hi there! i've been around for a while, but i'm just now starting to engage and post here for myself. i'm a writer, mostly of fanfic but also of some other wips, and i want to extend my services to the tumblr side of the internet! i write for a slew of characters that are all wildly different, which i'll list below. send a message to my inbox with your ideas! i'll hear anything out and let ya know if i'm cool with it.
also, here's a link to my acotar fic on ao3 should you desire proof that i can, in fact, write:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
the lineup:
sjm universe
azriel
cassian
nesta archeron
elain archeron
eris vanserra
lucien vanserra
aedion ashryver
chaol westfall
rowan whitethorn
fenrys moonbeam
lysandra
ruhn danaan
tharion ketos (sue me)
harry potter
james potter
remus lupin
harry potter
ron weasley
fred weasley
hermione granger
cedric diggory
lotr
aragorn
legolas
thranduil
maedhros
thorin oakenshield
misc
carmy berzatto (the bear)
tristan caine (the atlas six)
callum nova (the atlas six)
parisa kamali (the atlas six)
matthias helvar (six of crows)
nikolai lanstov (king of scars)
geralt of rivia (the witcher)
daemon targaryen (hotd)
rhaenyra targaryen (hotd)
robb stark (got)
jaime lannister (got)
honestly ask me and i'll probably be happy to write abt them!
a/n: had a glass of wine and wrote this. just cute ruhn fluff ig.
You'd thought things could not possibly go worse.
You'd been wrong.
Your month-long deployment with the Aux to the Eternal City had been one fucking disaster after another. Between Celestina breathing down your neck, the rebels trying to kill you at every given opportunity, and the Asteri glowering down from their thrones each morning as you briefed them, you weren't sure how much more your frayed nerves could take.
It wasn't supposed to be that difficult. When Naomi had pitched it to you - a month-long sojourn across the sea to root out a violent criminal cell operating in some of the most inaccessible holes in the city - you'd thought it would be a decent trip. You were known for tracking criminals, terrorists, and monsters; your magic had been honed for it, and your ability to fight was renowned, earning you a place high in the ranks of the Aux. Cake walk, right?
Nope.
This was Celestina's first task as Governor of Lunathion; to send the city's best to aid an issue that had grown out of control across the sea. And to do it entirely under the radar, so the people would never know that the Asteri were struggling to control crime in their own city.
In your first few days, however, you realized that the conspiracy ran deeper than you'd ever thought; the criminal underground was deeply connected to the city's elite. Through a convoluted web of connections, it was also linked to the rebels, who were using funds earned on the black market to fund their violent activities in the north.
Basically, without back-up, you were fucked. And Celestina flat-out refused to send more than Naomi for help, paranoid that the Asteri would punish her for it.
Much worse than punishing the Governor, Sirius decided to send his Hammer to your aid. As one would assume, someone dubbed "The Hammer" is not exactly the most covert individual. Besides that, he was a complete alphahole, and in more serious ways than you had experienced in quite some time.
His advances were bold and aggressive. You'd earned a reputation in Lunathion for your own violent attitude towards unwanted males, but clearly, Pollux Antonius didn't give two fucks about your reputation. Or what you wanted. And it was getting out of hand - the taunts, the suggestive language, the misogyny. The groping.
Unfortunately, punching him in the face for it was a death wish. You'd done it; one time, you had struck him for his hand wandering to your ass, and you had paid the price for it.
All this, and now, you were cornered in an alley, about to fight your way out of a group of these criminals you were trying to hunt down. Tonight was meant to be the last raid; the one that would take out their leader and blow up their main holdfast. You were in a far southern part of the Eternal City, far from the view of the Asteri, and thank Cthona that was the case, because you were cursing them straight to Hel for getting you into this.
"This is stupid," you panted to Naomi, drawing your weapons. "I'm never leaving Valbara again."
"You and me both," she muttered. "These fuckers are so annoying, like roaches."
"Rats," you agreed. You spoke louder, so they could hear you. They jeered from behind their gilded masks. "Too scared to show your faces. Sad."
You and Naomi had been fighting together for decades. When you struck, it was in unison, with fluid, fatal precision. Within minutes, you had worked through a dozen of them, but they continued to flow into the alley. If you could just get past them, you could round the corner and drop the dirty bomb into the grate above their headquarters. It would be too easy, too simple.
Then, lo and behold, the angelic motherfucker himself slammed into the narrow space from above, splitting the crowd and crushing one unfortunate soul's trachea beneath his boot. The Hammer fell, and the goons went scattering.
Unfortunately, his landing had been so violent that debris went exploding outward from the ground around him, sending a broken bit of stone straight at your head. It struck you, blinding you momentarily with the force. When your awareness returned to you, your enemies were gone, but the bomb had flung from your tac belt. You squinted across the narrow space between the buildings, and you had a split second to experience the horror of seeing the pulled pin lying on the ground next to you before everything went white, then soundless, then black.
~~~
The infirmary was quiet, aside from a gentle beeping. You had been awake some time, staring at the wall. It was far too sterile in here, and it made your head pound worse than it already did.
You wanted to be home.
Thank Urd, you had been taken straight back to Valbara after the Hammer nearly killed you. You wouldn't have been able to stand the thought of him being on the same continent as you for a second longer. You were convinced he'd done it on purpose. And even if he hadn't, he'd sure as hell been smug about the whole incident when reporting to the Asteri, according to Naomi. She had, somehow, escaped the blast mostly unscathed, aside from some shrapnel-related injuries. She had been handling the fallout back in the Eternal City, and though you felt somewhat bad about it, you were too exhausted to really care.
When word had gotten back to Celestina about your critical injury, she had summoned the only healer she knew she could trust - Hypaxia. Your half-sister.
You and Hypaxia had been close since she abandoned her people. Your people, you supposed, but the witches had never cared to claim you as Hecuba's daughter. When you began showing signs of precocious power at thirteen, they had come knocking, but you denied them your membership in their legions. You belonged to Blood and Earth, and that was final.
She healed you with care, and with commitment to your desire for secrecy. You wanted no one to see you, no one to even know you were back in the city. For all intents and purposed, you were still on-mission across the sea.
In truth, you couldn't yet face the pity that the boys would surely greet you with, much less the anger that would erupt from Ruhn Danaan when he discovered just what had delayed your return home. Dec, Tristan, and Ruhn had been your roommates for years, and they were unequivocally your best friends. And their reactions to this incident would be... devastating.
But now, it was almost impossible to push the homecoming off any longer. Your sister had healed you, and you looked as good as you ever would again.
"You should get going, before they start partying for the night." Hypaxia's gentle voice came from the doorway. I sat, fully dressed and ready to go, but unable to stand up. "You know they'll want to see you."
"I know they will," you grumbled. "I just am so not ready to deal with them."
"It's not so bad, truly, (Y/N)." She entered the room and went about undoing the IV drip, unclipping the heart monitors. "You have new scars, yes, but those have never bothered you."
"Their reactions are what worry me." You rubbed at your face self-consciously, the burns and pockmarks smarting beneath your fingers. They covered the right half of your face, twisting the flesh and mottling it dark. "They'll be pissed."
"They have a right to be. I'm pissed too."
"Yeah, well, get in line, folks." You sighed, eyes downcast. "I don't know why. Just... the thought of their anger makes me so nervous. I don't know if I can deal with that."
When you glanced up, uncertain, you saw Hypaxia's expression soften. "I can warn them, if you think it would help."
You swallowed. You'd never had this problem before. Maybe you were vain and that was it; you'd come home with injuries plenty of times. But this time... it just felt too real. Too close to death, too close to a hatred that Ruhn already nursed.
And, in truth, you wanted his softness, not his fury. You just wanted him.
You took a deep breath, and nodded. "I think that might be good."
Hypaxia gave a nod, peeling off her gloves. "Right then, let's go."
She grasped your hands and helped you upright. After two weeks of intensive healing, you were able to walk with barely a limp. Still, you didn't know how long it would be until you could report back for duty. The thought also made you quail.
