Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 6: Love Letters
For day 6 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta‘s 2021 NSFW Advent Calendar!
Title: naur nín
Pairing: Thranduil/Thranduil’s Wife
Rating: M (Mild nsfw warning)
Word Count: 855
Summary/Tags: "Have you been staying warm? Or are you as chilled in my absence as I am in yours?” Hithriel imagines him smiling to himself after writing that and rolls her eyes. Romantic Fluff & Mild Sm/ut.
[Read on Ao3]
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Hithriel does not run back to her chambers, but it’s a very near thing. The letter, clutched so tightly in her hand that it nearly dents the parchment as she crosses the threshold into her rooms, is the first she’s received from her husband in many months. Quickly, she grabbed the small silver letter opener from her desk and cut it open.
While Thranduil’s visit to Rivendell was strictly diplomatic, not hearing from him for such a long time had made her a bit nervous. She pulls the letter from the envelope and unfolds it with softly trembling fingers, just barely skimming over the contents.
She lets out a long sigh and holds the letter to her breast, eyes slipping shut as a wave of soft relief flows through her. Elrond’s letterhead shines bright in the candlelight of her chambers, but she’d know her husband’s quick, curling penmanship anywhere.
The parchment is thick and the lettering is heavy. She can feel the ridges of each penstroke as she runs a fingertip along the back of the paper and she can almost imagine the frustration her husband had felt while penning it.
Letting out a soft chuckle, she takes a long sip of her wine and sinks onto the chaise in front of the fireplace. The crackling embers provide just enough light to make out the words and the warmth of it makes her toes curl.
“My love,” the letter begins, and she smiles softly, running her fingertip over the words. A fond affection flutters to life in her chest and though it is tempered by longing (to see him once more - to hear those words aloud-) it is comforting all the same.
“I am afraid that I must delay my return,” Her heart sinks, “The council has yet to come to an agreement…” She reads on, paying only half-mind to the long-drawn updates of the council proceedings, until-
“Winter is slowly showing it’s first signs in the valley. It snowed for all of five minutes yesterday and Elrond is already kicking up a fuss about boarding up before the weather turns. It has been a bit brisk in the evenings, I will admit. I miss your warmth at night, naur nín,” Hithriel lifts her wineglass to her lips and takes another sip, tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of wine clinging to her lower lip as she reads on.
“I find myself longing - for not only your warmth curled around me in the night, but your wit in each of these tedious meetings, and your touch waking me each morning. I must confess that this past week has been agonizing, for I have been plagued by dreams of the first winter season we spent together.”
Heat rises in her cheeks, as she knows very well what he’s referring to. They had been married in late Autumn, many years ago now, and a snowstorm had caught them at just the right wrong time, leaving them conveniently stranded together in a cabin for nearly a month.
A small mischievous smile turns the corners of her mouth as she reads on, because trust her husband to combine both business and pleasure into the same letter--
“I imagine the cold has already well-reached our halls. Have you been staying warm? Or are you as chilled in my absence as I am in yours?” Hithriel imagines him smiling to himself after writing that and rolls her eyes.
“When I sit by the fire, wrapped in the cloak you gifted me, and I still feel as glacial as the unforgiving tundra of the north, I imagine you next to me. Your hands covering mine, warming the tips of my fingers as you press those soft, lingering kisses you seem to be so fond of along my jaw. I yearn for your closeness - for your hröa pressed against mine - for your thighs wrapped tight around me as --”
Hithriel’s eyebrows knit together at the scribbled-out part of the rest of the line. Her heart is beating quick in her chest, a slow-burning heat of arousal stoking higher and higher. And yet, the line stops, mid-sentence, and is followed by a thick black spill of ink upon parchment. Hithriel frowns and lets out a long breath.
“I miss you.”
I miss you as well, she thinks, as she finishes off the last of her wine. The letter ends rather abruptly with the next line - the script seemingly rougher and more rushed than those preceding it.
“Perhaps, if there were some sort of urgent business in need of tending at home, I may be able to make it past the mountains before the first true snow… With longing, Thranduil.”
Hithriel grins, running her thumb over her husband’s signature, excited for the first time in what felt like months. Carefully, she folds the letter back into its envelope and stands, striding over toward her desk. It takes less than an hour for her to pen her reply and have it swiftly on it’s way to Rivendell.
Galion does not question her when she gives the order for no one to interrupt her that night.