#thranduil oropherion

[marz-barzz]

How the lotr elves would react to a love letter from their partner

Thranduil 🦌

Legolas 🍃

Lindir 🎻

Elrond 🌾

Lmk if you want more of these

[lullaby-lilies]

Rumor has it [Thranduil x Reader]

Thranduil x Reader 

Wordcount: 791

・❥・A whispered rumor reaches your ears –  the Elvenking might be interested in you.

note: As this was done more out of a moment, I didn't think it through and made the Reader human. Will he fall for a mortal? Who knows but that just makes it more intriguing 😉

You had been warned long ago that the Elvenking could hear every word whispered in his halls if he wished. Whether this was due to the architecture of his cavernous home, his guards’ ever-watchful eyes, or some ancient Elven intuition, you hadn’t dared to test it. Until today.

The corridor outside the council chamber was empty save for you, your thoughts, and the faint echo of boots on stone — measured, deliberate, each step crisp as if the one approaching knew exactly the effect he had on the air.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Her,” a voice like frost on glass said behind you. “The mortal who lingers where she shouldn’t.”

You pivoted slowly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of startling you. Thranduil’s tall figure filled the passage, his silver robes catching the faint torchlight. His expression was the same polished mask he wore at court — serene, detached, but never entirely free of that calculating glint in his eyes.

He stopped just short of you, close enough that you could see the fine embroidery on his sleeves.

“I hear,” you began, tone light as if discussing weather, “that rumor has it you’re into me.”

One of his pale brows lifted, slow as the rise of the moon.

“Rumor?” The word curled out of him, languid, amused, though you knew better than to think it harmless. “My halls are full of them. Some more… creative than others.”

“Just curious…” You tilted your head, meeting his gaze directly. “Did you start that one yourself?”

For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the torches. Then, his mouth curved — not in a smile exactly, but in something sharper.

“You imagine,” he said, his voice low, “that I spend my time weaving tales about my… preferences?” His gaze drifted over your face, down the line of your shoulders, before returning to your eyes. “How flattering.”

You refused to look away, even as the air seemed to press closer between you. “Well, it’s just odd,” you said. “Things like that don’t usually start without a reason.”

“There is always a reason,” Thranduil murmured, stepping just enough into your space that the faint scent of cedar and frost reached you. “Though perhaps not one you would be wise to guess at.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an admission,” you countered.

His laugh was soft and cold, a ripple over still water. “You are brave, mortal. Or foolish. I can never decide which amuses me more.”

You folded your arms. “I’ll take ‘amusing’ over ‘forgettable’ any day.”

A flicker — brief, almost imperceptible — passed over his expression. Not quite surprise, not quite annoyance, but something in between, as if you had nudged a piece on a chessboard he hadn’t expected you to touch.

“Careful,” he said, voice dropping an inch lower. “There are those in my court who would hear such words and assume you seek to rise… higher.”

“And you?” you asked.

He tilted his head, studying you as though you were a rare artifact whose true value was still to be determined. “I hear many things,” he said at last. “Some worth entertaining, others worth crushing.”

“So this rumor…” you pressed, letting your voice fall to a conspiratorial hush, “which is it?”

His lips curved again, and you had the distinct, unsettling sense that he was enjoying this. “If I were… into you,” he said, drawing out the phrase with faint distaste for its mortal slang, “I would hardly require the whispers of others to make it known.”

“You’d just tell me?”

“No,” he said, and there was no mistaking the steel under his tone. “You would simply know.”

For a moment, the corridor felt smaller, the air heavier. You found yourself acutely aware of the way his gaze lingered — not just on your face now, but on the faint rise and fall of your breath, as if he were measuring something unseen.

Then, as abruptly as he had stopped, Thranduil moved past you, his robes whispering against the stone.

At the edge of the corridor, he paused, not turning back but letting his voice carry, smooth as silk over a blade.

“Be mindful of the rumors you choose to repeat,” he said. “Some of them have teeth.”

You waited until his footsteps had faded before you let out the breath you’d been holding.

Of course, later that day, you’d overhear two of the palace attendants talking in the kitchens, their voices hushed but full of relish.

“They say the King was seen speaking to her again.”

“Close, too — closer than I’ve seen him stand to anyone in months.”

You smiled into your cup of tea.

Maybe he hadn’t started the rumor.

But he certainly hadn’t done anything to stop it.

[tolkien-reader-inserts]

#003 - Thranduil

Thrandul x human!Reader

– A mortal toy softens the Mirkwood king, though he would never admit such a thing.