The ride in the cab across the city to the house was quiet. Your sister did not let go of your hand once, and you held tightly to her. Things didn't need to be spoken; you were grateful to have each other, and though this one had been a close thing, she was thanking Urd that you were still alive. You'd spent far too long apart to squander a single moment together.
When the taxi pulled up to the house, you were relieved to find it still quiet, despite the setting sun and the Friday night. Usually, the boys partied hard on the weekends, mirthroot and booze and harder things included. Sometimes, you enjoyed mingling. Others, you went to bed early. The boys respected it either way, and loved you the same.
They must have been tracking your phone, for when the car stopped, the front door swung open, and the three males came spilling out of the house, Ruhn bringing up the rear. They were shoving each other around, not expecting what was about to greet them.
Hypaxia squeezed your hand, caught your eye, and then ducked out of the car, leaving you in a moment's silence. You saw Ruhn draw up short when it was her, not you, who appeared, and you saw their expressions drop as Hypaxia explained your condition.
You took a deep breath, blew it out, and stepped out your own side of the car, rising to face them over the top of it.
Declan was shocked, his eyes wide and mouth open. Tristan's voice was getting louder as he demanded answers from Hypaxia. And Ruhn... he was looking straight at you, vibrant eyes searching. And he wasn't calm. The rage was palpable, like ice against your skin. You schooled yourself into stepping around the car, expression neutral, shoulders straight.
Tristan fell quiet when he noticed you, coming to stand beside your sister. With a short chuckle, you said, "Reckon I have the coolest scar now, losers."
In an instant, they were crowded around you, Tristan crushing you to his chest. Dec wrapped an arm around the both of you, keeping you close.
"Love you, sunshine," one of them whispered.
Tears sprung to your eyes, unbidden. "Love you too, boys."
When they let you go, Ruhn hadn't moved from the spot. Cautiously, you turned, embraced your sister, and let Dec and Flynn guide you up the walk. They talked quietly while they lifted your jacket from your shoulders and moved into the living room, offering you a drink or a smoke or a water. They babbled about how they'd been planning on throwing a party, but that now they weren't in the mood.
Eventually, though you had managed a couple of quiet answers, they got too involved in bickering about whether they should bake cookies or just heat up some pizza. You hadn't sat down, still waiting with more than half your attention for Ruhn.
He startled you so badly you yelped. He just appeared beside you. Then, he took your hand and led you from the living room, up the stairs. The sounds of the other two arguing faded as the door to his room shut behind the two of you.
You stared at him in the low light. He stared at you.
Uncertainty.
"Ruhn?"
"I will rip out his throat."
The statement startled you, though it shouldn't have. You'd seen it coming from a mile away. But the way it had been delivered, in a snarl you hardly recognized from the male you called your best... everything... Well, it was shocking.
"Ruhn," you whispered. "Please, don't."
"How can I not?" He demanded loudly. You winced. Your head began to pound once more. "He nearly killed you, (Y/N)."
"He's not worth our breath."
"He could have ripped you from me in an instant. And he wouldn't have even cared."
"But I'm here, I'm-"
"Don't you dare say you're fine." He thrust an accusing finger at you. "You're not fine."
"You don't get to tell me whether I'm fine or not," you snapped back, heat flaring to life. "I don't need this shit from you, Ruhn. Not now."
He paused.
"I just need-" You pressed a fist to your chest, trying to knead the pressure away. "This is precisely why I didn't want to come home, and I just need-"
"What?" His entire demeanor had changed in an instant from accusing to worried, brows furrowed and frowning.
You could hardly produce a sentence. Your breath was coming too fast, and tears made your throat swell. Panicked, you tried to push past him, to sidestep him and make it to the door. But he blocked your attempts, finally taking you by the elbows.
You managed a half-whimper of his name before he took you in his arms properly, pulling you in close.
"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he murmured into your hair. "I'm so sorry, shh, I've got you."
You sank into him, giving yourself the grace to accept this. He was warm, and his shirt was soft, and he smelled like he always had - gunpowder, faint vetiver cologne that had been applied that morning, and soft, sweet mirthroot. And he held you like you actually meant something.
It felt pathetic to let someone else to give you meaning. But gods, did it have a way of molding you whole.
"I don't want to fight anymore," you whispered into his tear-stained chest. "I'm so sick of all this bullshit. I'm so sick of hurting."
"You're so strong," he whispered back. "And you don't have to fight anymore. You can do whatever you want."
You sniffled, sliding your hands under his shirt, feeling the life beneath.
"Who am I if not that?"
Ruhn smiled, pulling back to cradle your face in his palms. His gaze was full of fondness, of pride, his earlier fury gone without a trace. "Whatever you want to be. Anything. Everything."
He pressed his lips to your brow, tracing new scars and old.
The Protector & the Prince (Aedion Ashryver x Reader)
a/n: this character and plotline has been in my head ever since i read throne of glass, so i'm lowkey thinking of making this a series? to explore the character and also her relationship with aedion? because there is a criminally low amount of aedion love out here (i'm happy to provide). lmk your thoughts in the comments!
content: aedion x fem!reader, aelin x reader platonic, rowan whitethorn ofc, spoilers for empire of storms & kingdom of ash, slight au where reader is taken by maeve instead of aelin
requested by anon
The Protector & the Prince
The dawn was chill and damp against your cheeks. Dew rose from the meadow below, kissing your hair and skin. Welcoming you home.
In the rocky hollow behind you, the Bane packed up camp. They were battle-weary, exhausted to the bone after years of fighting in the mountains. Last night at dusk, when the company had stopped, you had just been able to make out the spires of Orynth across the next hill. It had been a trial in will to halt, to take stock, to rest before making the final push across the Staghorns.
Today, you would return to the home you had been forced to abandon, to the people you called your own. To your queen. To your friends. The war had been won, they said. Word had come over the mountains in the form of a white-tailed hawk; the king himself had come to find you and call you home. He had said his queen commanded it.
Against your will and better judgement, the memories of the past decade flowed freely as you and your company hiked down into the vale, then up the other side, crossing the last line of mountains. The loss of Aelin, the fall of Orynth, the Assassin's Guild, the land of Erilea, the return of magic, and the nightmares of war. Yet by midday, Terrasen unfolded before you, green and golden as ever. Your heart strained against its cage, and the Bane's pace hastened to the city's gates.
When you had last seen this city, it had been white and glistening, a kingdom in its prime. You were but nine years old, a nameless child with no family, no wealth, who had been taken in by King Orlon, of all people, to guard his young niece and heir, Aelin Galathynius. Since, your fae lineage had been revealed, and his choice in you had become clearer; only you could have followed Aelin to the ends of the earth as you did. Only you could have kept her safe.
Now, Orynth was rebuilding. The people had begun to return, but their wariness was palpable as they turned from their work to observe the Bane walking down the main thoroughfare. Some bowed, but there was no fanfare. There was little room for celebration as the dust of war settled, and the work began.
Your mind was a muted whirlwind of thoughts. You had little idea what to expect upon seeing Aelin. You hadn't seen her since the day on the beach, when you had been taken by Maeve in her place. The war done, you no longer knew your place.
Besides all this, your heart pounded for entirely different, unwelcome reasons.
Aedion would be here.
Aedion, Aelin's cousin, the Wolf of the North, fearsome general and protector of a fallen kingdom, had always been your best friend. Your first friend in Orynth, the lifeline you held onto while training with Arobynn. Your closest confidant. The only person you needed. And gods, did you need him now, with the uncertainties rising and the past creeping in... As you approached the towering doors to the castle, you actually considered whether you could do this.
The walk up the sweeping marble steps took a millennium. Untouched, no one had been able to steal their grandeur, though the great doors were still missing. One step over the mighty threshold, two steps, and you had yet to collapse. Three steps, and you were blindsided, barreled into with such force you stumbled.
"Y/N," came Aelin's shaky breath in your ear. She clutched you close, her fingers digging into your leathers. You clung to her in turn, holding her as tightly as you could, breathing in the smell of her, free of blood and iron. "You made it."
"Hi," you laughed breathlessly. "Gods, Aelin. Hi."
