#aragorn x f!reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

Rainy Reunion

Aragorn x Female Reader

Dedicated to @protosslady

Content & Warnings: light angst, reunion after a long absence, yearning, kissing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Aragorn left nearly a month ago with no vow to return. But a great shadow moves across the land, and Aragorn returns to make sure you have not been swept up by the darkness.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The rain outside is soft and warm, and it patters gently against the top of the tent. It’s the kind of rain that finds its way into the worst places. A steady rain that starts to saturate anything and everything it touches. The sort of rain that manages to slip down to the bottom of the insides of your shoes, soaking your socks and making each step a wet squelch.

Within the tent, near a low-burning candle, you flip through the pages of your book. The pages are worn and yellowed. The cover and binding are starting to come apart, the paper threatening to fall out, but you don’t dare retire it for something newer. This book is well-loved, and for good reason. It is one of the few things you carry that belong to the man that walked away from you.

Other than your tent, the rest of the camp is at rest. It is still in the early hours of the morning, the sun just starting to dawn, and most of the camp’s residents still slumber in their bedrolls and cots. Traveling has been a long and difficult journey.

A dark shadow moves across the land, pushing people from their homes. Your village left everything behind, moving with a great sea of people away from the coming darkness. There is no home for you to go to except the road. What little possessions you took with you are the ones in this tent.

But there are many things you left behind, including your heart. You wrapped it up and left it to wither for the ranger you might never see again. That man, whose name you only learned while tangled up in each other, is made for the wilderness. He is made for nature and adventure. You do not begrudge him for it.

It was never meant to last between the two of you.

Aragorn, Strider as others call him, left without a word. You knew it would happen. He told you it would, but the parting still hurt even if you had prepared yourself for it. The pain is a sharp dagger against ripe fruit, cutting through in a smooth, clean stroke. Though it has been nearly a month, it is all still fresh as if he left only yesterday.

You turn a page in your book, shivering slightly from the cold. The rain might be warm but the air has the faintest hint of chill, making the dampness in the air stick to your skin. There are others who are likely worse off than you. The tent you have is relatively warm, and you have blankets to spare.

There is a rustling near the tent opening, a soft sound like a small animal sniffing about. It draws your attention away from the ink on the page. You expect to hear or even see the outline of a fox or some other small creature. Instead, low morning light filters in, obscuring the features of the man standing there.

Not an animal, which entirely surprises you. The shadowed man lingers in the opening of the tent, and then he steps inside. You’re about to bolt up, to berate this stranger for walking in without your permission. But, once that flap falls into place, and the light from the candle hits the man’s face, your muscles seize up.

It is a dream. The man standing before you is an image plucked from your imagination.

“Aragorn,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

He stands tall in the small space and yet seems so unsure. He looks nervous, as if you’ll run him off for entering. It’s so different from the man you’ve known. In your presence, Aragorn was always confident.

“Am I intruding?” he asks softly as if he already has one foot out the tent. You don’t want him to leave.

You stand, clasping your hands in front of you. “No. You’re not intruding.” The only thing you’re wearing is the off-white nightdress you sleep in and a large wool blanket that’s draped over your shoulders. It’s entirely too intimate for a visitor, especially a man.

“This is a surprise,” you say, because it is. Aragon left. You never expected him to return.

“I know,” he replies softly in acknowledgement.

The pain roils up, and it’s difficult to push it back down. Some of it leaks out. “You left without saying goodbye.”

Aragorn takes a step forward. “I’m sorry.” The space is small and he’s almost on top of you.

Is he sorry? He said he would leave, that he couldn’t stay with you. While you don’t resent him for leaving, the separation still hurts, and you’re not sure how much of an apology you actually deserve.

You step around the apology, not wanting to linger there. “How did you find me?”

He glances at the candle and book. Aragorn’s features soften as his gaze falls on the worn cover. The book is his. You didn’t take it, and he didn’t truly gift it. Aragorn left it—whether on purpose or by accident—but you’ve carried it all this time.

Aragorn smiles softly, and your heart melts down to your feet. “You still have it.”

“It’s an entertaining read.”

His gaze returns to your face. “The rangers I ride with have been following at a distance,” he finally answers. “A darkness is sweeping across the land, and we’ve been watching all the people fleeing its reaching hands.” Aragorn pauses a moment before continuing. “I was unaware you were here until I heard about your village.”

“Is that why you’re here in this tent? You came looking for me?”

Aragorn nods. “I did. I feared—” He steps forward and then pauses, his hand curling into a fist like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

“What did you fear?” you whisper as the chill begins to ease.

Aragorn swallows. “That the shadow had found you, and I was too late.”

“The shadow did not find me.” Aragorn is so close. Within reach.

Hesitantly, you lift your arm and allow your fingers to brush against his rain-drenched cloak. Aragorn glances down at your hand, and then he is moving, taking your hand in his. You do not pull away. You do not draw back.

He is so warm. A bright spot of light that you wish to take into yourself. He lifts your hand to his face and proceeds to kiss each of your fingers. Aragorn rotates your wrists and kisses your open palm. Every movement and kiss is purposeful. Drawn out.

You want to berate him. You want to tell him to leave. But you don’t. You can’t. Instead of pulling back or pushing him away, you step closer. Aragorn accepts this easily, sliding one arm around your waist to hold you close.

The rain on his cloak is of little significance, even as it starts to seep into your nightdress. Aragorn is here, and he is holding you, which is all that matters.

He closes the distance and you meet him greedily, wanting to remember how the two of you come together. Your lips meet, and all those happy flashes of memory stir up like a storm and batter your brain like waves against rock. Kissing Aragorn is natural, and returning to it is easy. Like the two of you never stopped.

It is not a heated, desperate thing, but soft and lovely, the two of you coming together until you’re both breathless and smiling. Hands roam, and it is you that undoes his rain-soaked cloak, but Aragorn who allows it to fall. Your hands continue to touch, both over and under clothing. His skin is hot against your palm, and that only ignites a deep fire within you.

The wool blanket around your shoulders disappears, guided by Aragorn as he tosses it onto your cot. The dull tiredness of sleep is gone, replaced by a growing need to be with him in the closest way possible.

The rain that is in his hair and on his skin drips onto you until your eyelashes and cheeks are speckles with them. They are little gifts to you. Pieces of him that you are accepting and taking for yourself. It does not matter that you or he might wipe them away, or that they might dry. You are desperate for anything.

You are content with just this—kissing Aragorn as the rain falls gently outside. But now, with your bodies pressed close, it’s hard to ignore what you want. This separation is a wound that needs stitching, and kissing Aragon is the thread.

His hand brushes against your waist through the nightdress and you desperately want him to go lower. You want him to explore the places he’s already been, rediscovering them and the way he makes you feel.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long,” whispers Aragorn, his fingertips grazing across the water droplets that now line your cheek. His other hand dips between your legs, seeking what you’ve been after. The sensation is maddening.

You whimper, hips bucking as he strokes you through your clothes. Aragorn is enjoying it too. He tugs on your dress and kisses your shoulder where it slips to expose skin. Water drips onto your skin from his hair, running in a line down your bare shoulder to below the neckline of your dress. Aragorn leans in and licks up the droplets.

It’s lovely, and you want more of him. You need him everywhere.

“I want you,” you whisper. “But I am cross with you for not saying goodbye.”

Aragorn sighs and rests his forehead against yours. “How can I make amends? I do not wish to lose you.”

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic. “Will you stay with me a bit? Can you give me what you are able?”

“You shall have it,” comes his response. Aragorn’s voice is low and raspy.

He smiles, as much with his eyes as with his mouth, and leans forward to kiss your neck. He starts slow, removing the rest of his rain-drenched outwear, hanging it up to dry in the corner along with the cloak that fell to the tent floor. Once done, he returns to you, his hand sliding over and down your nightdress.

Aragorn’s words drip with lust when he speaks again. “Do you want to take it off or should I do it for you?” He tugs lightly on the fabric, making his intention clear.

You inhale sharply, momentarily surprised by his forwardness. Aragorn’s hand slips beneath your neckline. His eyes search your face but you do not answer with your voice. Instead, you press into him, and Aragorn takes that as an invitation. He guides the dress over the other shoulder, letting the fabric fall to your waist.

“To be graced with your beauty again is a precious gift,” he whispers when you’re bare to him.

Your hands fist his tunic again, tugging, and Aragorn doesn’t need to ask to know what you want. He removes it quickly, and then he is bare from the waist up too. From there, the two of you remove the rest. For you, it’s a simple sway of the hips before the rest of the nightdress drops to the floor. Aragorn has much more to remove, staring with his mud-splattered boots and pants.

