner beneath the window didn’t look large enough anymore. Lord Boromir was tall, his feet were bound to hang off the end of the bed, Valar why did she think this was a good idea.
“I’ll take the window side, if that’s amenable to you?” Boromir offered, lifting a hand to slick his still damp hair back from his face.
The motion drew her eyes to the shift of his muscles.
With a thick swallow, Eathril dragged her eyes to his face, considering his offer. It would mean she’d take the side of the bed closest to the door, which meant she’d be able to leave without having to clamber across the bed, which meant she wasn’t trapped between the wall and this brick outhouse of a man. A surprisingly touching gesture.
“Th-that would be g-good.”
At her stammering, Boromir’s attention landed squarely on her face, brows furrowing in concern.
“You’re shivering,” his voice sounded shockingly loud in the quiet of her room, even with the rain pelting against the glass window.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking, I can see it,” he repeated, “I’ll bring you some cider.”
He turned towards the door and Eathril moved, putting a hand up to stop him, her palm landing squarely against his chest. There was a sharp inhale from him, but she applied pressure, and he stilled, staring down at her.
“I’m fine,” she repeated stubbornly. “T-the bed’ll warm up soon enough.”
He was the guest, if she needed a warming drink, she could get it herself, but right now the bed was far warmer than her room and her room was far warmer than the corridor. She had little intention of leaving it. She would warm up. It would be fine. She just had to wait for the shivers to subside. It would be fine.
A broad hand landed on hers, and with a jolt Eathril realised she’d not removed her hand from his chest.
Valar he was warm. The sheer heat radiating from his chest, from his hand, from his body, was enviable. Apparently noticing how cold her hand was, Boromir took her hands between his and lightly rubbing, breathing into his cupped palms, the heat of his breath tingling across her skin.
It was a kind gesture, but also incredibly… intimate.
A shaky exhale left her lips, and Boromir’s deep grey eyes glanced to her in concern.
“Come here.”
“What?” Her voice was little more than a strangled whisper. “Why?”
“Come, here,” he ordered, and gently pulled her hand.
It was far too easy to obey, too easy to step towards him, too easy to allow herself to be drawn into his warmth. One moment Eathril was trying to keep her distance, the next she’d all but plastered herself to his chest. Head tucking under his chin, face pressed against his collarbones, hands bundling into fists and gripping his shirt.
It was soothing, he was warm, it felt… safe.
Which was ridiculous really, considering he was a total stranger she’d invited into her bedroom on a whim, but at this point she didn’t care.
It would have been embarrassing how she clung to him, if it wasn’t for the fact his own arms had wrapped about her, gently running through her long black hair and moving the damp lengths from her back. His hands smoothed across her shoulder blades, skating up and down her back, gently rubbing warmth into her, the rough skin of his hands snagging lightly on her nightgown.
What would his hands feel like on her skin?
The thought was so unexpected, that a slight jolt ran through Eathril’s body.
Immediately Boromir froze, hands still resting on her back, but ceasing in their path. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want his hands to leave her back, didn’t want him to move away or put distance between them.
“Are you alright?” he asked, breath ghosting across the crown of her head.
“Y-eah.”
Fuck, that wasn’t convincing.
“Just cold, but th-this helps,” she forced herself to add, in the hopes his hands would resume their path. To her relief, they swept down her spine again, the motion was enough to have Eathril sighing.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more to warm you.”
“You could.”
The words slipped out without conscious thought, and once again Boromir’s hands froze, as did his breathing, it was only the drumming of his heart against her cheek that told her he was still alive. That was a little concerning.
“Do you want me to get the cider?”
The hoarse offer suggested he was oblivious, or perhaps polite, although Eathril was willing to bet a hefty sum of gold on the later.
“No.”
“Then what do you need?” he asked, voice dropping to a low rumble that made her own body buzz in delight. “What do you want, Eathril? Tell me…”
Nervously licking her lips, Eathril splayed her hands across his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, how his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, how the heat warmed her skin even through his undershirt. She lifted her head, so close to his own face, that their noses grazed, the dark grey of his eyes all but filling her vision.
“You,” she breathed.
There was a surprised inhale, and then shaky exhale, his breath feathering across her skin, scented with the cider she’d given him. Would she be able to taste it if she kissed him?
“Eathril.” Her name was little more than a whisper against her skin. “You don’t have to…”
“I want to.”
Her hands skated over the planes of his torso, fingertips dragging across the stubble at his throat, as she closed the gap between them. His lips were soft and warm beneath her own, hesitant and restrained, gently brushing, cautious and careful.
There was a low groan in his throat.