And suddenly, everything was entirely right in the world. You were home. You were with your best friend. You had made it.
Reluctantly, Aelin let you go and addressed your company. The Bane, ever having been Aedion's to command, had been given to you in the wake of your return to the continent. You had earned their respect, earned your place as their general. But they were, of course, Aelin's to command. Her arm still around you, she thanked them and dismissed them.
Before you knew it, you'd been swept up to a grand chamber, Aelin with you, to wash and eat. Your head swirled with the welcome, with the shock of being back in this place you'd once called home. She spoke softly, bringing news of Rowan, Chaol, Dorian, Elide, and Manon. She skirted talk of fighting, of that day on the beach, and for that, you were grateful.
"How is Lysandra?" You asked, pulling a comb through your wet hair. The sun was setting, but you would luxuriate in this time with Aelin for as long as she'd allow. "I heard she became a sea dragon."
"She did. That, and more." Aelin laid out a tunic on the bed for you, and it all felt too much like evenings at the Guild, preparing for grand soirées (and murders). "Her and Aedion have finally made up. Thank the gods for that - the tension was borderline unbearable."
Your eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, but only just. You blamed the exhaustion for the way your heart stuttered. "I'm glad to hear it. One big happy family, right?"
She snorted. "Yeah, a right happy home we've got."
A knock came on the door, and a servant entered, summoning Aelin to her council chamber. The young queen groaned, but you saw how she straightened - how the mantle settled on her shoulders in a way that no longer looked entirely unbearable. She turned to you, saying, "You should rest, Y/N. Eat up here, and we'll talk more tomorrow."
You turned to look at her in full, smiling faintly, strained. "Tomorrow."
Your queen disappeared. In the sudden dimness of twilight, you were alone.
But, you supposed, there was a tomorrow. That alone was enough to help you breathe.
~~~
Dawn came too early. Despite your fatigue, you'd hardly slept. First, it was the dreams. Then, it was the contemplation. Would Aelin send you away? What would she have you do in service of her court? Would you even have a place? As a demi-fae of no noble birth and little standing, all you had was your training. Your violence.
You supposed that was worth something.
It was what drove you down to the training yard in the gray light before the sun, moving through the familiar dance of swordwork. Before long, sweat poured down your spine. As the sun rose over the yard, more soldiers came to train, though they hardly had a swordmaster to tutor them. Quietly, you placed your weapons back on the racks and slipped away, unnoticed.
It was down the second stone corridor you turned, then, that you first heard the soft laughter, the hushed tones.
"Isn't it too early for this?" A gasp, a giggle. "Surely there's a better place."
"No one will come down here. Besides, it's never too early for this."
You stopped dead. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice anywhere. You'd heard it in your dreams. You'd followed it in your darkest moments, guiding you home.
You turned on your heel and stalked in the opposite direction, chest aching, as the sounds of Aedion and Lysandra's tryst faded behind you.
~~~
Aelin had called a meeting for midmorning, and you were notified last moment. You were still straightening your fancy new attire - silver, threaded with dark vines - as you entered the privy chamber. It was nearly exactly as you remembered. Eerily exact, as it was. You kept thinking you'd see King Orlon leap out from behind the curtains to say it had all been a cruel jest.
Luckily, you'd had plenty of time to right yourself, as Aedion was embarrassingly late. Though you knew the likely reason why, you kept your mouth firmly shut, instead braiding your hair and reporting to Rowan Whitethorn on the state of the Bane. When that was through, and only then, did the doors open once more, and Prince Aedion swept in, not a hair out of place.
"Forgive the delay, Aelin," he said softly when his cousin gave him an arch look. "There were... urgent matters to attend to in the yard."
Rowan grunted, "Those soldiers need a proper swordmaster."
"Which is why we're all here," Aelin said, as if it were obvious. She was clearly bored with the court business, but she looked between you and Aedion as though she were expecting something... more. After an awfully long pause, she continued. "Now that we're all together again, I figured some rearranging of duties is in order. Aedion, the Bane are yours, should you want them. And Y/N, my Queensguard is yours."
Aedion looked satisfied, but you were rooted to the spot with shock. "Aelin, your Queensguard? Why not have Chaol do it, or something?"
"Because Chaol has his own wife, child, and parcel to handle."
"You're more capable," Rowan chimed. "Wouldn't have anyone else protecting my wife."
"I'd also like you to be my envoy to Rifthold, for the time being." You actually had to take a seat. The closest one was a large armchair adjacent to Orlon's massive, ancient desk. "You know the city - and the affairs of Adarlan - better than any of us. And Dorian asked for you. You're a far better diplomat than I ever was."
"You were simply never a diplomat," Aedion said flatly, but his attention was fixed on you. Had been since he entered the room.
"Thanks, I know." Aelin flipped her hair over her shoulder, perching on the edge of her uncle's desk. "Much more of a decisive type, don't you think? Anyways, Y/N, would you accept both positions?"
You truly had to think a moment. You were reeling, your breath coming shortly. You had feared that Aelin wouldn't have work for you, and now, you were to captain her Queensguard and act as envoy to Adarlan? The responsibility almost seemed too much to take on.
Without thought, you glanced over to Aedion, who was still watching you. You caught his scent as you did so, and the desire to launch yourself into his arms after so long apart, after such hardship, after thinking you'd both die, took your breath away. But he was steady as he watched you, and as he nodded once.
You returned it. Rose, squared your shoulders, and bowed to your queen. "I'd be honored to accept both charges."
Aelin and Rowan shared a glance this time, before Aelin said, "Don't answer right now, Y/N, but there was something else I wanted to ask." You quirked a brow. "If you'd join me, I'd have you as one of my bloodsworn. You've followed me through everything, given up everything for me, and there is no one I can count more loyal than you. I would have you by my side, in all things."
The blood drained from your head, but you felt uncommonly steady. You couldn't give her an answer, but you could reassure her that you weren't going anywhere.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, and she returned the embrace fiercely, burying her face in your shoulder. "My path has always been beside yours. Past and future. Not going anywhere."
Aelin lifted her head, eyes teary and brilliant. "Never again."
Flashes of the smell of iron, the taste of iron, the smothering of iron. Of a cell, of shattered realities, of a white wolf. They haunted your sleeping and waking moments. Had consumed you for so long.
The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. After parting, you gave barely a fleeting glance at Aedion, unable to deal with that emotional disaster at present, and strode from the room, already calling for all soldiers to report immediately to the yard.
You had work to do.
~~~
A month had passed, and your life was consumed with dust, sweat, the grunting of fighters, and the clash of steel on steel. You had selected a Queensguard from the soldiers who'd been in the city, but training them was something else entirely. They'd all seen combat in the war, of course, but that didn't mean they even knew how to swing a sword without tearing a muscle. It had been nigh on ten years since Orynth had had an organized militia of any kind. You were starting from scratch.
The men and women you'd selected were, of course, learning quickly. You wouldn't have chosen them if you didn't think them trainable. But they were reaching a plateau, and their progress was slowing. You were spending long hours training under the blistering sun, and even longer hours planning rotations and the coverage of major events in the castle. Aelin needed two guards with her at all times, and given the state of the Queensguard at present, you hardly trusted any of the new additions to protect her without you present.
Aelin's queendom was in its infancy, making it particularly fragile. Anyone could come for her - or the king - in an effort to change the political balance. It was something you couldn't chance, even if both king and queen could protect themselves admirably on their own.
All that being said, it was well into the evening, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd slept more than three hours. Or eaten a meal, actually. You sat back and threw down your quill, rubbing at your eyes. They'd grown weak and scratchy as you wrote by candlelight. The moon hardly helped, casting a silvery glow across the floor of your chambers.
A knock came at the door, and you didn't bother to sit up before calling, "Come!"
"Prince Aedion, Commander Y/L/N," the servant said. A second later, Aedion stepped in, shutting the door behind him in the servant's face.
You were still, watching him from under your brows as he approached your desk.
He stopped before you. "You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"That's a compliment."
"An absolute charmer, you are."
"I only mean to say you've been working hard. Aelin appreciates it."
"I know she does."
