Reader is kept as neutral as possible. Aside from implying they have hair long enough to be braided for some characters.
English is not my first language.
My requests are open so feel free to request anything else (I write for a plethora of characters)
My masterlist
word count: 1,168
Kili
This poor guy had spent so long trying to flirt to no avail. It seemed that no matter how much he braided Reader's hair they just weren't catching on. Was he doing this wrong? Or were they just not interested and ignoring him to be nice instead of outright turning him down? God he'd begun questioning everything.
Until Gandalf came by having noticed Kili's rather pathetic attempts at flirting, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder and speaking in a rather amused tone.
"You know it's only dwarves that flirt like that, right?"
Kili just stared up at him, utterly confused and a little embarrassed now, though he knew the only way find a way that actually works would be to ask for help.
"Well... What should I do, then?"
Gandalf took a puff of his pipe and chuckled, giving a small shrug and responding lightly, not wanting to make Kili feel even worse.
"Just get them some flowers. It's a small thing but if they like you back they should realise what it means."
Kili just stared up at him, seeing how horribly it has been going up until now, of course he had more questions. But he decided to just trust Gandalf on this one.
He showed up by Reader's bedroll, right before they were about to fall asleep, with a bunch of flowers held messily in his hand, each of them picked from around the forest. He tried to keep them relevant to reader some the colour of their eyes, some matching the colour of their clothes.
"I got these for you..."
He was a little nervous but he stood upright, trying to seem confident, giving reader a sheepish smile as he handed them the flowers.
"I hope you like them..."
Fili
Fili figured out just messing with reader's hair and braiding it wasn't going to cut it. Seeing as reader hadn't said anything in return or returned the gesture. So he assumed it was just a difference in cultures. He wasn't going to ask for help from someone else though. If he was going to do this he was going to do it himself.
So he started experimenting. Talking to them more, staying by their side more. Generally getting to know them and stuff. The more he knew the more he could use it to flirt, no? It started small of course.
Giving reader bits of his meal he knew they enjoyed. Offering to eat the stuff they didn't like. Cutting up fruits for them and giving it to them as snacks throughout the day. Simple acts of service.
Then he decided to take it a little further. Helping them with cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Setting up reader's bedroll for them nearer to the campfire so save them a warmer spot. Just quiet ways of showing affection until they caught on.
Thorin
He clearly wasn't sure of how to flirt. He didn't want to do it the dwarven way, braiding and taking care of reader's hair because he didn't want the rest of the company to know. Much less that sassy wizard who was sure to tease him for it.
So he decided to do it by giving them things. Always making sure to find a way to make up excuses for why he was doing it. The sword they'd found in a cave that he gave to reader instead of keeping? Just to help them stay safe. Plus why would he use an even made weapon of all things. Obviously he wouldn't have kept it for himself anyways. The rings he handed them? They weren't worth much anyways. Plus he had enough of them.
Then it started becoming a little... Extra. Actually valuable things, things that Thorin wouldn't even trust his own nephew's with. That sort of thing.
Thranduil
He's a lot more open with his flirting than the three dwarves we've just talked about. He'll show his love in pretty much every form he can. Physical touch? He's got it. He's practically worshiping reader from head to toe. Making sure to show an equal amount of love to each part of them. Gifts? It would be an insult to assume he doesn't provide gifts. Anything reader wants they get almost instantly. Acts of service? Might not be directly from him but he'll order servants around to do things that will save reader time and effort. So that close enough for him. Words of affirmation? He's making sure to praise reader for every act. Even if it seems insignificant to others.
It's quality time where it gets a little more complicated. He's a king. So obviously he's going to be busy. Which may be why he's so excessive when it comes to everything else. He's trying his best to make up for his absence through the things he does when he actually has time to be around reader.
Bofur
He's a lot more open than the rest of the dwarves. He knows that even if his flirting goes unnoticed or unreciprocated it won't be the end of the world. So he just took to flirting by trying to make reader feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible on their quest.
He took note of their eating habits. What they like eating. What they didn't like eating. Any small things that helped them enjoy their food. What helped them rest easier. Preference on watch times. That sort of thing.
And he used that knowledge to make them feel as best as he could. Preparing their favourite foods on days that didn't go that well. Trying to use as little ingredients they disliked as possible. Offering to take watch at times they knew reader would rather be asleep at.
Bilbo
He's a lot more physical with his affection than anyone else. Anytime the company had to camp anywhere remotely cold? He's huddled up as close to reader as possible. Anytime they're out traveling? Staying by reader's side, trying to get any excuse to hold their hand.
Something dangerous happened? He's hugging them the moment the group is back together. They fight exceptionally well or do their job better than usual? He's squeezing their shoulder and making sure they know they're appreciated.
Is it subtle? Not at all. Practically everyone knows of Bilbo's feelings for reader. But that doesn't make it any less sweeter.
Gandalf
With the amount of times he just disappears out of thin air he doesn't have much time to actually spend with reader. But he does make up for it thought other things he did.
Using his magic to help reader was the biggest example of it. Using it to make their pain go away whenever they get injured. Using it purely for entertainment in the early hours of the morning when they're keeping watch together. The lot.
Not to mention bringing them little trinkets from his journey. The smallest thing that reminds him of them will be picked up and in reader's travel pack by the time he'd back.
heard u were desperate for elf asks and me, the local elf fucker, has decided to grace your life pookie😚
elves who have still yet to start their courting with their human s/o, finding pieces of themselves in their work room or finding their human passed out over a table. huffing about human fragility under their breaths, walking over to drag them back to their bed for a proper rest, freezes before their ears turn a cute pink because their sweet mortal was musing about them. whether it be poetry draft, painting, art, sculpture in process, embroidery — anything. and elves adore art, so this is like skipping straight to “will you marry me?” before starting their dating
A/n: thank you for stopping by once again Nobu! Please stop more often hdhfhhs <3 I do hope you like this pookie. I planned to put even more characters into this, but that would have been too much for one post, so I'll separate it into another post tehee
Content: Thranduil, Glorfindel, Maedhros x GN!Reader, fluff hcs, a tinge of angst in Maedhros' part (ofc)..
𓄃Thranduil
-The vast forests of Mirkwood held much beauty, and even more when one looked closer into them. The trees were one of a kind, holding memories of old and having seen rises and falls of both elf and man. Yet they all remained steadfast, roots holding them upright. In the same manner, Thranduil held himself
-It was an image not many could ever hope to replicate, and a trait many aspired to have, like big fancy shoes one hopes to grow into
-And perhaps you have spent too long in the Woodland realm, you’ve learned a lot, but a lot more was waiting to be learned as well. It came to a boiling point where you were growing fussy with yourself for not having a pipe through which to blow your steam out through. There was so much beauty and lore, yet you couldn’t find a way to capture it all. And seeing all of this, your tense display, Thradnuil had gifted you paints and canvases and brushes, and a whole new room so well illuminated that you could even paint in it during the night, given you had a good candle with you.