The toy rests on the table.

Carved wood, polished smooth by careful hands—an elk, its antlers delicately etched, its legs jointed to move when nudged. Simple. Mortal. Entirely out of place in the halls of Mirkwood.

Thranduil stands before it in silence.

“You brought this… into my realm,” he says at last.

You fold your hands behind your back, bracing yourself. “It’s a gift.”

“For whom?”

“For the children in the lower halls,” you answer. “Winter is long. They miss home.”

His gaze sharpens—not at you, but at the toy. As if it has dared to remind him of something inconvenient.

“Elven children do not require such things,” he says coolly.

“No,” you agree softly. “But human ones do.”

That gives him pause.

He steps closer, long fingers reaching out to touch the carved antlers. The elk shifts slightly beneath his hand. He watches it move, expression unreadable.

“You made this,” he says.

“Yes.”

“For children not of your blood,” he adds.

“Yes.”

A long silence stretches between you—heavy, thoughtful.

“You humans,” Thranduil murmurs, “have an odd habit of leaving pieces of yourselves behind.”

He straightens, withdrawing his hand.

“Joy. Comfort. Noise.”

You smile faintly. “Someone has to.”

His eyes lift to meet yours—cool, piercing, searching.

“Do you know what happens when such things take root?” he asks.

“They grow,” you say simply.

Another pause.

Then—unexpectedly—he turns and gestures toward the table.

“Leave it,” he says.

A beat.

“And… bring more.”

Your eyes widen. “More?”

“For the children,” he says crisply, already turning away. “If winter insists on staying, then it will not find them wanting.”

He stops at the doorway, voice lower, almost reluctant.

“…See that they are well made.”

You smile, heart warming.

“They will be.”

Thranduil does not look back.

But later—long after you’ve gone—you hear laughter echo faintly through the hall and on a high shelf in the king’s private chambers, far from curious eyes, rests a small wooden elk— carefully placed.

[gulnarsultan]

Thranduil: Do you realize what you've done by running away like that?

Fairy Reader: 😐

Thranduil: What if you're pregnant? You've put yourself, our baby, and everything at risk.

Fairy Reader: I'm not a child. And if I am pregnant. That's none of your business. My body, my life, and my choices.

Thranduil: You're wrong, my beautiful fairy. Our fate was already sealed when you accepted me that night.

Fairy Reader: If you continue like this. I'll have to start cursing that night.

[leepacegif]

lee pace at the red carpet of “the running man (2025)” premiere on nov 5th in london.

[sun-snatcher]

LEE PACE BACK AS THRANDUIL

[badamtssh]

The Heart of the Mountain Pt. 9 | Thranduil x reader

Summary: Elvish folk never usually resided in Dwarven kingdoms – but you, you grew up in Erebor, raised as one of the dwarves. Now the royal advisor of Thorin Oakenshield, following on his quest to reclaim the mountain

Pairings: Romantic Thandruil X fem! Reader, Platonic Thorin X reader

Content advisory / markers: Enemies to Lovers, Angsty, kind of emotionally unavailable reader at times, sad / traumatic reader backstory, threatening / uncomfortable behaviours and words, yearningggg, draaaaama, reader has a scar, swearing

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Masterlist, Divider

Translations: Hiril Vuin – My lady, Ellon – male elf, Annon allen - I give thanks to you,

An: OH MY GOODNESS this is a loooooong chapter!!!!! I hope you enjoy the drama that´s in store this part hahahhahah. Please let me know what you think of this dramatically packed chapter?!?!! I always love reading what your guys´ thoughts are hehe. Sorry this took so long to publish, I have had so much uni work + I´ve been sick several times these past weeks so haven´t had much time to write!

Also, I tried to figure out how long after Smaug´s attack the battle of Moria between Thorin and Azog happened, but could not find it anywhere! For the sake of this chapter, it was several months after Smaug! If anyone knows the actual info I´d love to know hahah!

Thank you as always for reading and supporting, and all comments / feedback and reblogs are so much appreciated!!!

It was a cold, wet night in the fields of Middle-earth. The crowds of dwarves and men from Erebor and Dale that had survived the dragon, emigrating wherever they could live, had set up camp for the night. You sat outside your makeshift tent, staring into a fire that was struggling to stay alive in the wet grass it had been born in. You inhaled sharply, a quiver finding its way into your body as the cold was settling into your bones. You had a sneaky feeling this night, like many of the previous ones, would be restless.