Once gone, and the two of you are entirely bare for each other, his arms go around your waist, guiding you down to the small cot that has been your bed for the last month. You run a hand over his bare chest, admiring the broad muscles and strength beneath your palm. Your fingers trace over scars, some that are old and faded, and others that are fairly new and still a bit red from healing.

Aragorn seizes your roaming hand and presses a kiss to the open palm. From there, he kisses your wrist, your inner forearm, the dip of your elbow, and then up to the curve of your shoulder. Those lips of his brush against the skin between shoulder and throat, venturing upwards to your neck to tease and suck at the skin there.

“You deserve more than this, especially after such a long absence,” he murmurs just before pressing a delicate kiss against the spot right behind your ear.

“It is you that caused it,” you murmur, turning your head enough that you find his lips.

Aragorn hums against your mouth in agreement.

When he kisses you again, it is with great care and attention, like you are the most precious gift. Nothing is rushed, and Aragorn does not push for more. He lingers in the moment, savoring your scent and taste. There is an urgency, a remembrance of how much joy the two of you shared together, but Aragorn does not dive in to seek only for himself.

You are a priority for him, and your mutual enjoyment is all that matters.

Aragorn is atop you, caging you against the small cot. Your legs are spread, thighs pressed against his hips. His hand slides up to cup the bottom of your face, and his thumb strokes over your cheekbone. With deliberate slowness, he takes your lower lip between his teeth and bites down just hard enough to pull a little whiny sound from you.

It’s a reminder of all those secret nights together, with the two of you wrapped up, seeking warmth and comfort.

His mouth follows his hand at it travels downward. Aragorn kisses the space between your breasts. He traces your skin with his tongue, circling and teasing until your back arches and your core floods with pleasure. Then he moves lower, strong hands gripping your waist as you squirm beneath him. His eyes meet yours and they are dark. Sensual.

The rain is a distant, soft pattering. His hair is still wet and water drips from the end. Some of it clings to his face and neck. Aragorn’s lips are parted slightly as he watches you.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper. “Please.”

Aragorn kisses you, nips at your bottom lip. “I won’t,” he replies. “I promise.”

He keeps that promise.

Aragorn’s hand slides between your legs and seeks out that delicate bundle of nerves. His fingers circle it, culling the tingling vibration of pleasure that swirls in your belly. Then, those fingers slide down, and breach your body, spreading you open.

Your nails dig into his lower back, and Aragorn groans softly, his face falling against your neck as he pumps his fingers. Your legs fall open a bit wider, and wider still until you’re lost to him rubbing on that sensitive flesh and working those fingers in and out of you.

The end comes fast and perfect, rippling up your spine only to spike down to your core where you clench around his fingers. You whimper his name, and the last of it is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you.

Then his fingers are gone, and his hardness is pushing in, spreading you open, splitting you apart until your nails rake down his back and he’s seated to the hilt. Aragorn holds there, not moving, the two of you breathing heavily.

Aragorn does not move until your breathing slows. He rolls his hips in short movements that are just a tease, a way to acclimate from the time apart. But your body begins to remember, and when it does, Aragorn is relentless, reminding you of every sensual night that you’ve been endlessly dreaming off.

The candle is nearly out. Almost gone. It’s light so dim that the tent is mostly shadow.

Aragorn hits deep, and your thighs quiver around his waist. You tighten around him, a little aftershock hitting you, and that takes him over the edge.

The candle goes out, but the rain remains.

A small slit in the tent flap reveals the light gray sky, and its light slashes across Aragorn’s face.

And he still keeps his promise. He does not dress or attempt to leave.

Aragorn sinks against you, limbs entwining, and for now, you can have him.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

#aragorn #aragorn son of arathorn #aragorn x reader #aragorn elessar #aragorn imagine #aragorn x you #aragorn x female reader #aragorn x f!reader #aragorn x fem!reader #aragorn fanfic #aragorn fic #aragorn fanfiction #aragorn smut #lotr fanfiction #lotr smut #lotr fanfic #lotr aragorn #lotr fic #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings smut #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings fic #the lord of the rings smut #the lord of the rings fanfic #the lord of the rings fic #the fellowship of the ring #fellowship of the ring

[lord-westley]

Graduation Celebration

Hiya Friends! As a celebration of completing highschool and graduating. I thought I would open requests! I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written so let’s make this one memorable!

As always, please read my rules before requesting thank you.

Scent Requests

Send me a character, and what you tend to smell like- and I’ll let you know what it reminds the character of! (Ex: Bofur and I smell like vanilla because of my perfume)

Smash or Pass

since I’m asexual I thought it would be hilarious to do smash or pass for characters I don’t know. As in. Send me a photo/gif of a character from ANY fandom other than LOTR/Marvel and I’ll say smash or pass based on how I perceive them

Matchups

Give me a brief description and fandom(s) and I’ll match you up with gifs

To make it even more fun and weird, give me any fandom and I’ll Google said fandom and give a random character I think would fit

10 Minute Challenge

Send me a character and a prompt and I have only 10 minutes to write it. No editing, altering etc once the timer is out

Prompt List

Tagging some friends: @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @elvish-sky @erosofthepen @riddlesia @tolkien-fantasy @thespiritoflife @unipork22 @idle-thyme @im-almost-me @anotherbleedinghart @sunflower1000 @danihow @deep-space-elf @justfollowtheroad @moonheartsposts @messiambrandybuck @midearthwritings

#i have maybe 24 hours left of school #which means I have 24 hours left to get 5 F’s into A’s #and instead of waiting for this to queue in two days I’m gonna post it now #so that I have something fun to do while working #tolkien #lord of the rings #the hobbit #westley speaks #lotr #lotr x reader #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit x reader #my hero academia #marvel #Thranduil x reader #Thorin x reader #Gimli x reader #Frodo x reader #Aragorn x reader #Boromir x reader #Eomer x reader #Kili x reader #Fili x reader

[edges-of-night]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request something? Fellowship x reader where the reader gets injured in a battle or something and confessed their feelings before passing out… and when they wake up they find out their feelings r returned 🤭 I love ur requests they r so very cute! Thank u!

That was such a lovely request to write, nonnie! I’m really sorry you had to wait for it so long. Also, thank you for your kind words!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Initially, Aragorn would not treat you much differently after your recovery – so much so that you start wondering if you actually confessed your feelings to him or hallucinated that whole part. But all Aragorn wants to do is find the right moment to talk to you. Once he does, he’d gently take your hands in his and tell you how much you mean to him – and that your feelings are in fact reciprocated! Confessing your love first gave him the courage to do the same. “I am not well versed in these fields. But I hope I can show you my heart just as bluntly as you did yours.”

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would not be around when you wake up. The others tell you he was simply shocked by your passing out and that he needed time to adjust and would be overjoyed to hear you’re fine – but you suspect it would be something else that scared him away. You’d find him pondering in a lone corner, afraid of how he’ll react to seeing you again – only to see his hardened face light up when your eyes meet his – and then he’d rush to kiss you! “I’ve been a fool for not understanding it sooner. Forgive me…!” ♡

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

I like to think that out of the Fellowship, Frodo would be the most mature to handle your love confession. After all, he knows your injuries aren’t lethal and worries not about what happens next, since he is very clear in his own feelings. After you wake up, he greets you with a smile, takes your hand to make sure you’re fine – and lowers his voice to say, “I’ll call the others right away. But before that, I need you to remember the last thing you said to me. I feel the same.” He’d give you the cutest smile, shining all the way up to his blue eyes.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf, being the one who tried to heal you in the moment you passed out, tries ignoring your dramatic love confession and silently urges the others to forget what they overheard. That said, he is very flattered – after all, he’s been enamoured with you for a while now. Still, his romance is quiet and subdued. He’d sit next to you with a smile when you wake up. At first, you thought his behaviour was unchanged – until he ends his sentences toward you with “darling” or “my dear”. There is a playful spark in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know. (Eventually, he would also spell out ‘I love you too’ in fireworks or butterflies!)

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli stays with you during your recovery, guarding your bed day and night, so dutifully that the others need to remind him of eating. Once you wake up, you’d meet his soft eyes, only to watch them harden when you try to speak to him: “Don’t do that again! Ever!” – “What? Talk to you…?” – “Scare me like that!” he corrects, grumbling into his beard. “What’s a lad supposed to do when his sweetheart passes out in his arms?” You smile blissfully as you understand and offer him a hug that Gimli more than eagerly returns!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is entirely stumped when you pass out after that dramatic “I love you”. There is a frown on his pretty face for the next few hours, waiting for you to wake up again. When you do, you’re terribly embarrassed by the way he’s staring at you through his Elven eyes. He’d fixate you and ask, “Did you mean it? What you said to me?” You’d blush and retort that yes, of course you meant it – and that is enough to make his bright smile and joy return. “What a relief! I feared that if it had been but a fever, my reciprocation would ring false, or sound like a mockery. Please know it’s nothing but the truth!” And he’d take your hands and lean in for a quick and happy kiss!