-It came as a relief, having your own space, yet you felt indebted to him as much as you felt flattered that the elven-king cared so much about your comfort. When he had approached you with the request to court you, he almost seemed aloof, despite his request holding many thoughtful words and his gifts showing even more care. But that could be just the little voice of the devil that came with courting one of the most important figures in Middle-Earth. You didn’t express this much to Thranduil, for he really did his best at meeting you halfway with the courting traditions of men and elves.
-In turn you decided to paint him. Or, at least, try to do so. It would be worth it. So you set out on this quest and holed yourself in the painting room, having selected a medium sized canvas and the best colors you could ever hope to pair up with one another. The initial layout looked good, with Tranduil standing in the woods, surrounded by greens, oranges and reds, wearing an outfit he recently wore when he took you out on a walk through the forest. There is also a large elk approaching him in the painting, but you saved the animal to be painted last. You had covered most of the canvas, nearly finished with the backdrop of multiple tree trunks and you were working your way to the foreground when your vision began to droop and blur.
-Raising your head you saw that it was well past sunset and you could no longer see the color on your canvas as well, your candle was flickering out.
-But your chambers seemed a world away, you could not bother to try your legs to walk the distance. And the next best thing was the bench in the room, usually reserved for any guests you may have hosted, but tonight it would be your bed. You moved the plush pillows and the blanket around until you were comfortable, and you finally shut your eyes for the last time that night.
-Thranduil had wandered in some time later, finding it rather odd that he hadn't seen you for the entire day, and the guards he asked about your whereabouts had little answers as well. But his instincts told him you’d be here.
-He went in with his lamp, alone venturing into your space and seeing the canvas first. For half a heartbeat he half-expected to find you behind it, painting in the dark - humans had weird ways of doing things, he realized
-But once he went around it, he only saw an empty chair and unwashed brushes, crusted with paint. And the unfinished painting..
-His breath stopped in his throat, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer, shining the light of the lamp onto the canvas. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him, surely it wasn’t his likeness he was seeing in the sketch lying underneath the drying paint? But the worse option was to believe that it was another elf wearing his attire
-A soft hum snapped his focus away, and he turned to see you shifting in your sleep. It was then when he felt his ears begin to burn, his lips pushing into a thin line as he attempted to ease his heart from beating so terribly fast, too hard, he felt it beating against the bones of his ribcage
-He coughed into the palm of his hand then took a deep breath, approaching you after what felt like an eternity of waiting. It was in your shared interest that you sleep somewhere comfortable..
-Despite his racing thoughts, he did make it a point to talk to you in the morning about your courtship, perhaps this was your way to signal him that you were ready for the next stage..?
☀︎Glorfindel
-There are not many things that can catch Glorfindel by surprise; he is a seasoned individual, both in the art of combat and in more mundane things. He has seen much, and more. His mind is not so closed off to the change in the world, and while he is used to planning things, strategizing, his mind does prefer to take life one day at a time. Let life be the present moment until tomorrow arrives.
-You came into his life rather unexpectedly, but he welcomed you all the same. What feelings began to brew he had hoped to keep secret for a while longer, but once he realized that things were not going to change and that his feelings were only growing, taking into account your mortality, he had approached you and asked to court you
-He delivered the speech elegantly, armed with his usual carefree and easy going demeanor, but once his breath fell short towards the end you could tell that this meant a lot to him. And stepping into this more intimate relationship with him felt much easier than expected, but now you just had much more affection from him, and you had the privilege of seeing him more as well
-It was only natural that your own nature led to you wanting, even needing, to preserve him in some form of a craft. To flatter him the same way he did you, or to simply have something to remind you of him when he wasn’t with you
-Poems you tried, but no word seemed sufficient enough to capture Glorfindel’s character. Art you tried too, but you proved not skilled enough to satisfy yourself with those results. So you turned to something else - embroidery. It wasn’t easy, but the process was more satisfying and the image that was slowly coming into reality made you much more happier than the other attempts at making something in the image of Glorfindel
-It was a bit of a challenge to discard the failed attempts from him, but embroidery was easier to deal with before the bigger image was beginning to materialize. ‘It’s only a little something I’m making…for decor!’ or ‘I wish to give my mother something as a gift’ and so on. Glorfindel did not distrust you on that. It made sense, and why would you hide anything from him, anyway?
-Perhaps you overestimated yourself with your human strength, staying night after night doing work or finishing the embroidery or being unable to sleep. But exhaustion finally caught up to you one evening as you were sitting by the hearth. The warmth of the fire was licking up your arms and the side of your face, tempting you to close your eyes, lulling you to sleep. And before you knew it, your heavy eyelids giving way to darkness to overtake you
-Glorfindel found you in your chair, chin on your chest and arms stretched down to your lap, fingers still touching the wooden hoop keeping the canvas in place. The needle was slipping from your fingers, hanging on by a thread.
-Glorfindel shook his head and approached slowly, being light on his feet as he took the needle from your limb fingers. The thread pulled at the canvas as he picked it up, and it was then when he saw the picture you were making. His brows furrowed in focus and he felt more alert than a moment prior. He pried the wooden embroidery hoop from your hand and picked it up to take a closer look. Now that he thought of it, he hasn’t seen the progress made on this in a long while.
-It was a field of golden flowers, carefully crafted with yellow thread and in the middle was a finished white horse, and a person - well most of them. They were unfinished and only the shoulders-down of the body was visible, but Glorfindel recognized the clothes as his own, and he could recognize Asfaloth in any format.
-He wasn’t caught by surprise often, he held and open and calm mind, but even if he had expected this, even if he did hope for this, it made his heart feel like bursting
-He had to hold himself back from bowing down beside you, taking your sleepy face in his hands only to wake you up with a dozen of kisses
-Glorfindel really did his best to not cause a scene in that moment, and after a moment of simply admiring the artwork and tracing the pads of his fingers over the thread on canvas, his smile only growing, he had to remind himself that you were still asleep in a chair. And your back wouldn’t be thanking you in the morning for that
-After setting aside your embroidery, he gently picked you up and carried you to bed, smiling all the way and feeling how his chest swam with joy and a feeling he could only describe as a well-stuffed feather bed
-He laid you down, bringing the covers over you and for a moment longer he just admired you, having so much to tell you, but he settled with a kiss to your cheek for now, making a note to himself to make a better gift for you, and to ask for your hand soon.