It had almost been a month since the attack, and people were hungry, weary, and cold. Walking for miles a day was tiring enough when you had enough energy, now take away rations and warm clothes.

You carefully brought your knees to your chest, gently hugging yourself to retain a semblance of warmth in your torso without straining your back too much; the burn along your shoulder to your waist was still to heal. Though you healed faster than the dwarves did, you had never dealt with such injury before, having generally only dealt with cuts, scrapes and bruises. Smaug had not only stolen your home, but he had stolen something in your heart, too. You could not tell what was missing, but it seemed as if there was a hollowed-out, dark hole in your chest, one that you tried not to think too much of. The nights were long enough dreaming of the dragon; you did not need to occupy your days with him, too. You had spent the days after the attack mostly in solitude, not communicating lest you had to.

"You're still up?" you heard a familiar dwarf speak, his footsteps coming closer and silencing just as they reached you, flopping down next to you in front of the fire. You did not say anything to Thorin, and he, too, took a moment before he spoke again, giving you time to shoo him away if you desired. He took a breath, "You should not sit out here in the cold. You need rest," he continued, turning his head to look at you. You continued to stare into the fire, almost as if a spell had been cast over you. Thorin spoke your name, and you heard him, but you did not respond. He then looked back into the fire. "I just came back from scouting the lands up ahead. It looks like we might be able to reach a village in a day or two, depending on how fast we can walk," he reported, and you nodded. You weren't trying to be rude, nor were you ignoring the dwarven prince – you merely did not have much to say these days, other than of the monstrosities you had both experienced, and you knew that Thorin was just as disinterested in speaking of it as you were.

"How is your back?" he asked, and you finally parted your lips to speak, to Thorin's great relief. "The cold is soothing," you told him, not going into details of how much pain you carried as it was constantly rubbing against your clothes, and how much of a burden you felt as you could not carry anything upon your back. "We won't get very far if you freeze to death," Thorin added. The prince had not generally been very gentle to most in the time after the attack, but he had been kind to you. You sighed, eyes fixed upon the heat that was slowly dying. "A village, you say? Do you think we will be able to work for lodge?" you asked, turning on the only part of you that you knew was painless – the part of the advisor. Thorin clicked his tongue, knowing that reasoning with you was futile. "We must try. I worry if we keep going like this, we won't last another fortnight," Thorin spoke raspily, clearing his throat. None of you had been very well. You took a deep breath, finally turning to look at the dwarf next to you.

You knew your next words would not be received well, but there was worth in trying.

"We have not yet tried the elves," you suggested, and Thorin quickly shook his head, slapping his hands down into his thighs as he got up from his seated position.

Thorin had not yet told you of Thranduil's betrayal. You had been deep in the halls of Erebor when he had turned his back on your people, not having heard nor seen the elves of the woodland realm.

"They won't come to our aid," Thorin spoke, starting to walk away, as if that was automatically going to conclude the conversation. You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head as you, too, wearily got up, winching inaudibly as the burns upon your back stung against the fabric against it. You followed the stubborn dwarf, making sure not to be too loud as most of the camp had gone to sleep. You had been disappointed in the Elvenking when he did not respond to your letters, but you did not see him as a bad ellon. Though he did not feel the same as you, did not mean he was of bad nature.

"I think you are mistaken, Thorin. King Thranduil and yourself might have your differences but-" you started to argue in hushed, gentle tones, but Thorin stopped in his tracks, turning towards you and facing you, forcing you to a quick halt. You could tell by his expression that he was out of patience from this conversation. "Thranduil betrayed us, Y/n-" he snapped, but upon his inhale after his words, his expression seemed to soften – as if he had spoken out of line.

It was not false what he said, but Thorin had not wished to tell you just yet. He wanted you to heal first, before taking the difficult news.

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking down to the dwarf before you. You let out an exasperated chuckle, and a confused, yet naively hopeful smile made its way to your face. Surely, you didn´t understand what Thorin was talking about. Thranduil´s lack of aid in the attack was not a betrayal – he was far away from The Lonely Mountain and would not have reached Erebor with his troops in time to help.

"We have not seen the Elvenking for many moons, there is no way-" you started, but Thorin spoke once more, ripping off the bandaid he had been keeping on for way too long. He was unsure if he truly had not told you to save your feelings, or to save himself from delivering the news.

"He was there. Him, his army, they were all there. He turned his back on us," Thorin confessed, analysing your expression with every word he spoke. Your furrowed eyebrows and confused smile turned into a frown and parted lips. You cleared your throat, swallowing.