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

At first, Merry would not believe what he heard just before you passed out. During your recovery, he retreats into dark corners to think and rationalise – people say all kinds of stupid things when they thought they were about to die, right? You couldn’t possibly be in love with him – not when there are so many other people – taller people – all around you. So, imagine his surprise when you do ask him for a private conversation after waking up, to set everything straight. Only Merry doesn’t accept your apology. “What’s there to apologise for? You said what you felt in that moment. It’s not like I didn’t like what I heard, I feel the same, after all…” And then, you both share an ‘oh!’ moment before you laugh and fall into the other’s arms!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would initially be overwhelmed by your confession and subsequent passing out. However, he’s positive you’ll be fine, firmly believing that no matter how important, these matters needn’t be so dramatic. He’d treat you as casually as always after your recovery, though you can’t deny there is a spring in his steps and a smile on his face whenever you’re talking. You now know that your feelings are returned, and yet you still blush when he tells you over a shared bowl of strawberries: “I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but I love you, too! Very much so! I’ve thought of a few different pet names to call you, but I wanted to clarify that first. So, just tell me which one you like best…”

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would not leave your side, no matter how long you were passed out. Whenever someone would try and tear him away, he’d explain that he has something very important to discuss with you when you wake up. He would practice romantic speeches and poems to recite for you, really thinking the whole thing through – only to remain absolutely speechless when your eyes do meet his. After your initial greeting – “Thank goodness you’re alive!” – he’d just hold your hand and ask you to stay with him ♡

#lotr imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr x reader #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #frodo x reader #gandalf x reader #gimli x reader #legolas x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader #samwise x reader #* ask #* request #* hurt/comfort #* fluffy #also sidenote: i love love love that giffed moment of sam rushing to frodo's side haha <3

[deadlymistletoe]

Mistletoe Kisses 🎄

Pairing: Legolas x f!reader

A/N: 1. I’ll be using the word ‘Yule’ in this fic, rather than Christmas due to it being in Middle-earth. 2. It’s only vaguely mentioned, but I imagine the reader as being from Edoras & getting to know the others both on the way to Helm’s Deep and through Eowyn. 3. Merry Christmas!

Genre: Fluff, Christmas Romance

Description: During a Yule celebration at Minas Tirith you introduce Legolas to mistletoe.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1092

Yule had always been a celebration you looked forward to since you were a young child, the festives never failing to bring you joy. There was just something about the tinkling of bells and flakes of now in your hair that brought a smile to your face.

And now, in the aftermath of the War of the Ring, such a celebration was exactly what you needed. As the days turned colder and light dustings of snow began to fall, the mood in Minas Tirith only grew better.

By the night of the celebration, the city, particularly the large room in which the main celebration was held, was nothing short of festive. 

When you excused yourself from your friends for a moment long after darkness had fallen outside you made your way towards an archway leading to a somewhat secluded balcony, a smile still etched across your face from laughing with your friends at jokes you couldn’t even remember while you watched Eowyn and Farimir glide around the dance floor not far from Arwen and Aragorn.

That was one good thing that had come from the War - your friendships with people you never would have given second thought to before.

You ducked through the archway, dodging the plant that hung from the top and made your way to the balcony bannister where you closed your eyes as you breathed in the fresh air, the music and chatter from inside drifting through the entryway.

To your credit, you only jumped slightly when a voice spoke beside you. “The hobbits are very loud, aren’t they?”

You opened your eyes, turning to see Legolas beside you, and you couldn’t stop the jump of your heart at his close proximity as he stood beside you. At least now you knew why you hadn’t heard footsteps.

“They’re joyful.” You countered. “And rightfully so. It is Yule after all.”

He nodded in acceptance, and the two of you stood in silence for a moment. You weren’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between Edoras and Helm’s Deep, you’d grown closer to the elf than you’d ever imagined.

“Do you miss it?” You asked, curiosity taking over. At his confused look you elaborated. “Your home. Is Yule very different there?”

He tilted his head at the questions, giving them some thought before answering. “I miss it, but in other ways it is very freeing to be somewhere else for a change. No responsibilities so to speak.” He glanced inside for a moment. “Our Yule is… different in some ways but very much alike in others. The parties are similar, but you humans have your own traditions.”

Your eyes moved over his shoulder, landing on the plant hung from the top of the archway the two of you had come through, the red berries standing out against the green of the distinctly shaped leaves. 

“Yes,” you murmured. “We do.”

You’d had run-ins with mistletoe before - hell, your first kiss had been because of mistletoe, when you were 16 with a crush on the baker’s son. But this time the sight of it caused different feelings to rush up, and you knew that the elf beside you was the reason.

You glanced back at Legolas, eyes darting to his lips. It was the perfect excuse. No one else had to know.

The elf in question tilted his head, your wandering attention not being missed. “What is it?”

You swallowed. You hadn’t meant to be caught, but his question gave you the opening you needed, and you nodded towards the mistletoe, Legolas following your gaze.

“Have you ever heard of mistletoe?”

“The name, yes.” He shook his head. “But it’s not something we are familiar with at home.”

His eyes landed on you again, holding you captive in your spot and a hint of curiosity shone in them. You clearly saw something special in the plant - lots of humans did. He wasn’t unobservant. He’d heard the giggles as the servants hung the plant throughout the city and buildings in the lead up to the yule celebration, shooting sly glances at those who passed.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s so special about mistletoe then?” Legolas suggested, and you were sure you weren’t imagining the way he moved ever so slightly closer to you.

You cleared your throat, looking away for a moment before you turned back to the elf and spoke. You could feel your confidence rising.

“It’s a tradition.” You murmured, moving a step closer. “Usually it’s hung over doorways, so it’s harder to avoid. See, when two people get caught under mistletoe at the same time, there’s only one way to get out.”

“And what would that be?” His own voice was just as quiet as yours, and you could see as he slowly put together what you were saying, clearly being able to guess the implications of what came next from your tone.

By now there was hardly any space between you and as you worked up to answering, he lifted the hand not resting on the balcony bannister to brush a piece of stray hair back from your face, fingers lingering.

“A kiss.” You whispered, feeling his hand land on your waist as he slowly walked the two of you towards the mistletoe, stopping underneath it.

Blue eyes stared into yours, a smile on his lips. Snow was now lightly falling from the sky, having started sometime during your talk, small flakes landing on his pale hair, almost white in the moonlight.

Your eyes darted down to his lips once more as he spoke again, his voice barely louder than your own previous whisper. “Show me.”

In that moment, there was nothing apart from his words, resounding throughout you. They were the only thing that mattered; not the snow, not the fact that he was a prince, or an elf, not the light wind that ruffled the skirts of your dress, not the even sounds of celebration coming from inside.

You didn’t waste words, instead leaning forward to press your lips lightly against his own.

Somewhere along the way your hands had ended up on his chest, the smooth material of his tunic under your fingertips. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other lightly caressing your face as you pulled back.

You let out a breath, your lips tingling with the aftermath of the touch. You risked a glance up at Legolas again, only to see a soft smile directed at you as he spoke, eyes shining.

“We should get caught under mistletoe more often.”

Permanent Taglist

@fizzyxcustard, @bookworm-with-coffee

Temporary Taglist (this fic only, let me know if your want to be added to a permanent taglist for anything)

@nerdygothzippermuffin, @aheadfullofsteverogers, @coopsgirl

#christmas fic #imagines #lord of the rings #female reader #legolas #legolas x reader

[entishramblings]

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #Aragorn #Aragorn x reader #Aragorn/reader #Aragorn fic #Aragorn oneshot #Aragorn one shot #aragorn son of arathorn #vayawrites #LOTR fic #lord of the rings fic

[erathene]

F*ck It (Part 1)

Summary: Strider pays a visit to the Prancing Pony where you are working as a barmaid, but all does not seem well with the wandering ranger. You do your best to fix it. 

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Aragorn x Female!Reader 

Warnings: LOTS of swearing and cursing, you have been warned. Intoxicated behaviour and alcohol. Mention of menstruation in a humorous manner.

AO3 Link: F*ck It

Author's note: Special thanks goes to the members of @fellowshipofthefics discord group (vamp_ress, prettea and spider__lilies) who helped me explore new ideas when my inspiration dried up 😊 Also thanks to DocFigureskaterM for being my beta reader. I tried a completely new writing style with this fic; my toddler son is starting to understand words now, and I have had to really watch my mouth around him! 😂 So this fic was born out of trying not to use curse words in front of a 16 month old haha.

Part 2 has now been posted!

..........................

The Prancing Pony was busy tonight. All of the parlours were crammed with punters, and the air that lingered around the bar was thick and heavy with sweat and drink and pipeweed smoke. 