⚔︎Maedhros
-There was little place for a human in Maedhros’ life, even as wars came and went and brought before him countless faces only for him to see them fall before him in the days following. He has seen much, too much, but there was only one path in his life, and it lay ahead of him. Yet, even his path wasn’t made wholly of only the things he knew. There were things changing, with him and around him
-It was strange to have someone with him. Ever since you came into his life Maedhros had slowly begun to adjust the ways when it came to interacting with you, and what chats you two had always managed to take his mind off of the constant battles and the Oath. It took a longer time for him to realize it and come to terms with his feelings, but once he did he plucked up whatever strength and elegance he could summon. He remembered the person he was before coming here, before everything, and he did his best to emulate that stability and a bit more cheerful demeanor. How much that works.. well you can imagine. But that does not mean he was bad at it, just not as good as enthusiastic as he imagined he’d be </3 He does think about it later and does wonder if you would have preferred if he asked in some other fashion
-Maedhros visits you when he can, although the truly private times between the two of you are far and few between with such a big host of people following him and waiting on his orders. He does treasure any moment he has with you. He hold your hand and kisses the inside of your wrists before he has to depart, kisses your forehead when he comes to see you and sits right besides you for as long as he is with you
-His heart had grown much more fond of you, it feels alive and the scars he bears nearly feel non-existent when he’s around you
-And little by little, you manage to get the old Maedhros from underneath the rubble. He had taken habit to calling you ‘his light’ in elvish, among some other endearments
-It was a late night when he came to visit you, and he did expect he might not find you awake at the hour but he tried his luck regardless as he went into your chambers. Despite your earlier claims that ‘he doesn’t need to knock’ he knocked anyway, only opening the door when he got no response.
-And there you were. Sitting at your little table (although everything average to us is little to Maedhros-) with your head on your arms. A quil rested between your fingers, and a blotch of ink was left both on paper and the wooden surface. As much as it was endearing at first, Maedhros couldn’t help but worry. He hurried in, carefully closing the doors and peering at your face before he agreed with that little voice in his head - you were fine, just asleep.
-His large palm tenderly caressed your upper back, coaxing your sleepy self to move just enough until the point he could pick you up without jostling you around too much. Your bed was just beside the table, so after he had settled you in, he smiled at the thought of your stubbornness to leave your work corner. He knew you could be stubborn beyond measure, especially about things that you held dear to heart
-Not wanting to depart yet, he went back to your table to see what he could do with the spilled ink and scattered papers
-He found a towel nearby and used it to suck up the wet ink - the dry splotches were beyond his skill. It was quiet work, but he found his mind wandering, one might even call it relaxing.
-He was picking up papers absentmindedly, not wishing to overstep your own trust by peering into whatever it is you scribbled down
-And he held onto that thought until he glimpsed something he couldn’t ignore. Since when did you know elvish?
-It suddenly came into view, the papers he held in hand were all letters in elvish, although each stroke revealed you were a novice in the language, but he also saw effort and thoughtfulness. The first page began with ‘Dear Maedhros’ and then the rest continued on into a poem. Maedhros thought he was dreaming, and had to glimpse outside the window to remind himself where he was
-He read through and found himself falling apart from within. Each line, each word, addressed to him held so much love and care, it meant more than any song some bard could sing of his valor in battle. And it was written by you - and you’ve seen how ugly he could be, yet you wrote how you loved him all.
-He was probably as red as his hair, but his lips also twisted downwards in this pout-like expression keeping tears at bay. His heart felt full, too full for him to manage. Maedhros doesn’t remember the last time he felt like this. And with his curiosity sparked, he peered into the crumbled letters scattered around, finding even more verses that were unfinished. On the corner of the table was a thick book, almost crumbling to ashes from how old it looked, but he recognized it as the first book holding the alphabet of men and elves, translations and grammatical rules to follow
-Maedhros sat down, not trusting his legs to keep him upright anymore, holding the letters to his chest.
Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.
⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
18+
𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑈𝐼𝐿
・Your wedding was spectacular to put it mildly.
・Dancing, music, drinks, lovely assortment of foods. There was nothing you could have wanted. Because it was all upto your taste.
・It's what Thraduil wanted; that you get the wedding you desire. Nothing is too much.
・So, when it was time for the pair of you to leave, he picked you up bridal style and took you to your shared chambers
・He walked you over the threshold and gently placed you down on the bed.
・He loomed over you, white soft hair encasing you
"You wish this, yes?"
"Yes," you said a bit too quickly. But Thranduil didn't notice, because he was just as excitable.
・He pulled off his garments and draped them over a chair. Then came your clothes, which were undone the proper way
・Thranduil hovered over you, knees under your thighs to get a closer position. In one hand he holds your wrists, and in the other hand, he teases your nipple.
"My King!" You near-shouted.
"Yes, my Queen?" Both of you felt breathless.
"Please, fuck me-" you whined, opening your legs even more. Letting him see your wet core.
・One of his hands guided his cock against your cunt and slipped it in.
・You both felt the pressure and moaned.
𝐻𝐴𝐿𝐷𝐼𝑅
・Your wedding night was something you had been waiting for, for a long time.
・You held hands and walked to your now combined quarters.
・When he opened the door, you saw the chambers first - and they were exquisite
"Is it to your liking?" Haldir asked, shutting the door behind him.
"And more..."
・The room looked like it was created from a dream. Flowing curtains, handmade bed, well, everything was handmade.
・You moved to the bed and sat down. You ran a hand over the blanket and then looked at your husband. He seemed ravenous.
・You widened your legs and leaned back, within seconds Haldir was on his knees in front of you. He pushed up your gown, and pulled off your undergarments.
・This made you bare and you blushed.
"You want this?" Haldir asked breathlessly.
・You nodded and let out a meek, "yes."
・He looked at you with such love. Then moved his hands to keep your legs apart while he lowered his face to your cunt.
・You felt warmth pool where Haldir was kissing you. You felt electric. You felt alive.
Wait, oh my god. If you don’t mind, could you possibly write the oversized tunic prompt for Haldir, Legolas, and/or Thranduil?
Or possibly, their SO in their tunic?
Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir version below.
🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵
The flickering light of the hearth bathed the guest chamber in a warm, golden glow, the shadows of the flames stretching across the polished stone walls and draping the room in quiet intimacy. It was peaceful—until the door opened, revealing the imposing figure of Thranduil. He moved with effortless elegance, his long robes trailing in his wake as his sharp gaze swept over the chamber. For a fleeting moment, his expression was serene, his features carved from ice and marble, betraying nothing. But then his eyes fell on you.
You stood in the doorway, caught in the firelight, the oversized tunic billowing slightly as you shifted under his gaze. The garment—his tunic—hung loosely on you, its fine fabric pooling in some places and clinging in others, betraying the fact that it had not been tailored for you. The neckline dipped low, and the material had slipped off one shoulder, baring the curve of your collarbone and a hint of your skin. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, your every move revealing just how precariously it sat. Though the look was accidental, it carried with it an unintended allure.
Thranduil stopped mid-step, his ice-blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they trailed over you, taking in every detail of your appearance. His expression was unreadable at first, the practiced neutrality of a king who had seen and weathered all things. But then his lips curved into the faintest of smirks, a spark of amusement glinting in his gaze. “Is this…” he began, his voice low and smooth, laced with an almost imperceptible edge, “intentional?”