You were not quite sure you understood what you were hearing. Surely, Thorin meant before the attack? When he visited the kingdom all that time ago?

"He went back to his kingdom, Thorin. He had to return to his duties in the woodland realms," you denied the worst interpretation of Thorin´s words. There was no way Thranduil had come all the way to Erebor only to turn his back on your people.

"He watched Smaug decimate our people-!" Thorin snapped in hushed tones. He, too, was aware that most were asleep. You shook your head, biting your lip. "No-" you refused to hear him, but you did not leave, either. You looked anywhere but into Thorin´s eyes. Thorin finally saw that past the soft spot you had for the king, Thorin´s words were finally reaching you. "-I yelled out to the Elvenking-" the title used as an insult, "and he turned his back and his army on us-" Thorin finished his speech, all heartbreakingly loaded with the volume of loud whispers. Your breath heavy, you finally met Thorin´s eyes, biting your lip as you focused on not letting it quiver. "I-" you could barely speak, not knowing what to say.

Your frown slowly turned into a scowl.

"I am going to kill him," you spoke, matter-of-factly.

Not with any ounce of threatening demeanour or groan, but as if it were a mere fact. It was Thorin´s turn to look confused; he furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, with a hint of concern in his tone. You nodded. "I... am going to kill him," you added again, a lightness to your tone that worried Thorin more than an angry outburst ever could. You nodded again, turning on your heels and marching towards your tent with a determined pace. "Y/n," Thorin called after you as you marched off, following your footsteps. You picked up your pack that was resting outside of a makeshift tent (a kind word to describe your current sleeping arrangements), flinging it over your shoulder and drawing a sharp breath through your gritted teeth, wincing as it hit your back.

In your rage, you had clearly forgotten about the healing wound upon your back.

You shook it off, brushing past Thorin as you turned around and started heading away from camp, marching off at a speed no one had seen you in for quite some time. As you paced, you felt your eyes start to sting, your tear ducts threatening to get to work. "Y/n-" Thorin called once more, following you once more. "Stop following me, Thorin," you ordered with a trembling voice as you strode onwards, reaching further and further from camp – but Thorin kept up his pace.

"What is your plan, Y/n?" Thorin began, knowing you had none. As expected, you did not answer, striding onwards almost in a limp due to your bad back. "Are you walking there in the dark of night?" Thorin spoke after you as he followed, but his pace needn´t be too quick, for in your wounded state, you were not a fast traveller. As you walked onwards, attempting to ignore the dwarf´s words, you blinked rapidly as your eyes stung, thinking about the news that had just been laid upon you. "Leave me be," you managed to mutter out with a breath of false courage, but no part of you wished to be left alone. You breathed heavily, starting to need deeper breaths to obtain oxygen. "Y/n," Thorin spoke once more, and you shook your head quickly. You felt tears well up in your eyes, sniffling and blinking, trying to keep them at bay as your lips quivered. "You will meet goblins and orcs much before you meet any elves on your journey," the dwarf continued.

As you were rushing away, Balin came back to camp from doing a round of patrol in the area, spotting you and Thorin from afar. He furrowed his eyebrows, observing you with a rucksack upon your wounded back, and Thorin following you in the night. He always thought the two of you had such an interesting dynamic – protective, kind, yet relentless. He tightened his lips, realising that Thorin must have told you about the elves´ betrayal.

Balin had, in the past, feared that you would one day stop feeling at home with the dwarves – that you would long to find your birth parents, your people. However, it had become clear to Balin in your time working alongside him in Erebor, and after he became a bit of a parental figure for you, that you had such loyalty and love for The Lonely Mountain, for your home, that he did not worry about such things anymore. He did, however, understand the hurt you were going through, grappling with the fact that your kind had shown such a gross portrayal of betrayal. His heart ached for you. He kept watching you and Thorin from a distance, taking notice of your slow, almost weakening pace as the pack on your back was rubbing against your wound. He clicked his tongue, waiting for Thorin to take a stand and get that bag off of you – this is the last thing you needed for a smooth recovery.

Thorin was thinking the exact same thing – he was done playing games. He quickened his pace, running up in front of you, stopping in your tracks and grabbing your shoulders to stop you. The moment he grabbed you, you grimaced, tugging at his grasp to make him let you go. "Let me-!" you begged him to let you go, not even to go to the forest of Mirkwood, but merely to get away. You needed to get far from camp, from anyone.

You couldn't think straight, and when you looked back to this moment years from this, you knew Thorin was right to hold you tight.