You picked your way carefully through the crowds, collecting glasses as you went. You didn't mind bar work, but it's not like you had much choice. You couldn't shoe a horse, your needlecraft was shit, and you had fuck-all artistic flair for floristry, so that eliminated about half the jobs going in Bree. You didn't have two pennies to rub together, so that ruled out buying your own land to rear livestock or grow produce to sell. Fuck it, tavern work would do. It kept your belly full and a roof over your head, so it would do nicely. 

Barliman Butterbur, the Gaffer, ensured you were paid fairly, but it wasn't a high-earning job. It wasn't a glamorous job either; your days mostly consisted of emptying piss pots from the upstairs chambers, scrubbing the parlour floors, or wiping out the tankards ready for the evening drinkers. And drink they did. As night fell, the punters came, downing pints and pints of ale and cider and anything else that could be poured into a flagon. Some were regulars, loose-lipped locals trading gossip and louts one-upping each other in pointless contests to see who could win in an arm wrestle or a brawl out back. Some were strangers, passing through from abroad or travelling merchants wanting nothing more than a bite to eat and a soft bed for the night.

And then there was him.

You rarely traded conversation with the punters. The less they knew of you and you of them, the better. Moving mouths made idle hands, so your Mam used to say, and she was absolutely right because striking up a conversation with any punter would mean you had less time to get through all your cleaning. But you knew his name, Strider, and you knew he was a ranger. He wasn't a regular, though he frequented the Pony about once a month, and neither was he a stranger, for he knew your name and was on first name terms with the Gaffer too. He was just Strider. He was tall, towering over most men, with a mop of dark hair and curtain bangs that occasionally hid his grey eyes. Grey eyes that were never cold despite the colour. Broad shouldered, a bow and bedroll usually strapped to his back, and a large-as-fuck weapon at his belt. He wore a mottled green cloak with a hood, the type that you'd use if you wanted to fuck off into a forest and never be found again. Whenever he turned up, he had a ragged look about him, like he'd been through a bush backwards and had a good story to tell about it too. 

You would never admit it, even if you were on your fucking deathbed looking at the lord creator himself. But if you had to describe your "type", it would be Strider.

So it's no surprise when your heart stuttered for a microsecond as soon as his giant mud-soaked leather boot stepped over the threshold. He'd been gone for a while and it had been months since he was last here. Not that you were counting the days of his absence like some lovesick maiden awaiting the return of her knight in shining armour. Fuck that shit. 

Normally, Strider would ask for a half-pint of the local cider, take it to his favourite table in the corner of the bar, and settle himself comfortably, retrieving his pipe and tobacco from his travelling pack. Fuck, if there was a sign you'd worked here too long, knowing his exact routine was probably it. You readied a half-size tumbler as he approached the bar.

"An ale today, y/n" he said, placing a fistful of coins on the bar in front of you. "And make it a full pint, if you would be so kind."

That was.. odd. You did as instructed, like a good tavern girl, pouring dark amber liquid into a larger flagon. As the container filled, you noted Strider looked more roughed up than he normally did; flecks of mud clung to his skin and hair along with perhaps a fortnight's worth of grime, the filth on his palms and between his fingers would have rivalled that of any gardener, and you'd bet your last copper his clothes hadn't seen the inside of a washbasin in over a month. Placing the tankard down in front of the man, you took just one coin from his pile. "The ale's no dearer since your last visit, Strider," you commented with one eyebrow raised and a glance at his gold. But he paid you no mind whatsoever; the flagon you had handed him moments ago was almost vertical as he downed the pint. 

"Another," he croaked, planting the empty flagon on the bar beside the coins that remained. You poured another from the same barrel. The second pint disappeared almost as quickly as the first, and was soon followed by a third.

Upon ordering his fourth drink in what felt like as many minutes, you slammed your hands on the bar and looked him dead in the eye. "What the fuck's the matter with you?" you asked, not bothering with pleasantries. His grey eyes met yours for a fleeting second before he looked away. You thought you caught a look of shame in those eyes before he broke contact, as though he knew he was getting a telling-off for his behaviour but he was going to carry on anyway and fuck everyone else. Very strange indeed. This was unlike the Strider you'd had dealings with in the past, who would politely ask you to share any tales you'd heard from locals over diluted cider and a puff of pipeweed. This Strider seemed out of sorts, as though he was holding onto thoughts and feelings about fuck knows what, and all he could do to control it was to force more alcohol down his throat, to drown it and make sure it never saw the light of day. You'd seen this behaviour in other punters plenty of times before. But not in Strider. Strider was always in control, always predictable. 

You already knew you weren't getting an answer to your question. Fuck, you shouldn't have even asked in the first place. Another punter down the bar started growling loudly about the lack of service. Resisting the urge to tell the prick to pipe down and wait his turn, you quickly refilled Strider's flagon. 

For the rest of the night, your work mostly kept your attention away from the ranger. The fleeting glances you did make in his direction confirmed to you that he continued to drink, and the more he consumed the more he leaned into the bar for support. As the punters began to clear off for home or to their chambers upstairs, Strider was one of the final ones who remained. When the Gaffer called last orders, the ranger had folded his arms across the bar with his head rested upon them. You approached him slowly, ready to take away the many empty flagons that surrounded him. 

"I'll.. need a room, y/n", he said as you neared, his words slurring together.

You sighed. Fuck's sake, Strider. "We're full for the night, I'm afraid." If the fucking fool had decided that earlier rather than at last orders, he might have a bed upstairs by now.

Strider groaned in disappointment. Clearly this wasn't what he wanted to hear, but there was fuck all you could do about it. He made to rise from the bar, but his movements were completely uncoordinated, and he staggered sideways, catching himself by the edges of his fingertips on the solid bar. He glanced at you with a confused expression, probably wondering why the world was spinning and why there were six of you standing before him. You'd seen that look before in patrons who couldn't hold their drink. Seemed that Strider was one such patron.

Fuck. With every room upstairs taken, the only option for Strider would be to sleep on the street, and if he was lucky enough to find an alleyway that wasn't covered in pig shit and piss, he'd likely find himself mugged for his remaining coin or possibly worse. Bree was often subject to petty crime with so many people coming and going. Were you resolved to letting this man wonder the roadways until he collapsed in surrender to his drunken stupor? You gritted your teeth. The Gaffer would be locking up soon, he was already rearranging empty chairs and stools at the other end of the room. 

You glanced back at Strider. Actually, the street was not his only option. There was a free bed upstairs: yours. 

You moved quickly whilst the Gaffer was distracted. Yanking Strider's arm, you pulled the drunkard to his feet, catching his dead weight as he failed to remain upright. You both awkwardly shuffled to the narrow stairway that led to the upper floors of the inn. Strider was muscular and well-built, and that made him fucking heavy. Lifting and shifting barrels over the years here was paying off though as you managed to get him upstairs with only minor difficulty. As soon as you crossed the threshold into your dimly-lit and modest bed chamber, Strider doubled over and vomited violently onto the hardwood floor. 

A stream of curse words flew from your mouth, the likes of which would make your Mam turn in her grave, god rest her soul. This was one extra cleaning job you could fucking do without. Fucking Strider and his lightweight stomach, no wonder he never strayed from his fucking cider if this was how he got after one too many ales. You dropped him ungraciously onto your single bed in the corner of the room where he curled up into a ball on top of the blankets, his hands cupping his head. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your emotions. The fool was probably suffering enough right now.

"Wait here whilst I get something to clean this mess up," you instructed him. "And any more where that came from can go in there," you added, kicking an empty bucket in his direction. Strider grunted in acknowledgement, but did not move.

It took you over twenty minutes to mop up the mess and scrub the stink of bile out of the floor. On your way back downstairs to return the mop and bucket, you grabbed a couple of flagons and filled them with fresh water. Strider would probably wake up with a giant fucking hangover tomorrow and he would need liquids that were alcohol-free. Once back upstairs, you tried to hand one of the water-filled jugs to Strider, only for him to crudely bat away your hand.

"It's water, you moron. Drink." You were not in the mood for his shit. You were already facing the prospect of sleeping on your own floor and this thought left your bedside manner extremely lacking. But you tried, adding "you'll feel like utter shit tomorrow if you don't."

Strider lifted his head from your feather pillow. Taking the flagon, he uttered his thanks before drinking deeply. "I s'pose you think I'm a complete fool," he slurred  as he returned the goblet to you.

Before you could respond, there was a harsh knock at your door. "Y/n! Are you in there?"

Shit, it was the Gaffer. He was probably wondering where you had got to whilst you'd been spending time tending to the drunk fucker sprawled on your bed. You pulled a throw from your laundry heap and tossed it over Strider to hide his form, before hurrying to open the door.