You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest under the weight of his scrutiny. “Intentional?” you echoed, heat rising to your cheeks. You felt your embarrassment bubbling over, but you did your best to keep your tone even. “You make it sound like I’ve planned this.” You gestured vaguely to the tunic, the sleeves so long that the cuffs nearly swallowed your hands. “I didn’t exactly have many options. My clothes are being washed, and this was the only thing I could find that didn’t reek of travel.”
Thranduil took a measured step forward, the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing faintly. There was something predatory in his movements, though not unkind—a quiet, deliberate grace that left no room for misunderstanding who stood before you. His gaze softened slightly, though his intensity did not waver. “And you thought it wise to wear this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as though the question were for himself as much as it was for you. “My tunic?”
You bristled, a mix of defiance and self-consciousness sparking in your chest. Crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to shield yourself, you tilted your chin up. “It’s not like I expected you to walk in unannounced,” you countered, though your voice wavered slightly under his piercing gaze. “Besides, it’s not that revealing.”
At that, one of his thick brows arched elegantly, the faintest quirk of his lips betraying his disbelief. “Not that revealing?” he repeated, a note of dry humor slipping into his tone. His eyes flicked down briefly, lingering on the exposed curve of your shoulder where the fabric had slipped, then lower, taking in the hem that rested just a little too high for propriety. “It barely clings to you,” he said plainly, though there was something warmer—something almost dangerous—beneath the cool cadence of his voice. “It is… distracting.”
“Distracting?” You scoffed lightly, though your pulse quickened under his steady gaze. You had meant it to sound dismissive, but the nervous edge to your tone gave you away. “You sound offended. Or…” You allowed a playful edge to creep into your voice, though you knew you were treading on thin ice. “Or maybe you’re just jealous that I pull it off better than you.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, your words echoing in the chamber. Then, to your surprise, a deep, rich chuckle escaped him, the sound resonating low in his chest. His smirk deepened, his gaze glinting with what could only be described as admiration. “Brazen,” he murmured, almost to himself, though the amusement in his tone was evident. “Only you would dare to jest with me in this way.”
You took a tentative step forward, emboldened by the flicker of humor in his expression. “Would you rather I cower?” you asked, your voice soft but steady now. “Or apologize for borrowing something clearly too fine for someone like me?” The teasing edge in your tone was deliberate, but underneath it lay something more vulnerable—something unspoken, though not unnoticed.
Thranduil tilted his head, his gaze never wavering as you drew closer. When he spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, as if the moment demanded it. “I would rather you be more aware of what you provoke,” he said, his words measured but weighted with meaning. “For once tempted, I may not so easily let it go.” You blinked, the air in the room seeming to thicken as his words hung between you. He took another step forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. His hand rose slowly, hesitating just for a moment before brushing the edge of the tunic where it had slipped from your shoulder. The gesture was so light, so fleeting, it could almost have been unintentional—but the look in his eyes told you otherwise.
“It is not the garment I mind,” he said softly, his fingers lingering just a moment too long against your bare skin, his gaze locking onto yours with a startling intensity. “It is the thought that others might see you like this. That I might have to share what stands before me now.” Your breath caught, the heat of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Thranduil,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, “it’s just a tunic.”
His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, though his gaze never softened. “Perhaps to you. But to me, it is far more than that.” His hand fell away as he leaned in, his face mere inches from yours now. His voice dropped lower, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of a command. “Be more mindful of how you tempt me. You may not like where it leads.” Your heart raced, your words catching in your throat as his meaning settled over you like the heat of the firelight. “Who says I wouldn’t?” you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered with the tension of the moment.
For a moment, he froze, his gaze sharpening as if searching your expression for the truth behind your words. His hand, which had fallen to his side, tightened into a loose fist as though reining himself in. Then, slowly, he straightened, the icy mask of the elven king sliding back into place with practiced ease. “Be ready for supper,” he said, his voice cool and composed once more, though his words carried an undeniable weight. “And wear something less… distracting.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, his robes sweeping behind him as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving you standing there, breathless and warm, the echo of his touch still lingering on your shoulder.
🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼
The quiet chambers of Mirkwood were bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the hearth, the light casting golden shadows on the stone walls. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest beyond the balcony. Legolas stepped through the carved wooden door with his usual Elven grace, the gentle creak of the hinges the only sound that broke the stillness. His sharp eyes, gleaming with the light of the fire, immediately sought you out.
You stood in the center of the room, hesitant, your fingers brushing nervously at the hem of the oversized tunic you wore. It was one of his—a garment you’d found folded neatly atop the guest bed, clean and soft but unmistakably his. The loose fabric hung down past your knees, its neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose more skin than you were comfortable with. The tunic billowed lightly with your every shift, and though it covered you, the way it clung in places and revealed too much in others made you feel distinctly… vulnerable.
Legolas froze mid-step, his crystalline blue gaze locking on you as if you’d stolen all the air from the room. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first, his expression flickering between surprise, concern, and something far more unreadable. He tilted his head just so, as though trying to make sense of the sight before him. “Is… is that my tunic?” His voice, usually steady and serene, carried a hint of bewilderment, the faintest quirk of his brow betraying his confusion.
You shrugged, trying to feign indifference but failing miserably under his piercing gaze. “I didn’t really have anything else to wear,” you explained, your voice quieter than usual. “My clothes were still drying from the river, and this was here, so…” You gestured vaguely to yourself, feeling the heat creep up your neck and cheeks. “It’s fine, right?”
Legolas stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The flickering light of the fire danced in his eyes as they roved over you—not with judgment, but with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He stopped just short of you, his tall frame towering yet somehow gentle in its proximity. “It is not… improper,” he said carefully, though the faint flush blooming at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Though I must admit…” He paused, as if searching for the right words, his gaze drifting to the exposed curve of your shoulder. “It is… revealing.”
You laughed softly, a nervous edge to the sound as you pulled the loose fabric back up your shoulder. “Revealing? Says the elf who walks around in robes with slits up to—” You stopped yourself with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think your standards for modesty are a little… flexible.”
His lips parted in a soft exhale, and you swore you saw the faintest twitch of amusement tug at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his voice low, almost teasing. “But when it is you wearing my tunic…” He trailed off, his words hanging in the air like a string plucked on a harp. “When it’s me, what?” you challenged gently, meeting his gaze, though your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “Do I wear it poorly? Should I have asked for something less ‘revealing,’ your highness?” You added the last part with a playful lilt, trying to ease the tension that had settled between you.
“No,” he said swiftly, too swiftly, his tone softening immediately after. “No, it is not that. It is…” His hands twitched at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for you. “It suits you. Better than I expected.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Better than you expected?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’ve been parading around in your clothes for weeks.”
“Have you?” he countered, his voice dipping into something teasing, his sharp gaze briefly flicking over you again. The faintest ghost of a smile played on his lips now, though his posture remained composed, regal. “No!” you said, shaking your head. “I just—” You sighed, gesturing helplessly at the tunic. “It was either this or sitting around freezing in a damp shirt. And it’s not like anyone else is here to see me.” You hesitated, catching the way his eyes softened. “Except you, apparently.”