Thorin´s grasp was firm but gentle, keeping you in your spot, and you lowered your head, pinching your eyes shut, forcing the tears to trickle down your unwashed cheeks, leaving a trail of clean skin where ash and dirt had previously resided. "I´m sorry," Thorin apologised, not only for you feeling this way, but also for the way he had delivered the news. It was insensitive, knowing how you had felt about the elven king.

You had never told Thorin how you felt for the ellon, but he knew.

You shook your head, your breath hitching as you let out stifled cries. You could not help it – it was as if you felt possessed by grief. You pressed and rubbed your lips together, as if keeping yourself from speaking. Thorin watched you, a frown making its way to his face, and once again, you shook your head, refusing to let him feel pity for you. Thorin gave you a kind, sympathetic smile, almost as if he was trying to comfort you. "Why don´t you get some rest?" he asked quietly, but not in a whisper. The two of you were far enough from camp now that you were engulfed in darkness, the only light illuminating you coming from the fires of the campsite. You took a deep breath, looking down at Thorin. The number of times you had defended Thranduil to Thorin.. It made your heart ache. "I am sorry, Thorin," you apologised, and he shook his head, giving your arms a gentle squeeze. "I don´t want to hear it," he spoke before grabbing the ream of your rucksack, pulling it off the shoulder that you had carelessly slung it over, taking it from your back and giving your wounded body release.

He started walking back to camp, expecting you to follow. "I shall only be a minute," you told him, looking forward into the dark of the night as Thorin walked back to the campsite which lay behind you. Thorin stopped in his tracks, observing your body language for a minute. He did not say anything – he merely let you have your moment of peace, returning to the campsite.

As he approached Balin, he looked at the grey-haired dwarf with a look of understanding. "So you told her, then?" Balin asked expectedly, and Thorin found a spot next to him, both of them looking over to you in the distance. Thorin inhaled sharply, holding his breath for a moment. "You can´t blame the girl for wishing there be more peace between elves and dwarves," Balin started, still looking at your figure that was lit up by the fires of the site. He sighed. "Torn between two worlds, she is," Balin added, and Thorin´s expression remained stoic. "The moment he did not respond to her words, she should have abandoned any thought of alliance between our realms," the dwarven prince spoke, and Balin furrowed his eyebrows, finally removing his gaze from you and shifting it to the Dwarf next to him. "She sent letters?" he asked, and Thorin´s eyes remained on you.

"No,"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Time would reveal that you eventually found your way to the Woodland realm – all but 171 years after Smaug´s attack. That night, after the nightmares followed by an unexpected visit from a palace guard, you would, after some tossing and turning, find your way to a dreamless sleep. The rest did you well, and was sorely needed, as you only flickered your eyes open when sunlight had sprawled its way across your chambers, forcing your consciousness back to reality. You took a deep breath, stretching your body before sitting up.

As your mind awoke and set itself back into your current predicament, you felt – for but a brief moment – at home. You furrowed your eyebrows as it fell upon you that this was Mirkwood, not your home. Truthfully, it had been a strange feeling to sense home, for that is not a feeling you had felt since leaving Erebor. Travelling from bed to bed, kingdom to kingdom – that did not leave much sense of home.

As you got up that day, you got dressed in yet another one of the garments from your armoire, this time it was clothing more fitted for moving around – very similar to the style of what the red-haired elf had worn, what was her name again? Tauriel. Your garment, however, was not her shade of green but rather a deep ocean blue.

You decided that today you needed to move around. You had so much pent-up energy, mostly because you were restless to get back to the mission, back to the company.

Wandering the halls, you heard shuffling and quick paces echoing from a nearby area. It sounded like... sparring?

The sounds of shuffling feet and metal slicing into thin air were sounds you were quite familiar with after years of sparring and training with your daggers. You loved it – combat. In your days serving as the royal advisor of Erebor, you did not do much fighting – you picked up some, here and there, when Thorin would catch you observing his training sessions with the new guards. Back in your time at home in the Lonely Mountain, you owned a sword named Silver – not too creative a name, but you had no battles to name her after. It was light, forged by the dwarves of the mountain with engravings especially made in your initials. That sword you left behind on the fateful day of Smaug´s attack, never to see it again. In your mind, however, you still carried it upon your back.