And then his hands resting against her back increased in pressure, fingers all but digging into her softness, pulling her flush to his chest. Lips moving against his, a thrill running through her body as she felt how eagerly he responded. One of his hands was in her hair, gently tilting her head to a better angle, the other digging into the soft curves of her waist.
There was a soft brush of his tongue across her lower lip, but Eathril didn’t hesitate to respond in parting them. The heat of his mouth was almost overwhelming, the teasing flicks and caresses of his tongue against hers, encouraging her to join, coaxing her to play. She could taste the cider, she could taste him, she wanted more. Hands sliding into his hair, she dragged her short nails across his scalp, and was rewarded with the most delicious groan against her tongue.
He stepped back, and she more than willingly followed, another step, a third, on the fourth, his legs hit something, and the man in her grasp toppled backwards.
Pulled along with his fall, a surprised yelp was pulled from her throat, which became a startled whoof of air as she landed on his chest. Pushing herself up slightly, Eathril found herself… straddling his hips, hands planted in her mattress, staring down at Lord Boromir sprawled on her bed.
That was a little unexpected.
But not unwelcome.
Boromir was panting heavily against her lips, his hands kneading at her flesh, his body pressed against hers. Eathril wanted more, wanted him, needed him. Why did he stop, did he want to stop, why was he stopping—
“Eathril,” Boromir panted, “Eathril, are you sure? You don’t, you don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
The eagerness of her response wasn’t lost on him, she caught a brief glimpse of a smile pulling at his lips, before his mouth claimed hers once again.
What she didn’t expect, was for his broad hand to drag lower, fingers kneading at her waist, her hip, her ass, her thigh. Each curl of his fingers, each possessive grip dragging a quiet gasp, a whine, a huff from her.
His hand hooked behind her knee and then he rolled towards her.
A startled gasp left her lips, but was quickly soothed away by a myriad of fleeting kisses. The weight of his chest against hers, the feeling of his hips settled between her thighs, the instinctive need to hook her ankles about his waist. It felt like she was burning up, any lingering shivers and chills chased away by the Lord between her legs.
“Valar, you’re stunning.” It felt like she was underwater, his voice muffled as his lips pressed to the soft skin just beneath her ear. “Beautiful.”
“Y-you don’t, have to say that,” she protested, all but panting against him. “You don’t have to lie.”
Lord Boromir froze, growing tense against her, his head lifted from her throat, staring at her with such a heated look, that something tightened about her chest. Pupils blown wide, lips bruised, hair dishevelled from her hands running through it, he looked wild.
He also looked utterly bewildered.
“Lie?” The word was said so incredulously that Eathril winced. “Why would I lie?”
It already felt like her body was burning up, which meant the embarrassment that flooded her face would easily be missed. It became imperative that she not meet the rather intense look in Boromir’s eye, instead finding a great deal of interest in the rafters of her room.
“I’m, I’m not a lady I’m not elegant.” That wasn’t quite what she wanted to say, but it was close enough. “I’m…I’m stocky, I’m strong, well-built, I’m not—”
“And I’m a soldier, not a poet,” Boromir said, making her blink at his words. “I can’t sing your praises, or write sonnets about how your eyes look like starlight, or that your hair looks like the darkest night, or how your skin is sun kissed and golden—”
“I thought you weren’t a poet.”
There was a low chuckle in his chest, head shaking.
“But I can say that you’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed her brow. “Stunning.” A kiss to her cheek. “Gorgeous.” A kiss to her lips. “Lovely.” A kiss to her jaw. “Glorious.” A kiss to her throat. “Divine.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Do you not believe me?” he growled, head lifting just enough to meet her gaze, her stomach flipping pleasantly at the look in his eye.
“No.”
“Hm, then I’ll have to try harder.”
Boromir’s teeth grazed her pulse, making her groan softly, only to be replaced by burning open mouth lathing, his beard brushing across her skin, lips mouth tongue teeth, tracing the precarious neckline of her nightgown.
Eathril was all but panting beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other finding the hem of his shirt, sliding across bare skin, raking her nails through the hair of his chest.
A satisfied growl that rumbled from him, was only reinforced by the nips and sucks along her collarbone. Leaning on one forearm, his free hand had found the bare skin of her calf, and was slowly creeping upwards, rough fingers caressing the back of her knee and earning a shiver, before tracing further.
The hem of her nightgown slid up, exposing her thigh to the cold night air. It should have been cold, but with Lord Boromir kneading at her skin and worshiping her body –worshiping her– with his mouth and tongue and hands and body, Eathril was more than warm enough.
Rumbles of thunder rattled the windows, rain drummed steadily upon the rooftiles, and Eathril’s favourite weather drowned out the sounds of the tavern perfectly.