"Sorry Gaffer, I was just.. changing," you said quickly. The Gaffer looked you up and down with one eyebrow raised, clearly seeing you remained in the same basic dress and apron that you'd been wearing all evening. "My underwear," you added hastily. "Y'know.. Women's problems." You flashed him a friendly smile. He wouldn't ask any more questions after that. 

It was well into the wee small hours when at last, your shift was done for the night and you were able to ascend the stairs. You pushed the door to your chamber open and found Strider exactly where you had left him, his dark head poking out from under the blanket. He was snoring softly. Peering into the bucket, you saw with satisfaction that he hadn't lost any more contents of his stomach, nor had he made any more mess anywhere else. This was good. You pulled a spare quilt from your solitary cupboard and laid it out over the floorboards. Sinking to your knees without even bothering to change clothes, you wrapped half the quilt over yourself and within minutes entered a dreamless sleep. 

#aragorn x y/n #aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #fanfiction

[kiiwiigii]

Twilight

Alec

Series:

Heartbeat - Alec x OC - by awriterwithnostory (ff.net)

Summary: "Watch your tongue." He murmured dangerously as he trailed his nose along my collar bone. The pounding of my heart was picking up speed and his eyes grew darker with every beat. "You first."

Jasper Hale

Oneshots:

Dandelions - Jasper Hale Reader - by @junkdrawerfics

Series:

Redamancy- Jasper Hale x Reader - by @bless-my-demons

Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Collar Bones - Jasper Hale x Reader - by @ashcal99

Summary: Camila Johnson was only 16 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. By the time she had turned 17, the doctors had tried everything to save her. Her family is close to giving up hope when they hear of a doctor who may be able to help her. The only problem is, he lives on the opposite side of the country. The small family soon decides to move to the small town in Washington, in efforts to prolong her life. In doing so, her life changes forever.

The Jasper & Danielle Trilogy - Jasper Hale x OC - by Carrot Top (ff.net)

Summary: When Danielle Clark moved to Forks, Washington, she hadn't really known what to expect. But she definitely hadn't planned on falling in love with Jasper Hale, and she certainly hadn't known he would turn her life completely upside down. 

HEAVY - Jasper Hale x OC - by bluemountainbayou (ao3)

Summary: Jasper really wanted nothing to do with Abigail Finley. Until he did.

BLUE MOON pt. One - Jasper Hale x OC - by xdeserteyes (wattpad)

Summary: "The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have gotten inside him, or into the air all around him. She had become a physical necessity." [George Orwell] "I've waited for you for a long time, Evelyn Masen. I don't wish to be without you again."

SUPERNOVA pt. Two - Jasper Hale x OC - by xdeserteyes (wattpad)

Summary: "They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered." [F. Scott Fitzgerald] "Do you hate him? For what he did?" Despite wanting to say yes, she knew that she couldn't. "No, I don't hate him." "But you don't love him anymore?" Evelyn shook her head, fresh tears threatening to fall. "I don't know."

INTERSTELLAR pt. Three - Jasper Hale x OC - by xdeserteyes (wattpad)

Summary: "𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚." Jasper could taste the salt of Evelyn's tears on her lips, feel her shaking beneath his hands, hear her heart beating wildly in her chest as he touched her. Perhaps they were moving too fast now, but neither of them seemed to care. He kissed her deeply, drinking her in as if he were a man dying of thirst and she was the only thing that could sate him. *:･ﾟ✧

Poly

Secretarial Desk Series - Demetri x Reader x Felix - by @alecvolturi

Summary: Multiple Summaries & delicious smut.

Pt. One | Two | Three 

The Lord of the Rings

Aragorn

Sweet Metamorphosis - Aragorn x OC - by WhileISleep (ff.net)

Summary: "That, miss, is the root of bravery. You worry about survival, about being a burden. Consider this: you have been thrown into a world unfamiliar to you. Even more challenging, you were left to fend for yourself in a cave with no light, resources, or knowledge of your whereabouts, and yet you live. That is a feat. You are stronger than you think." Tenth walker; Eventual Aragorn/OC

#kiiwiigii's fic recs #fic recs #twilight fanfiction #twilight #the twilight saga #lord of the rings fanfiction #the lord of the rings #lotr #alec volturi x reader #alec volturi fanfiction #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader smut #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper whitlock fanfiction

[yve-barr]

Promise braids

Warnings: legolas (yes he is a warning), use of Y/n, touching someone without consent, reader is half elf half human, also this is my first fic ever so sorry it'll be shite <3

Pairings: legolas X F!reader

Au where Gandalf goes to Rohan alone and tells the three besties to go someplace safe until he can meet them again.

I've always liked the idea that the braids in elves hair are promises made to them so that's what's happening in this.

You heard a knock coming from the door. Walking towards it you called out,

"who is it?"

"it's me Legolas, me and my companions need a place to sleep tonight," he replied.

"how many of you are there?" You asked whilst opening the door.

"Only three," answered a dwarf to legolas's left. You stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.

Once everyone had entered and the door was firmly locked, legolas took you aside. "We are being hunted, we need a safe place to stay. With someone we trust."

"who's chasing you?"

"Orc's but we will be gone before they arrive," he took your hand in his. "You need not worry about us, about me."

"but what about the town, if the orcs think you are here they will burn this place to the ground and me with it." You pointed out.

"well you would come with us, you shalln't go all the way with us to Isengard but-"

"To Isengard? Your going to Isengard? Why?," You cut him off.

"I can't tell you my love, all I can say is that we need your help."

"and you know I would do anything for you, and yet you still refuse to stay by my side for long."

"I promise you this is the last quest the last adventure before I am yours."

You sighed, "Would they like to eat?" You gestured a thumb towards the ranger, and the dwarf who were now talking of hobbits and wizards you didn't know.

"yes, we haven't eaten in a week." Legolas looked ashamed.

"this must be an important quest my love." You kissed his cheek before walking of to your pantry and gathering foods enough for three meals.

When you returned your guests were sitting at the table patiently waiting. Gently you placed hams, cheeses and fruits in front of them, before fetching plates, cutlery and 2 glasses filled with wine.

"If anything is not to your tastes please tell me." You said before fetching a pint of ale for the dwarf. Who beamed upon your generosity.

Once your guests were eating they told you tales of orcs and hobbits, until all the food had gone and you showed them to rooms.

"master dwarf you can sleep here tonight, the lavatory is the door across from yours in the hall and through that door," you pointed to a door inside the room, "is master rangers room."

"please call me Gimli," requested the dwarf shaking your hand.

"of course, sleep well Gimli." You said before closing the door.

"master ranger this is-"

"Aragorn," he said before slipping inside the room and closing the door.

"well that's that then," you said before taking legolas's hand and entering your own bedroom.

"Are you sure it is wise for us to share? I do not wish the others to find out about us," he asked as you took of your dress and tucked yourself under the duvet.

"well then by all means sleep on the floor, but I do not have anymore rooms," upon hearing that he undressed and slipped under the covers to join you.

When dawn came you awoke to legolas sleeping peacefully beside you. And not very hushed whispers coming from down the hall.

"It is not impolite to awaken first Gimli."

"Aye but it is rude to wander someone else's home whilst they sleep," you decided to go and see what all the fuss was about. Sitting up you swung your legs over the side of the bed and felt a soft hand glide down your side.

"Where do you think your going?" Murmered a sleepy legolas. As he trailed kisses up your back.

"to go and help my guests." You slipped out of bed and pulled on the same dress as yesterday. "Should I expect you to get up?" You asked kissing his forehead.

"yeah, give me a moment," he pulled the duvet off of him, and you left him to dress.

Walking into your front room you saw Aragorn and Gimli sitting across from eachother.

"would you two care for breakfast?" You asked already making your way to the kitchen.

"yes please," Gimli emphasized the please and Aragorn rolled his eyes.

You pulled out four bowls and filled them with porridge and honey topped with toasted acorns. Putting them down infront of the two you then sat on the right of Gimli. And you all began to eat.

"You know legolas never told us your name," commented Aragorn matter of factly.

"My name is Y/n," you told them and Gimli smiled.

"a beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he grinned at you.

"The dwarf is right it truly suits you," added Aragorn. You were about to reply when Legolas entered the room, now Fully clothed.

Silently he took his seat next to Aragorn and started eating.

"I'm going into the market today," you announced. "You are welcome to come with me or stay here."

"we need to go into the town's library, if you'll take is to it?" Aragorn said.

"of course, but may I ask why?" you asked.

"to meet a friend of ours." Answered Aragorn simply.

"will you be leaving after that? Or will I have the pleasure of your company for longer."

"we don't know, although I suspect we shall take our leave," you nodded before taking all the empty bowls and bringing them into the kitchen and beginning to wash them along with the plates from last night.