You furrowed your eyebrows, smiling slightly to yourself as your inquisitive nature took over your very being, following the source of the sound to a small indoor garden. There, you were met with the delightful surprise of seeing the guardsman who had burst into your chambers the previous night to rescue you from the dangers that ended up simply being a nightmare. He was practising his swordsmanship, stepping forwards and dancing with light feet as he was battling an imaginary foe – fine work, it was. Much more hoity-toity than you were used to seeing in battle, but beautiful nonetheless. You watched him for a minute, missing the daggers which the elves had stolen from you. You did need to get those back at some point.

"Fine work," you spoke after watching the guard for a minute or so, and the ellon flinched, turning to look at you and giving a relieved chuckle whence he saw who it was that had caught him playing around while on duty. "Does the king not let you sleep?" you asked him, and he chuckled once more, shaking his head as he sheathed his sword, wiping his palm on his forehead to ensure there were no loose hairs out of place. "My duty runs from midnight to midday. I have a few hours left," he explained, adjusting his uniform. You nodded, watching the precise amendment of his garments. "Slacking off on duty then, are we?" you playfully commented, and he laughed at your remark, taking a few steps towards you. "Who are you to say?" he retorted, to which you smirked – you enjoyed it when people caught on to your humour. "I have spent almost all of my days in kingdoms and palaces, I think I know what duty entails," your observation was spoken with a light, playful tone – not one of accusation, but one of banter between friends. The ellon smiled at you, unsheathing his sword once more and pointing it your way, squinting his eyes as if challenging you. "Do you fight, then?" he asked, to which you extended your arm, placing the tips of your fingers on top of the sword, making sure not to touch the sharp blade. You slowly lowered his sword, shaking your head. "I do – but swords are not my weapon of choice. Haven´t fought with one in some moons," you explained, and he merely raised his eyebrows. "Of course, the daggers. I heard you went through some trouble to retrieve them?"

You shook your head, now squinting your eyes as a threat, tightening your lips as you tried to suppress your smile. "You elves are insufferable," you mocked, and he furrowed his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. "Are you not an elf?" he asked rhetorically, knowing full well that you were – but somewhat amused by the notion you did not think yourself a part of them. Your gaze softened, swallowing before letting out a chuckle – somewhat taken aback by your own words. You walked closer to him, grabbing the hilt of a long dagger he had sheathed upon his belt, a secondary weapon for him, you presumed. "Go on then, show us what you´re made of." You changed the subject, now lifting the dagger as if bracing yourself for sparring.

His question had somewhat shocked you – not because of anything he had done or his tone, but because it had caught you out on your own language, your words. You did not identify yourself as part of them.

The ellon chuckled, lifting his sword once more and getting into sparring position. "I must warn you, Hiril Vuin, I will not go easy on you," he threatened you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. "Oh, please,"

And with that, the two of you started sparring; his moves were longer and stronger than yours, whereas you were quicker and more calculated, finding your way to his weak spots, but he was good at keeping you at bay. When the two of you had sparred for a bit, the two of your blades clinged as they hit one another, the two of you mere inches apart as you grappled for the other to lose control. "I feel I should catch your name," you spoke through catching your breath, and he laughed, untangling his sword from your blade and pulling away, taking a few steps back as he lifted his sword to his face, ready for next round. He caught his breath before speaking, "Lysanthir,"

"Pleasure, Lysanthir."

Your blades once more found their way back to one another. He was a skilled swordsman, that was sure, but you were also a skilled fighter. Though not as strong as he, your footwork was light and swift, making up for your lack of strength. As he was underestimating your calculations, you managed to get behind him, wrapping your arm around him and ultimately landing the dagger an inch away from his throat. It was non-threatening, of course – only in the name of the game. He smirked, catching his breath as he lifted one of his palms to call a truce. "You admit defeat?" you asked him, and he nodded very lightly. "I do, my lady. You win,"

"Anon Allen," you spoke, and as the two of you disengaged from the position, you chuckled smugly to yourself as Lysanthir brushed himself off, catching his breath as he turned around to face you. His smile, however, was quickly wiped off his face, and his stature seemed to turn to stone as he straightened his back and lifted his nose, looking to the person who had entered the gardens.

You furrowed your eyebrows, turning to look at the source of his straightening. You very quickly understood why, when you saw the Elvenking standing at the entrance to the gardens, his eyebrows raised somewhat without compromising his royally stoic expression.

"I did not realise my guards were so easily defeated. Well done, Lady Y/n," Thranduil spoke to you as he glared at Lysanthir; his tone was calm and complimenting, but you could tell by the way his jaw tightened that he was not particularly pleased. Lysanthir lowered his head in respect, speaking some words in Sindarin which you did not quite understand, but you assumed it was something along the lines of ´I will now get the hell out of here before you bite my head off´ – your imagination was paraphrasing him, of course.