*
Sunlight slanted through the lead paned windows of her room, spilling across the bed and managing to shine directly into Eathril’s eyes. Squinting against the disturbance, it took a groggy couple of minutes to realise what was wrong.
Maybe not wrong, just… unexpected.
She was warm, tucked beneath the covers and blankets of her bed, and unless she was very much mistaken, naked. That was a little alarming, but with wakefulness came more awareness, and the memory as to why she wasn’t wearing her nightgown.
Oh.
Oh.
A girlish giggle bubbled up in her chest, but didn’t escape past her clamped lips, unwilling to disturb Lord Boromir’s sleep. His muscular arm was slung over her hips, pulling her back against his broad chest, warm breaths brushing the skin of her neck with gently rumbling snores.
He was so warm it took a concentrated effort not to wiggle deeper into his embrace, because as pleasant as this was, it was morning, and that meant there was work to be done. With any luck the chef had gotten in and started on breakfast, which meant she could at least wake Lord Boromir with a hot meal.
Shifting her weight, Eathril started to extricate herself from his arms, only to squeak in surprise as his grip tightened. Dragging backwards, her back pressed against his bare chest as Boromir gave a low grumble in his sleep, fingers curling into the plumpness of her hip, unwilling to let go. His face tucked into the back of her neck, beard grazing her shoulder as he inhaled and sighed heavily.
Maybe she could stay a little longer…
But no, there was the sound of patrons rising for the day, and she really needed to pee.
Another shift of weight had his arm tightening once more, so she changed tack.
“Boromir,” Eathril murmured, “Boromir wake up.”
“Hmmno.”
His voice was so thick was sleep it was a miracle he’d even managed that.
This time, she shifted towards him, and Boromir’s arm loosened just enough for her to roll over. Now face to face, his arm tightened once more until her breasts were flush to his chest, and their legs were tangled. She smoothed her hands across his face and jaw, earning a sleepy grumble.
“Do you want breakfast in bed?” she whispered.
And just as she knew it would, one eye cracked open to peer at her.
A surprised snort left her throat, but she grinned as he smirked at her, starting to actually wake up.
“Only if you let me up to get breakfast first,” she suggested with a cheeky grin.
“Y’drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled.
His mouth found hers, and Eathril almost forgot her plan at the taste of his lips and caress of his tongue. Or would have, if not for the pressure in her bladder.
“Let me up,” she chided, breaking off the kiss, “breakfast first.”
There was a sigh, but the arms about her loosened, and against her own wishes, Eathril rose, finding her nightgown abandoned on the floor, pulling it on and tossing a shawl about her shoulders.
“I won’t be long,” she reassured, looking over to him.
It was an effort to drag her eyes away from the exposed lines of Boromir’s chest, from the sleepy smile on his face, from his dark eyes locked on her. The sunlight streaming through the little window throwing every detail of him, of the Lord in her bed, into stark relief. But Eathril forced herself to go in search of breakfast.
She’d been right, the chef had gotten started, customers were already eating and beginning to get ready to go about their days, and barely anyone’s eyes turned to her as she weaved through the people bare foot and wrapped in a shawl.
With a large plate loaded up for two, she slunk back towards her bedchamber and drew up short at the familiar face leaving the next room down. Her father also paused, eyeing her, and her half-dressed state, eyes dropping to the hefty plate, and then to the door of her room.
A brow raised in silent question.
“A late arrival,” she answered, keeping her voice down, “a lord from Minas Tirith.”
“A lord?” her father asked sceptically.
Two could play at that game, she wasn’t the only one that had sacrificed her chamber for a guest, only to remain with the guest.
“A horse trader?” she countered in challenge.
He was quick to capitulate, hands raised, and palms shown in surrender. “You’re alright though?”
“I am,” she relented, not wanting him to worry, “now shoo, the patrons are leaving.”
Her father rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest as she slipped back into her chambers.
It was nice, eating breakfast with Lord Boromir, settled cross legged on her bed like she’d used to do with the other girls of the village. Talking quietly, stealing glances at one another. Her cheeks ached with how much she was smiling, a near constant blush staining her cheeks at his attention.
But it wouldn’t last, and his next words confirmed it.
“I… need to leave today,” he said quietly, “I have a long road ahead of me.”
She knew that, she truly did, but still Eathril’s stomach sank.
“Will you be travelling back this way?” she managed to ask around the lump in her throat.
“With any luck, yes.”
“Ah, good.” Eathril floundered for the words she wanted to say, but it didn’t take long to find, smile broadening as she said them. “Then I’ll make sure we keep a room set aside for you.”
“Reserved for visiting dignitaries?”
“That’s the one.”
Lord Boromir grinned. “Then I look forwards to it.”