You were just finishing cleaning the last plate when you dropped it and it shattered against the hard floor.

"oh, bastard," you swore as a shard tore into your ankle just bow the hem if your skirt.

Holding onto the wall for support you got off the stool you had been sitting on , picking up the shards of porcelain you binned them and placed your foot upon the stool.

Carefully sweeping your hair out of your eyes you assessed the wound.

Biting your lip you yanked on the small peice of porcelain and it sliced across your skin enlarging the cut to almost triple the size.

You cried out at the sharp needles of pain traveling through your nerves.

Suddenly legolas, Aragorn and Gimli were in the room.

"sorry I saw a bee," you lied quickly dropping your skirt so it hid the blood pouring out of the gash.

Legolas grabbed your ankle and tugged the skirt up to your knee watching as the blood dribbled down your foot and dripped onto the floor "quite a nasty bee," he said making eye contact.

"I cut myself on a bit of broken plate," you couldn't lie with him looking at you like a puppy denied attention.

"you will be the death of me Y/n, wheres your first aid kit?" He shook his head resigningly.

"top shelf on the left." Aragorn Hurriedly lifted it down and handed it to legolas.

"well we'll just be through here then," said Gimli then he and Aragorn left.

"you must be more careful my love," legolas scolded, "had you been sitting on the floor it could have been your eye," legolas gestures to a shard of plate left stuck in the wall next to where your shoulder had been.

"you say it like I dropped the thing on purpose," you rolled your eyes.

"No I am merely concerned," legolas wrapped a bandage around the wound after putting a weird ointment on it. "Make sure you change this regularly or the wound may get infected."

"why would I do that when I have you to do it for me," you scrunched your nose in amusement. But he didn't seem to find it funny. As you turned back to the shelf and lifted the kit back up to it you felt strong hands on your waist slowly trailing up and down your sides. Then you felt his hot breath on your neck.

"you should really listen to me you know," he kissed your neck. "Because one day I'll stop repeatedly telling you, and you will have no idea what to do with yourself."

"well I manage just fine when your not here, which is pretty much always."

You could feel your blood boiling, he was never here but when he was he always had something to scold you about.

"I'm here now," he kissed the spot just under your ear before taking your earlobe into his mouth and sucking on it gently.

Your blood was filled with a new kind of fire as legolas left your ear to suck a mark into your neck.

"Legolas," you gasped, your voice barely audible. But he heard and spun you round in his arms.

"yes my love?" He whispered.

"not here," you were surprised you could talk, as your thoughts were lost in his eyes which were blown dark with lust, his pupils almost ingulfing his entire iris.

Legolas left a quick kiss on your lips before he left rejoining the others.

Breathing heavily you took a few moments to gather your thoughts back together before following him.

"So this is the market?" Said Gimli.

"yup this is it," you gestured to the many stalls and shops laid out in front of you. "I just need to buy a few things before we go to the library."

"well then what are we waiting for," said Aragorn. As he tried to enter the mass of people.

"Wait do you all have money?" You stopped him.

"no why?" He answered.

"take this," you handed all three a small bag of money, "I wouldn't want you to be mistaken for theaves. Plus the more money you have on you the more you will be respected, so try not to spend it all."

"I shall not spend a single penny," said Gimli before he disappeared into the crowd, swiftly followed by Aragorn.

"Well in we go," you muttered before moving towards a small stall selling rings. Pretending you didn't know legolas was still by your side you examined one of the many rings. It was a band of muted gold woven round ruby's of the finest origin.

"If this is a hint directed at me, consider it ignored," legolas sighed.

"I was only looking," you tutted but placed the ring back down and moved to the next stall, filled with fabrics and ribbons.

Picking up a roll of white cloth you rubbed the corner between your thumb and forefinger.

"How much?" You asked the kind old woman behind the stall.

"Eight casters deary," smiled the woman sweetly. Silently you handed over the money and placed the fabric in your bag.

Legolas stared you down in this time.

"what did you need that for?" Legolas asked.

"well it's my job, that you would know nothing about because your never here," legolas was about to protest but you shushed him. "I'm a seamstress, I make various garments and such."

You started walking away again when you heard a kerfuffle to your right, turning towards it you saw Gimli running towards you at top speed, pushing people out of the way as he went.

"your right I shouldn't have spent it all," Gimli puffed. Behind him you could see 5 guards running alot faster towards him.

"stand back I'll handle it," you said and pushed him behind you.

The gaurds stopped infront of you.

"is there a problem?" You inquired.

"We suspect that dwarf of theiving," boomed one of the gaurds.

"well did he steal anything?" You quirked an eyebrow.

"No, but he has no money, what would someone without any money be doing in a market if he wasn't theiving," pronounced the gaurd proudly.

"well maybe he has just spent all his money in said market."

"Ah but then he would have something to show for it wouldn't he," said the gaurd before saying in a more menacing tone "are we gonna have a problem pretty lady?" then he leered over you trailing his right hand down your cheek slowly bringing it lower until it rested on your breast, a wicked grin on his face.

You felt legolas move his hand to his sword and Gimli shift into a fighting stance.

"no sir," slowly you turned to Gimli.

"What did you buy with the money?" You asked kindly.

Looking ashamed Gimli looked down.

"I bought myself some more ale," he mumbled.

"see, if you so desire we shall find where he bought the ale, but I wouldn't want to waste your time sir," you tilted your head and stuck your bottom lip out just enough that you wouldn't notice the difference but your lips would look slightly bigger.

"no that shalln't be necessary," he said before leaving, the other gaurds following close behind.

"That was close," you sighed before turning back around.

"Why did you let him touch you," legolas grimaced and Gimli nodded.

"Well if I didn't it would have made things worse."

"I thought we made a deal," Said legolas in elvish as he stepped closer. Your breathe caught in your throat as legolas trailed his finger along the braid neatly woven into your hair.

"legolas," you warned and he stepped back again.

"Legolas," called a voice from the crowd and milliseconds later Aragorn appeared. "Gandalf has arrived."

The two others quickly followed as Aragorn hurried up the library steps and into the vast halls filled with books. With you trailing behind them almost tripping over your long ankle length dress.

When you finally stopped it was to find yourself before a tall old man with long white hair and a beard to match. You ducked behind a bookshelf and listened.

"Gandalf what happened?" Asked Aragorn.

"Saroman had corrupted the king's mind, but worry not all is well," Gandalf smiled. Although you could feel a but coming. "But you three must go and fight at helm's deep."

"where?" Gimli asked.

"it is a fortress north west from here. I assume the people of Rohan have fled there?" Aragorn explained.

"yes and they need some help."

Legolas's hand went to the braid woven on his right. His fingers felt the length of it before he took his hand back down.

"I can't go," he said briskly.

They all looked at him shocked.

"But you have to!" Exclaimed Gandalf.

"You said the fortress was Northwest, well Rohan is southeast, meaning the enemy must pass through here."

"yes well it is but a small town a small sacrifice compared to how many would die if you did not come. You cannot save these people legolas."

"I don't care about the people, but her, no. I shall not leave her, nor will I bring her to die."

"legolas, saroman cares not for these shack's. We need you at helm's deep."

"did I stutter? I won't leave her here."

"Legolas, you would let innocent people die for the sake of one girl?"

"she is not a girl she is my best friend and besides I shall not be missed I am but one archer."

"I thought I was your best friend," muttered Gimli.

"we need all the help we can get," Gandalf boomed, several people turned to look and the librarian did not look amused.

"we cannot talk here, where are you staying?"

The three exchanged looks. Feeling they had noticed your absence you quickly fled, hoping they didn't see you leave.

Rushing down the library steps and into the now deserted side streets, market day could wait.

You dashed down alleyway after alleyway until you found yourself at the stables on the edge of town.

You allowed yourself a moment to catch your breath before you walked past the stables and down to the moorlands.

Looking around you found yourself alone.

Subconsciously your hand shot up to the braids in your hair fiddling with them.

You thought of what legolas had said. He wasn't leaving you. Not this time.

Walking around the last outskirts of town you saw your own house sitting with its neighbours next to the main road.

Slipping inside through the backdoor you were greeted with the sounds of frantic arguing.

You gulped, they had beat you back.

"where is she?"

"she's probably still at the market."

"I swear she was just behind us."

"arguing won't find her."

"Y/ns smart she'll know we're here."

"but how will we know where she is."

"maybe she's still at the market."

"we searched the market 3 times she's not there."

Stepping into your main room you spoke up making sure you were heard. "wow three whole times and yet you still failed to look else where,"

"Y/n!" Legolas jumped up and rushed to you stopping just short he squeezed your shoulder in his left hand. "Thank god your safe, we were worried."

Suddenly Gimli poked your side hard.

"Ow," you exclaimed.