As Lysanthir took his leave without a second look at you, you tightened your lips, frowning as he marched off. You felt bad for the ellon, not wanting him to get into trouble for a sparring match in which you insisted upon. You looked down to the dagger in which he had forgotten to retrieve from you, shaking your head as you started your march to follow the warden, ignoring Thranduil in your pursuit. Before you had the chance to leave the gardens, however, the Elvenking spoke as you walked past him. "I wouldn´t bother with him," his stoic expression upkept, but there was just a hint of annoyance in his tone. You stopped in your tracks, furrowing your eyebrows as you turned to look at Thranduil. "For sparring, I mean. We have better wardens than him," he continued, and for a minute, you could have sworn the great king felt something akin to...envy. Not one for beating around the bush, you decided to confront him on it. "You almost sound as if you are jealous, Thranduil," your tone an inquisitive one, laced with the slightest detectable amount of mockery and annoyance. The king´s eyes met the ceiling as they rolled in his head, scoffing. "I am merely surprised you and he have found so much in common, that's all. I expected you felt animosity towards all who roam these halls," he looked down at you with only his eyes, his nose held high. If it wasn't for the fact that he was so beautiful, you would have thought he looked like a right prick the way he was looking at you. However, there was just something about that damn king which you found indescribably etherial, though you would never admit it... again.

"Not all elves who roam these halls have given me reason to feel such emotions," you retorted, and he lowered his head ever so slightly, his nose not so high and mighty as before. His jaw tightened, but he did not speak. He merely stared at you with his icy blue eyes as if your words had scorned him. "Though we spoke yesterday as if no time have passed, does not give you the right to have any opinion on whether or not I act in a hostile manner to your grace," you started, pointing your finger at the king. "You lost that right many moons ago," you turned as to finally leave the gardens and return Lysanthir´s weapon, and Thranduil spoke, "The dragon-" he started, but you quickly interjected, not wanting to hear the king´s futile excuses. "It was lost much before the dragon ever even thought of the gold in Erebor-!" you snapped as you turned back to the ellon once more, clenching your jaw and furrowing your eyebrows, the slightest frown making its way into what you wanted to be an angry expression. Thranduil was.. confused. He did not understand what you were speaking of, knowing the only interactions you had before the attack were of a sweet, and heartfelt nature.

He had missed you, after he placed a kiss upon your head when he left the Lonely Mountain, but he had not written to you for he did not feel it was right. If you wanted him, you would have had to write to him first. If not, he was concerned of the risk of pressuring you. A king´s word may be law, but a king´s word of the heart was not.

"You did not acknowledge my open heart – Eru, you did not even write to me, and you expect me to greet you with open arms?" You scowled at him, speaking in hushed and rushed tones, not wanting any passer-by's to hear the words coming from the root of your heart, seeping out from the cracks left there by Thranduil´s betrayal.

Thranduil´s gaze turned to a frustrated frown, his lips parting as his eyes scanned your every expression. What were you talking about? You were the one who did not speak to him, not the other way around. "Y/n-" Thranduil´s voice was gentle, but there seemed to be a ghostly sadness lingering in it, one which you would not hear, not from him. "Do not pretend as if you don´t know what I am speaking of-!" you whispered sharply, letting your dagger drop to the ground as you angrily stepped towards him. You were angry, sure, but you did not want the fact that you were holding a weapon feel threatening in any way. Your words were sharp as blades, he could worry about that instead.

The Elvenking looked down at you with an expression as if he had seen a ghost, his breathing rapid as he tried to puzzle together what you were telling him. "Last time I heard from you was the day I left The Lonely Mountain," he spoke just as sharply as yourself, begging for you to understand what he was saying. "When you did not write to me after our meeting I assumed you did not return my affections, and I left you be," he continued, frustrated – and as he spoke, your gaze softened, becoming more worried than angry.

If what he was saying was true, it must have meant-

"Do not humiliate me," your voice cracked, but your angry expression remained strong.

It was Thranduil´s turn to step closer to you, your two bodies now so close you could feel each other´s hot breath on your skin. He spoke through gritted teeth with a tight jaw, a clear frustration and heartache laced upon his every word as if he was desperate for you to believe his speech, "I never received any letters," Thranduil spoke, taking a deep breath.

And suddenly, almost two centuries of heartache and animosity was confronted.