He suddenly looked like he was at a loss for words, something he hadn't been around you for... ever.
"Have you slept?" He finally managed.
"Do I look like it?" You gestured to your desk. "Lots to do. And I'm due in Rifthold next week."
"Are you going to take the blood oath?"
You sighed. "Don't you have something more useful to do than interrogate me?"
"I don't, actually," he snapped back, anger sparking. "Nothing more important than making sure you're alright."
"Funny, I thought you had a kingdom to defend. My mistake."
"The Bane are getting well-deserved rest. And thank to you, they're in top shape." He crossed his arms. "You led them well."
"I'd assume you'd know that, considering it was you who wanted me to lead them."
"Only because you needed something to do that would keep you safe."
Silence swallowed you whole as you stared at him. Fury turned your chest cold, your fingers numb. "Keep me safe?"
"You had no business being near the final battle for Terrasen," he snapped back. "Considering what you went through at Maeve's hands, you couldn't have been ready."
"So you sent me to babysit your troops?" You hissed, rising to your feet abruptly. "Are you serious, Aedion?"
Aedion sighed, exasperated. He held out placating hands. "This is going all wrong, Y/N. I'm not trying to upset you. I'm trying to make sure you're okay."
"What, because I was tortured? I can assure you, I'm a big girl. I can handle a few nightmares."
"Because I can hardly believe that you've healed," he nearly shouted. You leaned back. He said, quieter, "Because I know you haven't. You're throwing yourself into work to distract yourself. But it won't work forever."
He couldn't know just how right he was. It hurt, like a raw blister, the way he saw right through you. The way you wished you could bare your soul to him, let him comfort you, let him take care of you. You'd never had that, but you'd only ever wanted it from him. Your jaw was tight with hurt, and with fury.
"I gave you command of the Bane because I needed someone I could trust in the Staghorns. No one else could have earned their respect as you did." Aedion's gaze softened. "And selfishly, I wanted to keep you safe."
"I can take care of myself," you said, rather childishly.
"I know that."
"I don't need you to look after me. Not when you have other people to worry about."
The last had slipped out, unbidden, and you immediately cursed yourself for even saying it. Straight away, Aedion knew. His eyes sharpened, and you were glad to have the desk between you as his eyebrows rose.
"Lysandra," he said simply.
You stared back at him. "It's only natural."
"What? That I... frolicked with her, or that you're jealous of it?"
You scoffed. "'Frolicked?'" Seriously, Aedion? Are we twelve again?"
"We may as well be, for how well I feel I know you right now."
"You've known how I've felt about you for ages, Aedion. I know you have. You're blind, but you're not that stupid."
"Well thank you for that," he said, anger entirely abated. The snark of his remark missed its target. "Honestly, I only knew because Aelin told me."
"She told you back in Rifthold. I know. Before Arobynn was dead. Before I was free of him. Right in the midst of a shadow war." You gave a one-shouldered shrug. "But you always knew me best, Aedion. You had to have known before. But whether you did simply doesn't matter."
"How could it not?"
You straightened under his piercing stare, under the question in his eyes. "Because I have a job to do, and so do you. Aelin will always come before me, and I would never let anything, even you, come before her."
Aedion's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I know that."
Put off by the starkness of his honesty, you added, "And to be clear, I wouldn't be jealous of Lysandra. Her and I have been through enough. She's beautiful, and more than that, she's good. You deserve her."
"Lysandra has gone to Wendlyn."
"What?"
"We... I thought we'd gotten over the deception leading up to you being taken by Maeve, but we hadn't. She requested to leave, and Aelin gave her a job across the sea."
You were dumbfounded. So much so that you had to sit down. Lysandra, Aelin, and yourself had been the only ones to know of your plan to glamour yourself before arriving on the beach that day to greet Maeve's forces. As demi-fae, you had few powers, but one of the strongest was casting glamours. It was part of why you'd been so successful as an assassin at the Guild. Glamoured as Aelin, you'd been the one to be taken that day to Doranelle.
Anything for Aelin. Anything. Always.
Your voice shook as you said, "I will not be your second choice, Aedion."
"I'm not asking you to be," he murmured. "I'm asking you if you're alright."
Nearly. You nearly bent and broke, straight into him. Your mouth wobbled, but you managed to stand straight as you whispered, "I don't know who I am, now the bloodshed has stopped." When he said nothing, you drew a deep breath and continued. "Which means I'll keep fighting until I can sleep through the night."
"That's not how this works," he said evenly, and finally, he reached out, stopping himself just as his fingers grazed your sleeve. "You don't get to do this on your own, Y/N. We've always done this together - let me help you."
"You couldn't understand, Aedion."
And it was true. The things you'd gone through at Maeve's hands, at Arobynn's before her, no one could understand, least of all this prince. But as he touched you, for the first time in years, you felt your will against him falter.
You could have him, you thought. He's right there.
"Let me try," he breathed. His gold-rimmed eyes were desperate, soulful. Full of something you'd hardly dared admit to seeing before. Before Lysandra, when it was just you and him against the world. Desire. Admiration. Love? "Let me take care of you, Y/N. You've spent your whole life caring for us. Let me shoulder the burden, just for a little while."
The space stretched between you and Aedion, infinite. A breath. There was the truth, you realized. And you whispered:
"I'm scared, Aedion."
"I know, sweetheart."
He sensed it before it happened, and was around the desk in an instant, even as you fell back into your chair. Your breath came shortly, your chest crushed beneath the iron vice of memory. You'd failed to realize what it was to be rid of the constant routine of fight or flight, and now, that freedom came crashing down upon you as a wave, crushing your breath into teary gasps of air. Into sobs.
But Aedion was there, perched next to you, drawing you as close to him as he could. He pressed his mouth to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring that he had you. That he was sorry. That Lysandra was only ever a distraction. That he'd loved you since you were children. That he had you. That he wouldn't let you go.
That you were safe now.
When the sobs subsided, you managed to lift your head, to look up at him through bloodshot eyes. He gazed on you fondly, his own eyes limned in silver. His hand smoothed over your hair, a gentle caress.
"You are the strongest female I have ever known," he murmured. "You may feel lost now, but we'll take this on together. Alright?"
"You have some explaining to do," you replied with half-hearted severity. "Frolicking with Lysandra isn't entirely forgiven, I'll have you know."
"Figured it wouldn't be."
"But... Together?"
"As it's always been, Y/N." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "I swear."
"I'll hold you to it."
"Wouldn't expect anything less from my most fearless warrior."
You smiled, and leaned up just enough to take him by surprise, kissing him softly. With the tenderness of ten years of longing, of ten years of sacrifice and love.
a/n: shout out to OP who requested this, i feel you at a deep level, and it's something not talked about often. sorry it's just a blurb, but i thought the conversation most important. i hope you enjoy!
warnings: afab!reader, gn pronouns, childbearing, children, reader who isn't comfortable with children
requested by @pebble-bb
Children of the Forest
The sounds of raucous, childish laughter bounced off the walls, drawing Y/N's attention downwards, towards where the young elves had just been let out of their scripting lessons. From where they stood, on Thranduil's balcony over the underground waterfall in the halls of Felegoth, they could see this small bit of elven life. Each day, the children ran from the small glen which housed desks, books, and all other bits and bobs required for teaching. They ran in pairs and triplets down the winding paths, deeper into the caves, off to their own families for quiet nights spent studying and laughing.
Before the elflings had disappeared around the bend, Y/N had turned from their position on the terrace, turning back towards their chambers. Their brows were furrowed, their mouth downturned.
"What troubles you, my love?" Came a familiar baritone. Thranduil had woken and was leaning on an elbow amidst Y/N's sheets. He had taken to more casual intimacies as of late, including moving his formal affairs around to nap in the afternoons. Ridiculous as it was, Y/N nearly blushed to think that the Elvenking was doing this for them.
"Nothing," they replied, perching on the edge of the bed. In truth, they'd hardly realized they looked troubled, they were so deep in thought.
"Do not lie to me," he murmured, drawing their arm through his hand and pulling it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the wrist. "You have that look you get when you're about to scold Legolas."