"that's for makin us worried, and this," Gimli hugged you tight. "Is fer coming back,"

"it is good to see you too, I'm afraid I walked the long way back so-"

"The long way," scoffed Aragorn, "you took 2 hours," Then he stood and walked over to you and patting your back. "You scared us, don't do it again."

"I'll try not to," you smiled. Before the same man as before cleared his throat. "who's this?" You asked.

"I am Gandalf."

"I assume you are the person they went to meet?"

"yes I am and the four of us must leave within the hour," legolas swiveled around his grip on your shoulder tightening.

"Gandalf!" He warned.

"you two should pack your things," Gandalf ignored legolas. Gimli nodded, then he and Aragorn left.

"Gandalf I have told you once I will not go with you," legolas let go of your shoulder and took a step towards Gandalf.

"and I told you hundreds will die if you stay."

"may they rest in peace," legolas spat.

"legolas," you gasped. Horrified at his words. Both of them turned to you. "If people will die you must go."

"if I go you will die," legolas tried to reason.

"that is no excuse I am but one person if hundreds will die you must go!" You were astonished that he could even consider this matter.

"no I won't leave you, not again," he said sternly.

"legolas!" You exclaimed.

"No Y/n," legolas raised his voise and you stopped arguing. "I love you to much, if I leave and you die I will never Ever forgive myself, especially if I could have done something about it," legolas tucked one of your braids behind your ear.

"then let me go with you," you nagged.

"I shall never leed you to your death like that."

"I'm not asking I'm telling, take me or leave me just pick one, but you must go," you said exasperatedly.

"I thought you wanted me to stay?"

"I do my love but not-" slowly he bent down and captured your lips in his own. Softly curving his mouth across yours. You melted into him, before recoiling in disgust.

When he saw your expression he frowned.

"don't ever try to manipulate me like that again." With that you turned on your heal and marched into your bedroom fuming.

"wait Y/n!" He called after you.

"I don't want to hear it!" You mumbled through the tears coursing down your cheeks .

Half an hour had past and you still lay in your bed trying to delude yourself with possible reasons to why legolas would do that.

When the justling of things had ceased you were met with the quiet discussion of how to say goodbye to you.

Just then your door creeked open and legolas stood in its frame. He took a step into the room and shut the door.

"what do you want?" You asked a fresh tear sliding down your face.

"to apologise, I didn't think and-" he stopped something had cought his eye. He took a step back and slid down against the wall.

"What?" You didn't bother turning your head to look at him properly.

"your braid," you could hear his voice shake with unshared emotions and his eyes fill with unshed tears.

Bringing your hand up to your hair you felt through the crinkles on the left side of your head.

"you broke your promise, I undid the braid. I don't see a problem."

"I didn't mean-"

"but we can make new promises, you can try again." You sat up the hair tie still in your hand. Carefully you sat down in-between his legs facing away from him.

Silently you passed him the hair tie.

"what do you want me to promise to you?"

"your honesty," you murmured. So quietly that had it not been for legolas's elvish sences he would have missed it.

Once he had heard the tears he had been holding back slid from his eyes and he leant his forehead against your shoulder.

You leant back against him so his back was firmly against the wall. Your own tears mixing with his.

"I'm sorry, Y/n, your everything to me. I just didn't want to lose you too," he sobbed into your neck.

"I don't need an explanation," you turned your head and kissed his temple.

"I love you," he said through his tears.

"I love you too."

Part two

https://www.tumblr.com/yve-barr/739251847858126848/promise-braids-part-2?source=share

#legolas greenleaf #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf x reader #promise braids #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #legolas fanfiction

[elrondsimp]

The Hobbits x F! Reader

“Sleep Pile”

The sun began its slow descent in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the peaceful campsite where the Fellowship had decided to rest for a while. Exhausted from their long journey, the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, and Y/n—decided it was time to take a much-needed nap. They nestled together in a cozy corner of the camp, forming a small circle and intertwining their limbs.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Fellowship busied themselves with setting up the camp. Aragorn and Legolas gathered firewood, Gimli set up the cooking utensils, and Boromir arranged the sleeping arrangements for the night. Gandalf, ever watchful, observed the hobbits with a knowing smile.

As dusk settled over the camp, casting elongated shadows, the Fellowship completed their tasks and returned to their resting hobbit friends. They were taken aback when they saw the peculiar sight that awaited them. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, and Y/n lay slumbering in a haphazard pile, with Y/n gently perched on top of the boys.

Gandalf, his eyes twinkling with amusement, stepped forward to enlighten his companions. "Fear not, my friends," he said in his deep and reassuring voice. "This is not a cause for alarm. Hobbits have a charming custom of sleeping in piles to keep warm, especially in colder climates."

Aragorn, with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, knelt beside the slumbering hobbits. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from Y/n's face and marveled at the innocence and trust displayed in their slumbering forms. "It's quite endearing," he remarked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Legolas, who had seen many fascinating customs throughout Middle-earth, found himself captivated by this hobbit tradition. "Such camaraderie and closeness," he mused, his keen elven eyes scanning the intertwined figures. "Their bond grows stronger with each passing day."

Gimli, always quick with a gruff comment, chuckled and scratched his beard. "Well, I suppose it's better than lying alone on the cold, hard ground," he quipped. "I must admit, I envy them a bit."

Boromir, who had initially been taken aback by the sight, couldn't help but soften at the thought of the hobbits' affectionate slumber. He watched as the gentle rise and fall of their chests synchronized in perfect harmony, symbolizing the unity and resilience of the Fellowship.

The companions stood around the slumbering hobbits, their hearts warmed by the sight before them. They realized that amidst the perils and challenges they faced, moments like these were precious reminders of the bonds they had forged.

And so, with a renewed sense of camaraderie, the Fellowship decided to let the hobbits sleep peacefully, respecting their unique tradition. They settled down nearby, their watchful eyes ensuring the safety of their friends as the night deepened.

In the flickering firelight, the Fellowship found solace and strength in the love and loyalty they shared. They knew that the road ahead would be arduous, but with their unwavering bond and the unwavering spirit of the hobbits, they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

#lotr #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit #the fellowship of the ring #y/n #lotr x reader #fem reader #aragorn #gandalf #legolas #Gimli #pippin #merry #frodo #samwise

[child-of-the-nights]

You holding them while they fall asleep part 1

Lotr and The Hobbit characters x Reader

Trope: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You comfort them after a long day and they fall asleep in your arms

Featured: Thranduil, Thorin, Legolas, Bilbo, Tauriel

Next part: Elrond, Kili, Fili, Aragorn, Gimli

Warnings: blood, (let me know if I should add more)

- Gender neutral reader -

Thranduil: 

Thranduil was off killing spiders that day. You knew how much he hated the fact that his precious forest was filled with those beasts, so you understood when he decided to join the hunt. 

For whatever reason, you stayed behind. While he wasn’t available, you had dealt with the papers he marked to do that night. You didn’t think much of it. He was going to be really tired when he came back, that much you knew. It only seemed fair you let him rest that night instead of doing paperwork. 

So when you were already in bed, waiting for him, you heard the doors slowly open. You didn’t look up from your book as you greeted your elven lover. When you didn’t recieve an answer, you finally looked up at him. And what you saw broke your heart.

His shoulders posture was tense and he looked at you with a blank stare. Thranduil had blood splattered on his face. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped and he sat down on the edge of your shared bed. 

“Do you want to talk about it, meleth nîn (my love)?” you asked as you crawled closer to his slouched form. You put a reassuring hand on his upper back when he shook his head. 

“Come on, let’s wash the blood off of you.” With that, you took him to the bathing chamber. 

After the bath, you layed down on the bed. Once you were comfortable, Thranduil moved closer to you. When you opened your arms to him, he basically crashed onto you. 

Thranduil hugged you so close, if you didn’t tell him to loosen his grip, you whould’ve choked. Once he was hugging you comfortably, you let out a sigh. “Gi melin (I love you), Thranduil. Whatever happened today, you are safe now. Please rest.”

“Gi melin...” he whispered into your chest. You could hear his voice breaking but you didn’t say anything. 

Thranduil started dozing off as soon as you began stroking his hair. It didn’t take much time for him to fall asleep and you soon followed. 

Thorin: 

You won back Erebor after a very long fight. It wasn’t just long but extremely tiring. But you got through it with your lover and you couldn’t be happier. Soon you started rebuilding the destroyed chambers of the mountain. It took you and your friends long hours every day but thankfully you got some help from the outsiders. 

Thorin and you got a large bedroom to yourselves, not that you spent a lot of time there though. Most of the time the two of you were needed elsewhere as Thorin was the king there after all. 

On one fateful night however, you woke up to someone muttering. As you opened your eyes, you could see Thorin sitting on the edge of your bed, his face covered by his palms. You whispered his name but he flinched. He slowly raised his head and turned to you. 