"What did you write to me?" he whispered to you, not letting his eyes leave yours. You bit your bottom lip, your top lip concealing your teeth as you tightened your lips. You frowned. You struggled to comprehend what Thranduil was telling you. There had been so much revealed to you the last 24-hours that you felt your heart was on a constant roller-coaster of emotions.

"I begged you to help us – for I knew the sickness the king was enduring would one day come with consequences-" you spoke quickly, your face grimaced as you could not regulate whether you were feeling angry or heartbroken. Thranduil seemed to try to control his rapid breathing, his eyes fixed on yours. "And what else?" he asked, and you sighed, looking straight back into his eyes, parting your lips. "And... that my heart was yours if you wanted it,"

Your heart dropped.

You could not believe what you just said. You could not believe that just fell from your lips as if some spell had been cast over you. What were you thinking? You simply humiliated yourself and-

Before you could continue to worry, something else seemed to possess your body as the two of you stared into each other´s eyes, catching each others breaths and taking in this heated moment.

You did not know who initiated it, but in an instant, the two of you lept towards each other as if you were opposite magnets reunited, and you pressed your lips against his. Thranduil´s hands found their way to your cheeks, cupping them and holding you as if he was scared to let you go.

You did not know how it happened, but then and there, in the heated moment of arguments and conflict, your heart took over your very being.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Part 10 TBC! Let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

Taglist (loveyaall!!): quaildoodle , chelseyyouraverageluigi , winyourheartemma , poemsandflowerstoo , nina-regulus-version , me-is-me , flynwys , winyourheartemma , himikoquack , solomonssimp , sanchann , bvckys-doll , summ3rgl0w , ive-made-so-many-mistakes , mjaudrey , artsyfawn , vxnussia , lais-chan , marsh1966 , flynwys , kimvolturicullen , chaoscrow64 , shadowdreamer22 , mokanesa , xsaudadez , aziriszcze , lunaaa016 , katnipwintergreen , marajade888 , fanfictionsineedtoread , dblueeyesb , sireanmagne , bonelessgarlicbread , cardanxjude20 , allamawithglasses , thecrusadinghunter , mirandastuckinthe80s , astraea-wont-post ,

[a-breath-of-pipeweed]

Hiii, could you please write some fluffy aftercare with Thranduil?

I love your writing, please don't go bald🫶🫶

my hair is temporary but thranduil fluff is forever

The Hobbit | Thranduil giving you aftercare

{ The Hobbit Masterlist } gn!reader

Content warning (MDNI): after sex, cum, possessive language, penetrative sex, biting, self-consciousness

Will INSIST you stay in bed while he fetches clothes, warm water, food and whatever your heart desires

Like literally will push you back down onto the bed if you try to get up

"Relax, melamin. You need rest."

He will come back and wrap you up in a cocoon in one of his large, fur coats, making sure your warm and tucked in all nicely after he has cleaned you of his and your fluids

Kind of also loves that you will smell so strongly of him, especially being wrapped up in his coat like this

You find yourself laying on his lap while he combs his long fingers through your hair and you hum softly at the feeling

Uses his nail to lightly rake along your head as well to lull you to sleep

Asks you if he hurt you at all, which he never does, but if you say some part of you is aching, he will massage the skin softly and use his elven healing powers to grow warmth of the spot and soothe the deep ache

Like on your neck and shoulders where he bit, or your hips and waist where he gripped you while he pushed into you, or your back where he left small scratch marks when he was lost in pleasure from being inside you

Always makes sure that there is candles lit in the room to keep the romantic aspect

If you're in such a state after he's done with you, he will walk you over to the hot bath so gently, sometimes carrying you if your legs are shaking, and washes you with gentle hands and forehead kisses

His tone would be so quiet, so intimate, so different from how he was a few moments ago with you

When you're drifting in and out of sleep, you catch small phrases of Sindarin that he is singing to you in a soft voice

If you feel self-conscious at all after sex, he will hold your face in his hands and reassure you until you're laughing at his cheesy compliments

Will keep a hand on you at all times, whether on your hip, shoulder, thigh or belly, protectively, and wanting to anchor you to him

Although he does not sleep, when you eventually drift off, he will remain by your side and continue to watch over you during the night, shushing you if you wake with a start at all

Would've already had told the guards to not disturb you both... but if he leaves in the morning, he makes sure to let them know to let you sleep in

Taglist: @pumpkin-soup333 @cinnamon-girl-writes @bloxholden35 @woodsofsunlight @polinforya @mybrainsamess Requests for headcanons / reactions are always open~