Legolas was an elf grown now, but an errant prince who shirked his duties. Despite that, he was respectful and loving towards Y/N as his father's dearest friend - and lover.
But the thought of how Legolas had been when he was young brought the truth bubbling out.
"I was never any good with him."
"Nonsense," Thranduil scoffed.
"No, truly, Thranduil," they insisted, pulling their wrist from his grasp. "He did not like me when he was young, and I had no knowledge on how to raise him. Especially once his mother passed."
It had been uncomfortable for Y/N, to say the least, when Thranduil's queen had passed, leaving them to shoulder the brunt of Thranduil's grief. And, as his closest friend, to shoulder the burden of helping to raise his young son. Legolas had grown quickly, and was often away, but it had not been easy.
"But you did beautifully. You're always quite confident with children."
Y/N grimaced. They had been keeping this truth from him long enough, letting him believe what he wanted to believe. But they were spending their nights in his bed, and his afternoons in theirs. It was time he understood the truth of it.
"I do not enjoy children, Thranduil," they said, perhaps a bit too bluntly. Their tone softened. "I am not good with them, and I do not want children of my own."
If it was possible for the Elvenking to be stunned, he was now. Y/N watched as he went through his thoughts, schooling his emotions to approach them in the way that he always had. He had more patience with them than anyone, and still, he had to work hard to keep it now.
"I do not understand. How could you not want children?"
Their fingers played at the sheets, eyes averted as they spoke. "Your son is your heir. I would not want to complicate that. But beyond that... I do not think my body or soul fit to bear children. Or raise them. Or to be near them. I could not be a teacher, as the one who works just beyond our walls." Y/N turned to look beyond the terrace, as if they could see the children running below. "I used to wish I felt that pull towards elflings. But I cannot lie to myself; I do not feel it. I cherish them as our future, but I do not want to make them my present."
Thranduil was quiet, but he stilled their frenetic movements with a large, warm hand. His knuckles, his fingers, were strong as they held them still, contemplating. Y/N relaxed, enough for him to pull them down towards him. In an uncharacteristic show of tenderness, he pressed his lips to their forehead.
"When you explain it like that, I suppose I can quite agree."
A shocked laugh left their lips. "However do you mean?"
"Legolas is my son, whom I made out of duty to my people," he mused, running a thoughtful thumb down the side of their neck. "I did not bear him, but I raised him. I have little patience for him. And could you imagine me as a teacher?"
They laughed truly now. "What an idea."
Enraptured by his silvery irises, they were unsurprised when he leaned up to kiss them, deeply, languidly. Tenderly. Against Y/N's lips, he murmured, "I could never fully understand, meleth nîn, but I do not mind. I am happiest now, and could not ask for anything more of you."
Relief, sweet and warm, flooded them, and they returned his kiss, threading their fingers through his loose hair. No more needed to be said on the matter. Thranduil had always appreciated Y/N for who they were, and had accepted them with a patience and love that neither of them had ever known. The Elvenking hardly knew he'd had it in him to be so kindhearted, until he'd met Y/N.
"You ought to get back to your throne, my king," Y/N finally whispered, their warming the shell of his ear. He nipped at them playfully, but slowly rose from the bed and held out a hand to them. They took it, rising beside him to kiss him once more. "Come with me. I need my voice of reason today."
Together, the two descended to guard and guide the children of the forest, the future of the grey elves. And they were content.
late winter - february, the idea of april - was filled with primal, feminine rage. it ate me up, blasted my ears and let me drown in it. syrupy, ire tastes sweet.
may, the sun, were raspberry wine and a warmed breath. divine, feminine tenderness. it swallowed me whole, slid me down its throat and dropped me in a pool of stars. i am not as angry as i was. the fawn does not yet know she is to be hunted.
just saw hozier perform live and can confirm he is in fact not of this planet. his eyes go somewhere entirely Other. his soul is older than the most eldritch god.
he also is a wrathful millenial irish man who is very much Of This World, who is very much One Of Us, who throws fire in the face of the empire.
Cassian x reader. We all know dancing isn’t cassian’s forte, however maybe he learns and catches reader off guard with some of his new skills (even) if he isn’t perfect.
The Idiot
a/n: crying at this btw. literally a dream i had once.
warnings/content: keir's sexism, platonic az x reader, fem! reader, language probably, cassian's dancing bc OOF, masquerade trope bc it's FUN ok
The Idiot
If she had to deal with one more obnoxious male approaching and asking for her hand, Y/N was going to lose it.
The Court of Nightmares had never been her favorite place. As the younger daughter of Keir, lord of the infernal realm, she had known it all too well for most of her life. By now, the heady drumbeats, slinking fae, and ears in the stone walls made her shudder.
Luckily, she spent plenty of time above the surface. Though she had stayed in the court under the mountain for several decades longer than her sister, Y/N had finally escaped her father's slimy grip and joined her cousin above ground. As a member of the Inner Circle, she had breathed fresh air the first. She had learned to live, and she had learned to fight differently than ever before. Now, as Rhysand's chief diplomat, she had a place that was more than just her sex. A family more than the one she'd been born into.
Yet, each Solstice, these visits to her father's domain were obligatory. A show of good faith, if you will. And yet each year, Keir put on a show that made Y/N's skin crawl. It was the dark side of the dreamer's world that Rhysand had created. It was a dark side that was necessary to maintain the peace, no matter how much Y/N wished it destroyed.
Tonight's party was no different. Rhysand and Feyre lounged on their thrones, heads leaned together as they surveyed their dominion. In all honesty, it wasn't much to behold. Drunk fae crowded together on the ballroom floor, courtly dances forgotten for the preferred grinding and undulating of the underground folk. This wouldn't be so bad, honestly, had Y/N not experienced being a young female here. But those memories of being treated like chattel were impossible to forget.
Her only saving grace was the mask perched upon her face. Though it was clear who she was, to the untrained eye, she was just another noble female of the abundant court. While it attracted more males to her side, she had an easier time turning them down. And an easier time avoiding her father, who lurked in the shadows somewhere beyond the High Lord and Lady's thrones. Which was for the best, because he would surely comment on her presentation in night court black, with mother of pearl weighing down her skirts and the mask on her nose. The creamy white was even scattered through her hair, marking her as someone important, but someone forgettable. That was how she'd prefer to stay.
She felt a gentle nudge, barely there, against her shoulder. Without turning, she knew who was there.
"Anything interesting happening behind the scenes?" She asked, still facing the dance floor.
"Nothing you'd want to know about," came Azriel's low reply, laced with a chuckle. "Plenty of sex. And plenty of fear."
"Can practically smell it."
"It reeks," he agreed. "Rhys does that."
She snorted. "It's because they don't trust in Keir to lead them that they fear Rhysand."
"Don't let anyone else hear you say that. They'll mutiny." Y/N was always able to bring out the smirk in Azriel. They got on well that way, and worked even more closely together than Az did with Cassian. Together, the three of them were an unstoppable team.
Observing the rolling mass of bodies, inhaling the stench of faerie wine and sweat, Y/N sighed. "Just wish it were less hedonistic down here. Not that our lives are particularly savory, but just..."
"It feels too heavy and forced down here," Azriel said gently, stepping up to her side and slipping his arm through hers. "Like they're made to do it. Like they relish in the pain that Keir brings them."
She drew him close. "They probably know no different," she murmured.
A moment of silence passed as they watched the crowd, as they observed their friends across the cavernous space. Then, Azriel said, "I'd ask you to dance, but I just don't think this is your style."
She barked a laugh. "Not quite, no."
Though not as talented as Nesta Archeron, Y/N had been trained as a young female to dance in the classic ballroom style, to a formal orchestra and before a crowd housing endless royalty. She'd been made to dance more than once before Rhysand's father, who had relished in forcing Keir's daughters to perform for him. It did not bring back good memories, but she had enjoyed the movement. She found moments of rhythm and dance even now, in her training above ground. She had never forgotten the feel of the music sliding against her bones, and she hoped she never would.