Legolas tilted his head, his expression gentling further, the faint blush on his cheeks lingering. “I would not fault you for choosing comfort,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “Though…” He reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric where it pooled loosely over your wrist. “I must admit, I am unused to seeing you so… unguarded.” “Unguarded?” you echoed, a small laugh escaping you. “I’m wearing your tunic, not armor.”
“It is not the tunic,” he said, his gaze steady and earnest. “It is… you.” His fingers brushed against your wrist again, feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch. “You wear it with a grace I did not know my garments could possess.” You blinked up at him, momentarily speechless, before narrowing your eyes slightly. “You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you think I look ridiculous.” He smiled then, soft and genuine, the kind of smile that could break down even the strongest walls.
“Ridiculous?” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “No, Mellon nîn or shall I say meleth nǐn.” The Elvish slipped from his lips like a melody, and though you didn’t know the meaning, it made your heart ache in the best way. “Far from it.” And for a moment, as he stood there in the firelight, his fingers lingering near yours, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever be able to look at that tunic the same way again.
🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻
The quiet serenity of the guest chambers of Lothlórien is broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth. The golden light dances on the smooth, pale walls, casting flickering shadows that shift as if alive. Outside, the faint hum of the Elven woods persists, a sound so subtle and ancient it feels as though it could weave dreams.
Haldir steps in, his presence commanding yet measured, as always. His silver hair gleams in the firelight, and his sharp, discerning gaze immediately sweeps the room before settling on you. He stops short, and for a moment, the mask of stoicism that is his constant companion falters. His eyes widen, just slightly, betraying his initial surprise.
You stand there, clothed only in one of his tunics, which hangs loosely around you, brushing against your knees. The neckline dips further than you expected, the fabric slipping off one shoulder to reveal your skin beneath. The garment is clearly oversized, its looseness making it far more revealing than you intended. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, both self-conscious and oddly amused by the rare moment of silence from the Marchwarden.
“Haldir,” you start, breaking the tension. “I didn’t expect you so soon. I didn’t have time to… change.” Your voice carries an air of calm, though your heartbeat quickens. His gaze snaps to yours, his usual composure quickly returning, though a faint flush lingers high on his cheekbones. “I see,” he says, his tone carefully even, though there’s a tightness to it that suggests he’s restraining himself. He takes a step closer, his eyes darting—unbidden—back to where the tunic slips off your shoulder, exposing a sliver of collarbone.
“I trust,” he begins, clearing his throat as if to steady himself, “that you are aware how… unconventional this attire is.” His voice is low, calm, but there’s a tension beneath it—a mix of protectiveness and something more hesitant. “Such a sight might… cause distraction to others. Particularly in my halls.”
You arch a brow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, which only causes the tunic to shift further, sliding a bit higher on one leg and baring more of your skin. “Your halls?” you counter, a faint smirk playing on your lips. “And here I thought these were the halls of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.”
Haldir’s lips press into a thin line, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He takes another step closer, his voice softening but losing none of its authority. “You know what I mean. Such…” he gestures vaguely at your attire, clearly uncomfortable even addressing it, “an ensemble is not… fitting.”
You tilt your head, letting the smirk grow. “Oh? And who decides what is fitting, Haldir? You?” There’s a playful lilt to your tone now, and you can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he’s torn between exasperation and amusement. “It is… unbecoming,” he insists, though his voice has lost some of its sternness. His gaze flickers once more to the slipping neckline, and he quickly averts his eyes, clearly wrestling with himself. “What if one of my brothers or the sentries had seen you like this?”
You take a step toward him, your bare feet silent on the stone floor, and tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “But they didn’t,” you say, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re the only one who’s seen me like this. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Haldir freezes, his breath hitching at your words. For a moment, the guarded walls he keeps so firmly in place seem to crack, and he looks at you—not as the Marchwarden of Lothlórien, but as Haldir, the Elf who feels so deeply yet shows so little. His lips part slightly, as though he’s about to say something, but no words come.
You take another step closer, your movements deliberate now, emboldened by his reaction. “Haldir,” you say, your voice softening, “you don’t have to pretend to be so composed all the time. It’s just me.”
He exhales sharply, as though your words have pierced through the layers of his restraint. “You test my patience,” he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real bite. There’s something almost tender in the way he looks at you now, his gaze lingering on your face, your eyes, before flicking back to the tunic once more. “You… shouldn’t wear things like this,” he says finally, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Not when you don’t understand what it does to me.”
The confession hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re both silent. Then, a slow, mischievous smile spreads across your face. “Oh,” you say, your tone light but pointed. “And what does it do to you, Haldir?”
He steps closer still, his composure unraveling further with each passing second. The faint flush on his cheeks deepens, and he looks at you as though you’re the most dangerous thing he’s ever encountered. “It makes me forget my duty,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that is something I cannot afford.”
You reach out, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Maybe forgetting your duty, just for a moment, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Haldir’s breath catches again, and for a moment, you think he might close the remaining distance between you. But then, with a deep inhale, he steps back, his usual composure snapping back into place like a shield. “You should change,” he says, his voice firmer now but still soft. “Before someone else sees you.”
You watch him for a moment, the tension still palpable, before nodding. “As you wish, Marchwarden,” you reply, a hint of teasing in your tone. As you turn to gather your clothes, you catch the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—a smile that’s gone almost as soon as it appears. But the way his eyes linger on you, even as he tries to compose himself, tells you that you’ve left him thoroughly shaken.
also srry for the 2nd ask in quick succesion lmao but I was rereading one of my fav fics from yours ("Survivors price") and I just wanted to know if you have more headcannons about Thranduil and Celeborn and how they percieve each other and how people close to them see their relationship?
ngl they facinate me sooo much, like Celeborn pretty much saw Thranduil grow up carefree in Doriath and then change from so much trauma, but still seeing that elfling he remembers running playing with luthien and making Oropher lose his mind when he went missing for too long in one of his "adventures".
they just facinate me soo much i'm so interested in them
Hello welcome back!! No worries at all about multiple asks, I love it so much tbh. Thank you for being so patient for the replys! I'm going to do my best to be calm and normal for this answer but its going to be difficult because i am NOT normal about them. Literally at all. 😂
(Lore sidenote: Tolkien changes his mind several times about if Galadriel and Celeborn were in Menengroth for either of the sackings, be it the Dwarves or from the Sons of Feanor. I personally think there are more examples and supporting evidence of them NOT being there, and so that is what I have adopted into my own little head canon.)
Prince Thranduil Oropherion as he was before Thingol died lives rent-free in Celeborn's subconscious mind every moment of every day. His cranky but still eternally happy and curious younger cousin. The one that knew half of the worlds secrets already, and was so determined to find the rest. That delighted in everything. Delighted to learn, to explore, to experience. The one that was not afraid of anything, who had faith in the world around him. Faith in its goodness. Faith in the goodness of others.
He was one of Celeborn's favorite people, and was loved so so so very dearly by him. Celeborn was one of the first elves to consistently got along with Thranduil (other than Luthian, of course.) and then look around at everyone else all, "What? Like its hard?"
Seeing the Prince Thranduil Oropherion that emerged from the burnt ruins of the city was more heartbreaking for Celeborn than the actual destruction of the city itself. Somehow, it felt more important. More permanent.
A city can be rebuilt, a soul cannot.
But he was wrong. It can, and Thranduil does. It takes decades, but after the war of Wrath, after Oropher takes what is left of his people across the Misty Mountains and to live among the Greenwood Elves, that carefree Prince Thranduil begins to return. Celeborn literally weeps tears of happiness the first time he notices, the first time he sees a glimpse of his little cousin once more.
To Celeborn, Thranduil is proof that not all good things can and have been irreparably damaged by the darkness. No matter what burdens were draped over Thranduil, no matter the hurt, the anger, the resentment, and the hopelessness, Celeborn could still see the same Mischievous Prince of Doriath within him. See the love Thranduil has for the world, and the love the world has for him in return. See the gentleness behind all his pain.
To Thranduil, Celeborn is proof that he has not lost himself. Even if at times the 'real him' is difficult to find, there is something about Celeborn that makes it easier, because Celeborn has always seen the best parts of him so much easier than everybody else every has. Celeborn reminds Thranduil through his general continues presences in Thranduil's life and occasionally through verbal or written encouragement that even though he has been through more pain and suffering than he would wish upon anyone, he has not lost himself. That he will not lose himself, because Celeborn refuses to look away from him. Refuses to stop seeing him. Refuses to let the pain and the anger burry his little cousin.
Even so, I think that Celeborn feels IMMENSE guilt and shame when it comes to Thranduil. For many things and many reasons, logically or otherwise, that all boil down to "I abandoned him, repeatedly, to the mercy of fate. I should have done more, maybe if I had, I could have prevented some of his suffering. I could have protected him. But I didn't. I never did. Every time that I said I would do right by him the next time .... I did not. I never did." His guilt makes it difficult for those that are close to Celeborn to see their relationship as much more than an attempt from Celeborn to alleviate some of that guilt and 'make up' for his actions. Plus, they don't get to see the "Real Thranduil" that Celeborn loves so so so dearly. Galadriel knows that spending time with Thranduil brings her husband peace and happiness, but does not comprehend how or why. Celebrian is probably the only one that really, truly, understands their relationship.
Those close with Thranduil understand it much more, as they get to see the 'real relationship' the two of them have together. They can see the emotional comfort and security that Celeborn brings to Thranduil, they understand that Celeborn is the closest thing to be found during an "I want my dad :(" moment. They see that Celeborn knowns, loves, and see's the ''real'' Thranduil. (Although, some of them DO feel like Thranduil should be angrier for the lack of help that Celeborn offers, but have learned to keep these thoughts to themselves.)
Okay I need to stop bc this thing is getting close to 900 words but I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THEM AHHHHHHHH
But if theres anything in specific you want me to expand on, just let me know! 🥰🥰🥰
This one is for my ace/aro besties who still want to have a special relationship with the Elvenking. Love comes in many forms, and companionship is one of them 💕 Gender neutral Headcanons under the cut.
-They’re the only one that he feels he can be vulnerable with.
-It’s difficult with Legolas; he’s his son, and their relationship is strained anyway. There are things he just can’t tell him.
-But with them, he can be all of the things that he can’t be with anyone else; tired, frustrated, unsure.
-One of his favourite things to do is drink wine with them in the evenings and just talk. He doesn’t have to be careful with his words for once, and it’s refreshing.
-When he’s with them, he finds himself laughing and smiling more than he has since his wife was killed.
-In front of others, it’s a lot of nonverbal communication.
-They’ve learned what each expression means, the subtle difference between ‘can you believe this?’ and ‘I’m starting to get irritated’.
-Secretive smirks, sidelong glances.
-In anything of importance, he wants them by his side; council meetings, battles, matters of state.
-He trusts their advice, their perspective.
-He likely has made them a member of his king’s guard.
-He does love them, but not in the way he loved his late wife. It’s different, but still important to him.
What I think their scent, favorite food, dessert, flower, drink, color, season, animal, guilty pleasure, and spiritual animal.
Headcanons: Gil Galad, Celebrimbor, Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir.
Gil~Galad
Scent: He carries the scent of crisp winter air, mingling with the earthy fragrance of ancient wood and the salty tang of the sea. It evokes both the distant chill of the north and the ageless spirit of the Elves, an aura of ancient wisdom and strength.
Favorite Food: He relishes venison roasted over an open fire, a meal that carries with it the essence of the wilds—earthy, smoky, and fit for a king. It is simple yet refined, representing his balance of strength and nobility.
Favorite Dessert: Golden honey cakes, their sweetness balanced with a hint of spice, reflect his deep connection to both the earth and the Elven love for rich, delicate flavors. A treat as elegant and timeless as his reign.
Favorite Flower: White lilies hold a special place in his heart—delicate and pure, they symbolize nobility and purity, embodying the essence of Elven grace and the lasting legacy of the Noldor.
Favorite Drink: He enjoys rich, aged wine from the vineyards of Lindon, its complexity and depth echoing the long history of the Elves. Each sip carries the taste of Elven craftsmanship and the timeless beauty of the land he rules.
Favorite Color: Silver is his chosen hue, the color of stars, regal power, and the quiet nobility of the Elves. It speaks to his high status, his timeless wisdom, and the quiet serenity of his rule.
Favorite Season: Autumn is his favorite season, when the world feels as if it is in a moment of stillness. The changing leaves and the crisp air reflect his deep connection to the passage of time and his quiet contemplation of Middle-earth’s ever-turning cycles.
Favorite Animal: The peacock, with its dazzling plumage, resonates with his sense of majesty, grace, and regal presence. It is an animal that, though rare and striking, moves with a quiet confidence that mirrors Gil-galad’s own commanding yet composed nature.
Guilty Pleasure: Though he is bound by duty, Gil-galad secretly finds solace in spending time in the serene gardens of Lindon, away from his royal responsibilities. In these private moments, he reconnects with the peaceful rhythms of nature, something his kingship often denies him.
Spiritual Animal: The falcon, noble and ever-watchful, is his spiritual animal. Its ability to soar high above, to see the world with clarity and precision, mirrors his own role as a leader who sees both the grand picture and the details of his realm from above, with calm detachment and vigilant responsibility.
Celebrimbor
Scent: Celebrimbor carries the scent of oak—earthy and grounded—mixed with the metallic tang of the forge. His aroma evokes the intimacy of creation, the warmth of a forge at dusk, where the heat of the fire and the coolness of twilight meet.