The minutes ticked by. In rotation, the Inner Circle floated past Y/N, checking in. Azriel departed, and Mor soon after approached, cup of mead in hand for her sister. Y/N took it gratefully, and the two damned princesses stood, shoulder to shoulder, observing the dark splendor. Finally, finally, the evening was drawing to a close, It had been hours, and Rhysand had finally shifted in his seat, signaling he would soon stand to leave. But just before he could, the floor cleared.
Still at her post opposite the thrones, Y/N glanced around, gauging the crowd. They had withdrawn bowed, as if they'd been ordered, but they chattered nervously. Clearly, something was meant to happen. Whether Rhys and Feyre knew or not, Y/N couldn't judge from their expressions.
From the crowd, he stepped. Crimson siphons gleaming, scaled armor traded in for soft formal leathers, hair soft and eye gleaming, General Cassian of the Night Court armies stepped forth, hand held aloft.
His eyes met none but hers.
Y/N stared back at him, a breathless laugh escaping her lungs. "Cass?"
"Don't make me look an idiot, Y/N," he said, a smile hiding the nerves that shone through his hazel eyes. "Come dance with me."
"But -"
"No buts," he said. "Just c'mere."
Y/N couldn't believe what she was seeing. Cassian had been missing in action all night, and now he was asking her to dance? Before the entire court? She had never seen him dance, and she'd probably laugh if she had. He was famous for his two left feet, and his fumbling compliments. She would know better than anyone else; as his best friend, his confidant, his partner in politics, she knew him better than most. And she'd thought she'd known him better than to ever expect him to ask her to dance.
Yet, as her closest friend, the one that understood her to her core, Cassian knew she would never say no to him.
As he stood before her, crooked grin on his face, hand outstretched, he watched her flounder only a moment before she straightened and laid her hand gracefully in his. Her grin matched his own.
"Better not trip me, Pigeon."
Cassian didn't have the chance to respond as the orchestra struck up the song he'd chosen for this moment. The prelude began, and ever proper, Y/N withdrew to drop into a low curtsy, her black skirts spread over the marble floor. Cassian bowed low at the waist, though his eyes never left hers. Hidden there, in their depths, was laughter.
The first movement began, and Cassian took Y/N by the waist and swept her into the dance. A waltz-like thing, it sent them spinning and gliding across the entirety of the floor, which had been cleared entirely. The whole court was watching them, and yet Y/N could only see him.
"I always thought it was strange how people talked when they danced," said Cassian lowly, "but now I think I get it."
"No one can hear us out here," she agreed. "Perfect for sharing secrets. Like where you learned to do this?"
He sent her spinning, and her trained feet knew the steps well. After a moment, she came back to him. He stumbled, but only just. "Well, Mor told me how you'd learned, and I know how much you hate it here." He shrugged. "I figured I'd try to make this Solstice visit memorable for you. In a good way."
She smiled up at him, eyes crinkling. "I mean where you learned to dance. Don't think all that training adds up to this."
At this, he turned pink. "I asked your sister to teach me."
A laugh bubbled up, unstoppable. "How long did that take?"
"Only about three months."
"Cassian!!" She cried in disbelief.
"Listen," he chuckled, giving her another spin. By this point in their talking, he'd already stepped on her feet more than once, but she could not bring herself to mind in the least. "I wanted to learn! And maybe I'm terrible at dancing, but I did learn this little number."
"I'm proud of you," Y/N complimented, leading him through the next few steps with a gentle hand. She turned serious "And thank you, Cass. Really. You -" She paused, swallowed. "You don't know what it means."
The orchestra (conveniently) slowed, flowing into the second movement of the piece, and they followed suit. They moved with the gentle fluidity of a mountain stream, and Cassian pressed his forehead to hers.
"I want to," he whispered, just for her. "I want to know everything that goes on in that pretty head. I want to know you, Y/N."
Y/N took pause. She and Cassian had been the best of friends for centuries. They had been constant companions during Rhys's fifty years Under the Mountain. And despite it all, she had hoped against hope that perhaps someday, his feelings would blaze to life like hers had. That he could see her as she saw him - everything.
"You can't just say those things," she breathed with a nervous chuckle.
"Don't tell me what I can't say, Y/N," Cassian said, will everstrong. "You know exactly what I mean."
"How could you possibly think I know what you mean?" She countered, put off by his tone. "If I've ever -"
"Elain told me," he interrupted. "How you feel about me."
Y/N gasped, her chest closing in on itself in panic. Elain was a close friend, one who was usually a vault when it came to secrets.
"She didn't mean to," Cassian amended quickly. "Azriel got her too drunk at Rita's one night, and she started talking." He shook his head, cursing. "I shouldn't have fucking said a thing. Look, if I've got this wrong -"
"No!" She blurted, before thinking. She recovered, but barely, as the dance picked up once more. "No, she's right. I'm just surprised she said anything, is all."
"... She's right?"
With as much confidence as she could muster, heart pounding, chest aching, Y/N straightened in his grip and said, "Yes, she is. As much as this could fuck up everything, I have loved you since you saved my sister. Maybe even before. And I was so lucky to have you as my friend that I couldn't bear to say a word for fear of losing you."
A slow, hesitant smile on his rugged, handsome face. "You love me?"
He tripped, his foot catching on her dress, and stumbled. He was laughing before he could right himself, and they both gave up the steps of the dancing, holding each other before the entire Court of Nightmares.
"Yeah, idiot, I do," she confirmed.
"I love you," he breathed, palm rising to cradle her cheek. "Have for not as long as you, but long enough for it to hurt."
"And long enough for you to learn to waltz."
His laugh echoed around the chamber, booming even over the music. The orchestra continued on, playing into the conclusion of the piece. Their time on the floor had felt like an eternity wrapped in a heartbeat, where truth suspended time like water.
"Long enough for me to learn to waltz," he repeated. His mask had been abandoned long ago, forsaken for the sweat it gathered. With brazen sureness, he lifted Y/N's mask, setting it atop her immaculately decorated head, and murmured, "I'm gonna kiss you now, Y/N/N. Don't make me look an idiot."
"You've never been an idiot, Cass, and I certainly won't make you one now."
And when his mouth met hers, it was chapped and raw and warm and strong. Everything she had always loved about him, she tasted on his lips, his tongue. Everything she had wanted to be protected by, she felt in the strength of his hand around her waist. Everything she had wanted to keep safe, she heard in the soft sound that fled his throat. In the gentle murmur of her name repeated back to her against her flesh.
Cassian couldn't dance for shit, but he was no idiot. He knew love when he held it in his two hands. He knew to cherish it close.
synopsis: Thranduil and Y/N know each other from what seems like a past life; one that both would rather forget. Once secret lovers, hidden from the prying eyes of the Elvenking's court, the two elves' disagreements became too much, their opinions too divided. Y/N departed for Rivendell and sought shelter with her friend, Elrond. But when the Elvenking of Mirkwood comes to parlay with the Lord of Rivendell, he once again meets Y/N, and someone else who looks awfully familiar...
warnings: afab!Reader, pregnancy, elf children, war
Tathrenion = son of one willow-made
requested by @starlight5cat
Of Eternity
In Rivendell, the seasons turned as flowers bloomed; with a sudden burst of color against the greys of winter. They came and went quickly for elvenkind, rising and eddying like the tide, and with them came new wonders and sounds, new flavors. Song.
Y/N could hardly remember a time when her life was not dictated by these rhythms, when time was so magnified as to hear her own heartbeat, to watch the sunlight catch upon a dewdrop. Though, it was not so long ago she was in a place where seasons hardly touched, where time stood still and light lingered in honeyed moments. Where her breath raced in her body, and youth stretched into eternity. Where naïveté was all too familiar.
Here, she had more responsibility. Here, she was unequivocally welcome. When she had fled the confines of her life before in Mirkwood, where she had been daughter of a Ñoldor house descended from Fingolfin, and gone westward into the Misty Mountains, she had only hoped her old friend, Elrond, would grant her sanctuary. He welcomed her with open arms. Here, she sat on his council of advisors. Here, life was warm and full of light once more.
For a short time of twenty-odd years, there was peace east of the Misty Mountains. Though her cousin Galadriel could not believe it, it had appeared the dark servant of Morgoth named Sauron had been vanquished. The grey elves lived in peace with the sons of Durin and helped the wayward man, but kept to their forests and their mountains. All had seemed well, and with the protection of the haven of Rivendell, the darkness of old seemed unable to touch her.
Such comforts cannot last. Not so long as Morgoth and his fell creations plagued Arda.
As soon as word reached Rivendell of a darkness fallen upon southern Mirkwood, Elrond sought Y/N's counsel.
"You know the eastern forests well," Elrond said softly, guiding them both down towards the river. Water fell in a gentle curtain of silver ahead, glinting in the moonlight. "What sort of evil could cause these things?"
The pair ducked behind the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water hushed their voices. There hidden was an alcove, large enough for a small group, with cushions surrounding the burnt-out embers of a fire. Elrond had come here often in the early days of ruling Rivendell, and when Y/N had arrived, had brought her here in her most vulnerable moments.
"The Elvenking's Halls are to the north, but in my many wanderings, I went south," she answered, settling on the floor alongside Elrond. "Mirkwood is vast and its creatures untold, but I have never seen anything that would produce this sort of rot."
Elrond hummed, deep in thought. Elven and human messengers alike had been passing along rumors of dark creatures in the southern Mirkwood, things that walked on more than four legs, with slavering maws and the stench of evil surrounding them. Elves who more often ventured south returned with harrowing stories of voices, of song coming from the dark trees. The canopies had grown so thick that sunlight hardly reached the ground. Some had even reported sightings of Orcs.
"You know what this means," Y/N said, interrupting Elrond's reverie. "Galadriel was right. She was always right. We cannot know that Sauron is vanquished. We burned no body. Isildur brought no head. Only the Silmaril."
"There are no credible rumors of Morgoth's creatures, Y/N."
"There are," she insisted. "They have started calling this force 'The Necromancer.' This is no coincidence, Elrond. All evil in these lands comes back to Sauron. To Morgoth. So long as their discord remains, none of the children of Eru are safe."
Beyond his red head, with his noble face, the silvered water fell in sheets, dulling to a gentle sheaving. Waiting. When he raised his gaze, he said, "What would you have me do?"
Galadriel would have them go to war. Though she had grown less brash since the last age, she had grown no less desperate for Sauron's defeat. But Rivendell was a haven, a place of peace for wandering elves. She could not see amassing forces and marching to Mirkwood unaided. Besides, it was not Elrond's territory to march on.
"You know exactly what you must do, my friend," she said at last.
"You do not like him."
"What of it?"
"He is the reason you fled your home."
It was true enough, though it still gave Y/N pause. Mirkwood had been a home for long centuries, it was true. But before that, she had known the lushness of Beleriand, and the glory of Númenor. She would always be a wanderer. But the Elvenking of Mirkwood brought with him memories too fresh to be painless.
"He is the lord of Mirkwood, and should you wish to do anything at all about this rising evil, you must first confer with him," she said firmly. "Invite him here. Invite his entire court. They will leave Prince Legolas to guard the north, but Thranduil will come."
"I would have you by my side upon his reception."
Y/N caught the glimmer of ancient mischief in Elrond's eyes, and offered him a faint smile in return. "It would be an honor."
~~~
Word came within a fortnight that the Elvenking's party would embark on the Elf-path by the full moon. This gave the people of Rivendell little time to prepare, but showed Elrond and his council how dire circumstances were in Mirkwood.
As Y/N stood at Elrond's side on the dais before the sweeping steps to the city, she knew that in this matter, as all others, that Thranduil would be stubborn, cunning, and seemingly omniscient. It was in his power as king to appear so to his people. But Y/N, he could not fool. She and Elrond would simply need maneuver with tact, to force Thranduil into showing his hand.
In the distance, the royal traveling party rounded a bend and came into view, the Elvenking in his raiment of grey and silver astride his great antlered steed. From here, Y/N could feel his piercing gaze upon them, focusing on her at the Lord of Rivendell's side. Robed in rich, dark green against Elrond's golden raiment, Y/N stood tall. A circlet of gold sat upon her brow, and in it, an opal enshrined. Befitting of her station, she stood to Elrond's left, his wife Celebrían to his right.
Y/N had known true fear in the face of evil, yet facing the Elvenking of Mirkwood after these twenty years turned her chest cold. She could never fear him - she knew him too well, but that was just the problem. They shared a deep past of friendship, of love, forbidden though it may have been. And pain, at the last. Since their parting, she had, for the first time, lived many secrets that she kept from him still.
The party finally arrived at the dais, the great reindeer's feet clapping against the stone as thunder. The Elvenking dismounted, stepped before Elrond, and inclined his head.
"Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you honor me with your great hospitality," he said formally, the Sindarin tongue rolling like quicksilver from his mouth. "And Lady Celebrían, thank you for welcoming my host into your household."
Elrond, Y/N, and the council assembled bowed to the king.
"We are pleased you answered our invitation," Elrond replied, his tone, as ever, one of deliberate lightness, as if he knew something no one else did. "How long shall you stay?"
"A week," Thranduil said shortly. Finally, finally, his silvered eyes shifted to Y/N. She breathed in deeply. "There are matters to attend to in Mirkwood."
"I do hope Prince Legolas is well," she said softly, smoothly.
Thranduil looked momentarily surprised she'd spoken, his eyebrows drawing together at the sound of her voice. "He is taking to his responsibilities well."
A moment of silence passed. The river roared below. Then, Celebrían was taking gesturing towards the king, leading him away into the great wood house of Rivendell.
Formal greetings complete, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed, and elves moved swiftly in preparation for the feast prepared in the king's honor. Soon, only Elrond and Y/N remained. She watched the sun setting over the vale, eyes fixed on the rushing waters surrounding.
"Will you tell him?" Elrond asked, voice so quiet only she could hear.
"How could I?" Y/N whispered. She felt her fingers tremble.
"It is unfair to -"
"You shall not tell me what is fair or unfair, Elrond," Y/N whirled, suddenly furious. "You know not what it is to have my fears."
Elrond held up his hands. "I only wish to say that truths are better spoken. Deception is the chaos-sower."
"It will put him in danger."
"It will give him power."
"A curse," she hissed. "A bounty upon his head."
"Or a crown."
She stared at her friend, stunned. "You do not mean that."
Elrond only watched her in return.
With no words left between them, Y/N turned and disappeared into the house, bracing herself for the week to come.
~~~
It was the fourth day of the accursed sessions of counsel, and Thranduil had still not admitted there being any disturbance in Mirkwood. He spoke on matters of trade, of agriculture, of relations with Khazad-Dûn, but nothing of the murmurs from the Sutherlands.
Y/N was beginning to lose her patience.
Elrond, blessedly, had more of it to spare. Ever the diplomat, he listened to Thranduil's concerns and complaints of their relations, and constructed plans to fix them. Ever the master of compromise, he kept Rivendell's secrecy and best interests at heard. Ever the more patient of the two, he kept prodding the Elvenking towards revealing his secrets, to no avail.
Y/N sat, posture relaxed, around the dais at the center of Elrond's pubic chambers. The elves around her deliberated, debated, while she kept her mouth closed. As Elrond's chief advisor, her primary duty was to listen. She interjected when Elrond looked to her, and when someone said something entirely ludicrous. Elves tended to take a laboriously long time to come to any sort of agreement in politics, and were reasonable to the point of boredom. Y/N's engagement had thus far been minimal, though she heard all.
They had turned to the topic of weapons, and of Rivendell's protection. They were inching closer to the topic at hand, but she knew Thranduil had a deep well of patience, particularly when it came to dealing with elves. The high noon sun blazed down on the white marble.
"How have you fared in the training of your ranks?" Thranduil inquired, sipping at a goblet of honeywine.
"The archers excel, under the tutelage of Sindarin masters," Elrond said. "The swordsmen, under that of the Ñoldor. Khazad-Dûn has agreed to provide us with weapon designs, and with materials to forge them. Durin is all too happy to help an old friend."