Favorite Food: He favors Elven bread, soft and light, often paired with honey and fresh fruit. The simplicity of this food, with its sweetness and delicate flavors, mirrors his appreciation for craftsmanship—refined, yet never overwhelming.
Favorite Dessert: A dish of caramelized figs, warm and fragrant, spiced with a touch of cinnamon. It combines both sweetness and spice, much like his own character—delicate but capable of surprising depth.
Favorite Flower: The Silverleaf, with its delicate and intricate petals, symbolizes the blend of beauty and precision that Celebrimbor values in both his work and the world around him. Its silvery hue reflects his affinity for elegance and refinement.
Favorite Drink: He enjoys a herbal brew that clears the mind, typically something light and refreshing, with notes of mint and thyme. It helps him focus and think clearly, providing clarity before diving into his complex creations.
Favorite Color: Silver, the color of his craft. It shines with a quiet brilliance, much like his work in metal and stone. The reflective hue represents purity, sophistication, and the noble nature of his creations.
Favorite Season: Spring is Celebrimbor’s favorite season, symbolizing the creative renewal of life. Much like the budding flowers and fresh air of spring, it fuels his desire to create, constantly renewing his passion for innovation and artistry.
Favorite Animal: The owl, a creature known for its wisdom and keen observation, mirrors Celebrimbor’s own insightful nature. His quiet, analytical demeanor and ability to perceive things others might miss makes him kin to this nocturnal hunter of knowledge.
Guilty Pleasure: Celebrimbor often loses himself in the designs of new weapons. It’s his secret indulgence—a moment when the pressures of leadership and duty melt away, and he’s consumed by the art of crafting something powerful and beautiful, just for the sake of it.
Spiritual Animal: The phoenix resonates deeply with him. Like the legendary bird, Celebrimbor is reborn from both creation and destruction. His passion for forging, as well as his struggle with Sauron’s betrayal, mirrors the cycle of rising from the ashes to create anew.
Thranduil
Scent: Thranduil carries the scent of pine and fresh dew on the forest floor, a fragrant reminder of his deep connection to Mirkwood’s ancient woods. It’s the smell of tranquility and timelessness, evoking a sense of quiet majesty.
Favorite Food: He enjoys forest mushrooms paired with wild game, a dish that reflects the wild, untamed beauty of his realm. The flavors are earthy and rich, as he appreciates the bounty the forest provides.
Favorite Dessert: Sweet berry tarts, their tangy and delicate flavors satisfy his refined taste for the finest things, while still feeling grounded in the natural sweetness of the world around him.
Favorite Flower: Thranduil favors snowdrops, the delicate flowers that bloom quietly in the coldest months. Their purity and elegance mirror his noble yet reserved nature, and they are a reminder of the strength hidden in quiet beauty.
Favorite Drink: Dorwinion wine is his drink of choice—rich, bold, and refined. The wine’s depth and complexity suit his long-lived nature and his taste for the finer things, reflecting his appreciation for both luxury and tradition.
Favorite Color: Emerald green reflects the vibrant, lush forests of Mirkwood. This deep, rich color symbolizes the strength, mystery, and endless depth of the natural world, mirroring his kingdom and his own regal presence.
Favorite Season: Autumn is his favored season, when the forest is bathed in warm hues of gold and red. It represents a time of change and beauty, much like his own life—a season of reflection and quiet power.
Favorite Animal: The white stag, elusive and proud, represents both grace and strength in the forest. It embodies his own leadership style—majestic, solitary, and deeply connected to the land he rules over.
Guilty Pleasure: Thranduil enjoys his own company more than most, relishing moments of solitude. In these rare moments, he reflects, indulges in his treasures, and experiences peace away from the pressures of his crown.
Spiritual Animal: The lion, powerful and majestic, mirrors his fierce authority and regal presence. Like the lion, Thranduil commands respect and exudes quiet confidence, his strength lying in his measured, controlled nature.
Elrond
Smell: Elrond carries the scent of fresh mountain air, carrying with it a hint of wild herbs and earthy parchment—a blend of nature’s tranquility and the wisdom of his many years.
Favorite Food: His favorite is a hearty stew, simple but satisfying—a meal that represents his practicality and deep connection to the land. It’s both nourishing and comforting, much like his presence in Rivendell.
Favorite Dessert: For something sweet, Elrond enjoys delicate almond cakes—soft and fragrant, with a subtle sweetness that mirrors his gentle yet firm leadership.
Favorite Flower: He favors lavender, its soothing scent and soft purple hue reflecting his calm, patient demeanor, and the peace he brings to his people.
Favorite Drink: A floral herbal tea brewed from the gardens of Rivendell is his drink of choice—light and fragrant, a symbol of his connection to the natural world and the healing qualities he offers.
Favorite Color: The color blue resonates most with Elrond, symbolizing wisdom, peace, and the quiet strength he exudes. It is the color of both the sky and the deep waters—reflective, calm, and enduring.
Favorite Season: Spring is Elrond’s favorite season—a time of renewal, when life begins anew and the world feels calm yet full of potential, much like his own eternal role in Rivendell.
Favorite Animal: The raven holds a special place in his heart—wise, observant, and occasionally brooding. Much like Elrond, the raven is deeply attuned to the world’s mysteries, often seen as a symbol of insight.
Guilty Pleasure: Elrond’s guilty pleasure is losing himself in old scrolls and forgotten histories—the vast knowledge of Middle-earth and its past is something he can never resist, even if it means he spends long hours in solitude.
Spiritual Animal: The swan is his spiritual animal, graceful and serene. It represents his nobility, elegance, and inner calm—a creature that glides smoothly, even though its feet are constantly working beneath the surface.
Glorfindel
Scent: Glorfindel smells like the warm, golden sunlight of the plains, blended with the fresh, earthy scent of wild herbs and flowers. His presence carries the invigorating aroma of nature, like a quiet breeze that moves through a meadow in full bloom. There’s a subtle hint of pine and earth that clings to him, especially after he’s been in the wild.
Favorite Food: His favorite food is a hearty lamb roast, tender and juicy, seasoned with fresh rosemary, garlic, and a hint of salt. The flavors are simple but bold, much like Glorfindel himself—strong, comforting, and full of life.
Favorite Dessert: Berry pies with a golden, flaky crust are Glorfindel’s favorite dessert. The sweetness of the berries contrasts perfectly with the rich, buttery crust, providing a balance he appreciates.
Favorite Flower: Glorfindel’s favorite flower is the sunflower, which symbolizes strength, vitality, and light—traits that he values deeply. The towering, golden blooms remind him of the power and beauty of nature, reflecting his own inner light and unwavering courage.
Favorite Drink: He enjoys a strong, dark elven coffee—smooth but intense, much like his presence. The deep, rich flavors of the brew awaken his senses and provide him with the energy needed to face the challenges of leadership and battle.
Favorite Color: Gold is Glorfindel’s favorite color, representing the sun’s warmth, strength, and vitality. It symbolizes his noble nature, his leadership, and his inner light.