Thranduil scoffed lightly into his cup. "Old friend, indeed."
Y/N sat up straighter at the tone, the scoff. She had heard it many times. "Prince Durin has provided us with an excellent relationship over the years. He is a close friend to Rivendell."
Thranduil looked at her, through her, in her. Before her mind's eye flashed his face, poised over her, abed. Soft candlelight shone from beyond his features, and his face was softened into the loveliest of smiles. Gone in an instant.
Just then, lithe footsteps from just inside, and bursting from behind the curtains came three elven children, small and laughing. A maid reached out, trying to snatch them by their tunics, but too late. They sprinted into the circle, and straight up to Elrond.
"Father, we would like to go the Gates," one boy panted. Elrohir.
"Apologies, Father," the other interjected, suddenly serious. Elladan, his twin. "I told him not to come."
"Our swordmaster is at the Gates, and asked us to join him," the third explained. Y/N sat forward, staring down at the boys.
"Tathrenion," she said severely, hiding the quake to her voice, "you know not to enter this chamber when Lord Elrond is taking counsel."
The third boy, unlike the other two, with (Y/HC) hair and striking grey eyes, paled, bowing to Y/N. Even when he straightened, he kept his eyes averted. "Forgive me, Mother. Elladan and Elrohir wished to go, and I wished to accompany them."
It was only then, as the boys turned to glance around at the present company, that Elrond spoke.
"You are in the presence of Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."
Shuffling, with a soft gasp from Elrohir, the three boys bowed low to the king. Thranduil said nothing for a moment. Instead of on the children, his eyes were pinned on Y/N, wide with unbridled shock. When he finally did look at the boys, at the one called Tathrenion, he found his own eyes staring back, steady and calm.
Thranduil stood abruptly, setting down his goblet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "We shall eat. Elrond, you shall decide what to do with your sons."
He swept off the dais, out of view, and Y/N was left staring at the spot he once occupied.
"Go after him," Elrond murmured to her, leaning close.
"Tathrenion-"
"Leave the child to me." And an unspoken promise to keep her son safe.
Y/N was up in an instant, following in Thranduil's wake as quickly as possible. But he was moving fast, and kept dodging out of sight, around corners that he did not know. Servants moved out of the way as Y/N passed through an adjoining kitchen at a sprint, intercepting Thranduil as he rounded the corner into the next room.
She caught him by his elbow as he tried to pull from her grasp, but she held firm.
"Thranduil," she said. "Stop. Just... Stop. And listen."
His rage made his jaw tight, his brows drawn low. "I will not stand here and listen to you when you have -"
"I had to leave," she interrupted, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I could not be your concubine, Thranduil. I would not."
He scoffed, that same sound he made when he thought someone foolish. Beneath him. It hadn't started this way, but as they fell deeper into each other, he'd started scoffing at her the same way. It was part of what drove Y/N away from Mirkwood. "You were not a concubine, Y/N."
"Then tell me what I was to you."
Thranduil bent lower, so their faces were inches apart. "You know exactly what you were to me."
"I know that I was not your wife." And that was venom in her tone, sour and deadly.
A shadow passed over his features. "You were everything she was not."
"And that makes me whore to a king."
"You have never been a whore!" He shouted.
The surrounding house went quiet. Y/N trembled, fingertips numb.
"Tathrenion is your son," she said lowly, practically hissing into his mouth. "Your son, Thranduil. Our place in Rivendell is of your doing. You never recognized what it was to be in my place, with no guarantee of my safety in your court."
"I always would have protected the both of you."
Tears gathered in her eyes. "Our love felt increasingly fragile. I doubted that it even existed any longer. Had we been found out, I doubted you would protect me from exile."
Thranduil was quiet. The house had moved on from his sharp outburst, exhaling as his anger passed. Y/N's grip loosened on his tunic, her truth spoken. But her touch lingered.
"Did you know?" He murmured hoarsely.
"Not when I left your halls. Not until I reached the Misty Mountains."
"And all... went well? With the birth?"
Elven births were rare, and dangerous for mother and child. "Blessedly, Elrond's midwives and healers some of the most gifted, and I healed swiftly. He was born squalling."
He loosed a soft breath, and some of the tension left his features. He had always been beautiful, but it was when he was away from prying eyes that he truly became ethereal. Radiant. Himself.
"You should always have been in Mirkwood, with me." She just looked up at him. "I am sorry, my Y/N. I never meant to make you afraid."
"It is safer for both of us away from you and Legolas."
Thranduil snorted. "My son has proven impertinent. And lacking the character to succeed me."
"He will mature," she said softly. "He is young still."
"He will have to fight soon."
"Then this Necromancer..."
"Is a threat. Whatever darkness lurks in the south of my lands, it is dangerous and spreading."
"Tell Elrond," she urged. "He wishes to aid any fight against Morgoth's darkness in these lands."
"My forces are strong."
"They will be stronger with Rivendell's. Don't let your pride cloud your judgement."
At that, a small smile graced his mouth. "That has always been your advice for me."
"It will always stand. Unless you change."
"Would you come home?"
The question surprised her. "You would have us? So soon after the death of your wife?"
"I would have your company," he said. "And I would have my son raised by the both of us."
Y/N did not have an answer, and she was about to say as much when a smaller voice said, "I would like to go to Mirkwood."
Y/N whipped around, and found young Tathrenion standing behind them. She took a large step away from Thranduil, then lowered herself to her son's level, steeling herself.
"What did Lord Elrond tell you and the twins?" She asked.
"He said we may go to the Gates, but I decided to stay behind." Tathrenion peered past Y/N, to the Elvenking. "I wished to speak with you."
Thranduil could hardly stomach looking at his son's face, the very reflection of his own, untouched by age yet full of a strange wisdom. "Speak, child."
"I know little of why my mother left your kingdom, but I know she has done everything since for my sake. Please, do not ply her with false hopes. If you invite us to Mirkwood, you pledge to keep her safe."
"And you," Thranduil answered immediately. "I will protect you both, and welcome you into my household in places of honor."
Y/N was speechless, her throat swollen around pride for her young son.
"I know you not, Your Majesty, but I would like to," said Tathrenion simply.
Thranduil smiled.
Y/N sent him on his way, leaving her alone once again with the Elvenking. This time, he reached out to her, and against logic, she stepped into him, leaning into his fingers upon her cheek. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, his steadfastness ever since she left the forest. Leaving Mirkwood had been one of the hardest decisions of her long life.
"Let us think about this," she whispered. "And let these diplomatic matters be done first. Speak to Elrond in earnest."
"I will wait for your return to my side, Y/N," he murmured. "I have been waiting since the moment you left."
~~~
Dappled sunlight shone down upon the glade, lighting the page Y/N read. It was a letter, signed in Elrond's familiar hand, detailing the phalanxes marching towards Mirkwood. They would join Thranduil's army in patrolling for evil in the south, just as they had hoped.
Amongst the trees, a young boy laughed, and an older one hollered. Legolas was nearly fully mature, but had taken to playing with his younger half-brother in earnest. Together, they romped through the forest, and Tathrenion adored having someone elder to look up to and learn from. He excelled in archery, now, thanks to Legolas's tutelage.
A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her backwards, and she fell upon Thranduil's chest. He was stretched upon the grass, feline at ease. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, in his fingers in her unbound hair. In his mouth, pressed to her shoulder.
She had refused to take him to bed since her return, but she had begun to let him back into her heart. He had honored his word, and the loss of his wife had left him in need of comfort, in need of counsel and a tender hand.
Besides that, over honeywine in the candlelight one night in Rivendell, he had finally told her he loved her. Words were the playthings of elves, and though they meant little to some, they meant everything to Y/N. She opened up visions of the future that had ere been clouded.
"Of what do you think, my love?" Thranduil breathed against her skin.
She came back to the dampness of the grass beneath them, the golden green of the canopy above, the laughter of her son in the distance. The warmth of her king at her back.
i can't believe my first post on this hellsite is actually about tolkein but i'm listening to the silmarillion and i am in awe. stories were meant to be given sound, meant to be spoken to ears that listen and imaginations that blossom.