Favorite Season: Summer is Glorfindel’s favorite season, filled with warmth, light, and life. It’s a time of abundance and vitality, much like his own exuberant spirit. He feels most connected to the world around him during this season, thriving in the sunlight and the full bloom of nature, as if the world is alive with endless possibilities.
Favorite Animal: A wild, majestic stallion is Glorfindel’s favorite animal, embodying freedom, strength, and grace. The stallion’s untamed spirit and commanding presence mirror Glorfindel’s own noble yet free-spirited nature. He feels a deep bond with these creatures, often riding into battle with the same fierce independence and power.
Guilty Pleasure: Glorfindel’s guilty pleasure is training for hours, often just because he enjoys the challenge. Whether it’s perfecting his swordplay or pushing himself to new physical limits, he finds joy in the act of pushing his body and mind to the edge. It’s a moment of solitude where he can focus solely on himself, away from the burdens of leadership.
Spiritual Animal: His spiritual animal is the lion—majestic, brave, and protective. Much like the lion, Glorfindel exudes confidence and strength, with a natural leadership that commands respect. He is fiercely loyal and protective of those he cares about, much like a lion safeguarding its pride. His courage is unwavering, and his spirit is one of unwavering protection.
Haldir
Smell: Haldir carries the sharp scent of wood and green leaves with him, a reminder of the forests he guards. It’s the fresh, invigorating scent of the wild, mixed with the earthiness of moss and the crispness of the forest floor after rain.
Favorite Food: He favors dried fish, smoked over a crackling fire. It’s simple, yet satisfying, with the smoky flavors of the forest’s edge filling the air—something hearty and practical for a warrior who lives by the rhythms of nature.
Favorite Dessert: Soft, warm berry tarts bring him comfort, the sweetness of the fruit balanced by the buttery pastry. It’s the kind of dessert that reminds him of quiet moments shared with loved ones in the peaceful calm of the woods.
Favorite Flower: Roses are his favorite, their petals delicate yet strong. Like him, they thrive in the face of challenges, their beauty a testament to resilience. He’s drawn to their quiet strength, much like the guardianship he feels for his people.
Favorite Drink: A strong, earthy tea with herbs from his homeland is Haldir’s drink of choice. Its depth of flavor, grounded by roots and leaves, helps center his mind during long hours of watch or when he seeks solitude to reflect on the tasks ahead.
Favorite Color: Forest green, the color of his heart, is the color that defines him. It’s the hue of the woods he loves, where he feels most at home, a blend of peace and power that flows through every aspect of his life.
Favorite Season: Autumn, when the leaves turn gold and the air is crisp, is Haldir’s favorite season. The quiet change of the world around him mirrors his own introspection, and he finds comfort in the calm that the turning of the seasons brings.
Favorite Animal: The fox, clever and agile, represents Haldir’s sharp mind and quick reflexes. It’s a creature that moves silently through the underbrush, ever watchful and quick to adapt—traits he values as a protector of the forest.
Guilty Pleasure: Haldir’s guilty pleasure is taking long walks alone in the woods, reflecting on his thoughts. In these moments, he is away from the burdens of leadership, allowing the quiet of the forest to clear his mind and help him find peace.
Spiritual Animal: The hawk, swift and focused, is his spiritual animal. It represents his sharp gaze and unwavering determination, as well as his ability to navigate through challenges with precision and a clear purpose. The hawk soars above, always keeping watch over all below.
Lindir
Scent: Lindir carries the scent of sweet-scented wood and aged parchment, a reflection of his scholarly nature. The gentle, earthy notes speak of quiet study, timeless wisdom, and the calming presence of Rivendell’s ancient halls.
Favorite Food: A delicate blend of fruit, sweet with a tangy glaze that balances the flavors perfectly. It’s a dish that mirrors his appreciation for simple pleasures with a touch of refinement.
Favorite Dessert: Lemon cakes, tart but soft, embodying Lindir’s balance of sharp intellect and gentle spirit. Their vibrant flavor lifts the mood, much like his quiet but uplifting presence among friends.
Favorite Flower: White roses, elegant and unpretentious, reflecting his love for simplicity and beauty. The pure, soft petals remind him of peace and clarity.
Favorite Drink: Soft, berry-infused water, refreshing yet light, much like Lindir’s calm and approachable demeanor. It’s a drink that cools the spirit and nourishes the soul.
Favorite Color: Pale blue, cool and serene like a calm river, this color mirrors Lindir’s gentle, composed nature. It reminds him of the quiet moments spent near the water, feeling at peace with the world.
Favorite Season: Spring, a season of renewal and growth. Lindir finds joy in watching the world awaken, much like his own heart, which comes alive with the season’s fresh start.
Favorite Animal: The songbird, delicate and beautiful, a symbol of grace and freedom. Lindir admires its ability to express itself with such simplicity, yet its song can fill the air with meaning and warmth.
Guilty Pleasure: Singing at the top of his lungs when no one’s around. It’s his secret escape, a moment of joy and release where he lets his heart sing freely, without worry or restraint.
Spiritual Animal: The dove, a symbol of peace, grace, and hope. Much like the dove, Lindir is gentle and calm, always striving to bring tranquility to those around him, spreading harmony wherever he goes.
Hear me out because I think Melkor and Thranduil would be such chaotic besties
Both are dramatic™ AF
Best dressed and most fashionable beings in all of Arda
Both like pretty trinkets and are willing to start/go to war over
Both are Kings, one self-proclaimed, the other an actual king (mind you, Melkor might be slightly jealous over this)
They both hate people - elves, men, dwarves, you name it
They would schedule their wars accordingly bc only ONE should have the spotlight of being the most fabulous one on the battlefield. you know, for the balance of things
Both throw absolute drink-yourself-into-black-abyss kinda ragers that last a whole week
Both are overly dependent on their servants AKA Sauron and Galion
Being self-important runs in their blood
Both love animals. Thrandy has a forest full of all sorts of beasts while Melkor has a beast-shelter in his dungeons
Speaking of which, Thrandy once got drunk and insisted on bringing home one of them ugly ass spiders and that's how the infestation in Mirkwood began. But because he was blackout drunk, he had no memory of it, and Melkor being a good bestie kept his mouth shut
Wearing a crown is a must! Therefore, they will sit and drink wine while designing their crowns according to seasons, wars, murder and other celestial events and celebrations
Only they understand each other and are utterly and tragically misunderstood by others. Not that it bothers them at all
Both hate Galadriel and tbh, that's how their friendship started in the first place
Fëanor got rejected from their exclusive club because he was deemed too self-important and that won't do. plus there was that Silmaril incident so
Their relationship is so dysfunctional that it actually works well for them. They never give each other advice but take turns talking about their problems and inevitably end up solving them themselves without the help of the other
They have weekly tea-parties where Melkor spills all the tea that his countless spies have gathered, Thranduil lives for these gatherings
Therefore, in my head - they are besties for life and I will die on this hill