The dull eyes that looked at you were indicating that something was wrong, so you moved closer to him. To which he sighed and turned to look at his hands. He was picking at his fingers, which meant that he was obviously nervous. 

“What happened, amrâlimê (my love)?” you asked while yawning. He shook his head with a sigh. 

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” he whispered.

“Sure you are.”

You put a hand on his arm and rested your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, you could feel a relaxed breath escape his body. With his free hand, he caressed your arm and closed his eyes. 

“I was thinking of the gold.” he admitted. “How it took control of me. My dreams are plagued by it.”

“Oh, Thorin...”

You pressed a kis to his neck and whispered sweet nothing in his ears. Once he was calm enough to fall asleep, you pulled him under the covers and let him rest his head on you chest. Thorin wrapped his strong arms around you and pressed a quick kiss to your neck. 

He fell asleep in a matter of minutes in the warmth of your arms. And even if he was plagued by haunting dreams, he felt safer now. 

Legolas: 

Dating Legolas wasn’t the easiest. It wasn’t because of him, of course not. Legolas was the kindest person you had ever met. The problems started when Thranduil found out about your relationship. It didn’t take long for him to know and at first he didn’t approve. 

Legolas fought a lot with his father about this matter but the Elvenking soon gave in and welcomed you in his home. Now you were staying in Legolas’ chambers. 

Your elven lover was the happiest, of course. He believed that the two of you would eventually make amends and somewhat befriend each other. And soon, you and Thranduil would actually sit down to talk without Legolas nagging the both of you. They were quite pleasant conversations. 

But sometimes they still fought over things. Most of the time it wasn’t because of your relationship, as Thranduil knew his son loved you and accepted that. Those arguments were about things Legolas often didn’t wish to speak about. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Legolas slipped into your shared bedroom with a sad expression. He sighed as he walked over to you and hugged you closely. 

“Are you okay,  melethronen (my beloved)?” you asked as he buried his face in your neck. 

“Ada... (father)”

That word was enoguh for you to understand the problem. You gently stroked his hair and led him to the bed. After Legolas undressed, he got under the covers and hugged you closely. 

He let his head rest on your chest as he hugged your torso. 

“You have no idea how much I longed for this.” You could practically feel his wordson your skin as Legolas’ voice was low when he was tired, therefore it tickled you. 

You let out a little chuckle. “Not more than I did.” He smiled at that.

After a few minutes of stroking Legolas’ hair, you could hear the sounds of soft snoring. You smiled to yourself as you soon drifted off to sleep as well. 

Bilbo:

Once Bilbo came back from his journey, he wouldn’t stop telling stories of mighty dwarves and elves he met on his way to Erebor. Of course, there were things he only told you little about, like the ring he found while traveling. 

Bilbo pretty much left you in the dark about the ring’s powers but you didn’t want to bring it up if he didn’t wish to tell you. One thing you knew however was that he started getting night terrors because of it. 

Tonight, you woke up to an empty bed. You called your lover’s name but no one answered you. Nor did anyone for the second time you called. For a few minutes you were just lying on the comfortable surface but then you had enough of waiting for Bilbo. 

You got out of the bed and started looking for him. He was nowhere to be found however. For a minute, you wondered if he had left to go on another journey without telling you but that thought was quickly swept away by the fact that you saw smoke from the windows. 

Once you walked outside, you found your lover sitting on a bench with a pipe in his mouth. You sighed at the sight, knowing that Bilbo couldn’t sleep that night, so he came outside not to bother you. 

Bilbo turned to look at you when he heard the opening of the door. He looked tired and yet here he was.

“Why are you outside at these hours?” You sat down next to him. 

“I could ask you the same.”

He sighed and took a glance at his palm. That’s when you saw the ring. Bilbo closed his palm and quicky hid the ring in his pocket. 

“I wonder if I did the right thing sometimes.” he confessed. You sat there, watching him, not really knowing what the right words were in this situation. So you just put a hand on his cheek and gently turned his head so he could look at you. 

Then you smiled at him with so much love, he felt like he was going to explode like a volcano. Bilbo cleared his thought then gently put down his pipe on the grass. He pulled his legs up on the bench and rested his head in your lap. 

You began stroking his hair as he whispered a quiet ‘I love you’. 

“I love you too, Bilbo. So please rest.”

He fell asleep almost immediately. 

Tauriel:

Tauriel was hunting spiders all day. It wasn’t new. She was so eager to hunt every single one of them down that she was willing to leave the forest to go to their nest. You told her how dangerous that would be but she was a very stubborn elf. 

One night, when the hunting group already came back, both you and the King questioned where Tauriel could’ve been as she wasn’t with them. Legolas offered to search for her as you retired for the night, waiting eagerly for your elven lover to come back. 

Once you were already in bed, you heard the door open and Tauriel stood there with a rather annoyed expression. You petted the bed right next to you and she sat down. She folded her arms across her chest as she looked in the distance. 

“I just wanted to help.” she started. “But how could I if our king doesn’t let me go to destroy their nest?” 

“I know you mean well, meleth nîn (my love), but going out alone is dangerous!”

She released a sigh and nodded, agreeing that it was rather foolish to go alone but she didn’t have another choice. 

Once Tauriel was done ranting about that day’s hunt, she went to take a quick bath and came back to you with tired eyes. She laid down next to you and pulled you into a firm hug. 

You chuckled at that but you let her do it anyway. She rested her head on your chest as you stroked her hair. Tauriel let a silent groan as she felt the frustration of the day leave her body. 

“Mae carnen, Tauriel (you did well).” you whispered. “One day the king is going to realise you were right and you will take every single one of those beasts down.”

“Thank you, mil nîn (my love).”

You smiled as you placed a kiss on the top of her head. She hugged you a little closer at that. 

It was only a matter of minutes before Tauriel’s grip lightened and she fell asleep. You gave her heair another stroke and whispered: “Gi melin (I love you).” 

Soon you were asleep as well. 

#the hobbit x reader #thranduil x reader #thorin x reader #legolas x reader #bilbo x reader #tauriel x reader #lotr x reader #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit x you #lord of the rings x you #thranduil x you #thorin x you #legolas x you #bilbo x you #tauriel x you #lotr x you

[gloomwitchwrites]

Flower Crown

Aragorn x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, kissing, non-descriptive intimacy

Word Count: 2k

During a spring festival, the man you love returns unexpectedly.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

The sky is a cloudless, endless ocean above your head.

You breathe deep, savoring the scents in the air. Newly bloomed flowers, freshly baked bread, and roasting chicken all infiltrate your nostrils, reminding of you the celebration that’s about to begin. Anticipation buzzes under your skin like a swarm of startled bees. You’ve been waiting for this all winter. Spring is finally here, knocking, ready to be greeted. The flowers are in full bloom, and the trees have awakened from their solemn slumber.

Every year the small village in which you’ve lived your whole life celebrates the changing of the seasons. A community-wide festival is held. Each person is involved in their own way, and the duties are often assigned at the beginning of winter to allow everyone to prepare. Sometimes, these responsibilities shift, but a few remain the same.

Last year, you attended the baker in their duties to provide baked goods. This year, you were tasked with sewing new dresses for all the unmarried young women. The base fabric, an off-white cotton, remains the same. It’s like a blank page awaiting colorful paint or black ink, each dress ready to be designed with every young woman in mind. You, and several of the married women, take great care in personalizing each dress to the young ladies’ personalities.

It is not by chance that this happens. It is more than tradition. Rebirth and renewal are the themes of the festival, and with that comes an influx of weddings. The dresses are for that very reason, as a form of matchmaking, along with the presented flower crowns and the festival itself. You’ve always thought it silly but never truly commented on the matter. Fortunately, with you on sewing duties, you were able to work on your own dress.

With the dresses come flower crowns. They are given to the young women by unmarried men of the village. It is always the married women and village elders who quietly determine which man will gift what crown to who. They’re intuition is almost always correct. It is rare for a pair to not eventually marry. Sometimes it is quick, and sometimes it is years later before either realizes they belong together.

And the flower crowns are the true beauty. Another group handmakes each one. But because you know how intricate they are, you did nothing for your dress. It is simple. Plain. Just because you’re forced to be part of this tradition doesn’t mean you want to try and find a husband. You’re perfectly fine alone, because the man you do want is far away.

He isn’t avoiding you. Not on purpose. Aragorn is a ranger. He thrives in the wilds, seeking out the darkness to rid it from the world. But you do miss your wanderer. He tries to travel through your area as often as he can just to see you.

Over the years, the friendliness has grown, becoming heat and tension.

None of the other men in the village make you feel the way he does, and they likely never will.

In the shade of a tree, you smooth out the front of your dress. The tips of your fingers itch and you need to move them just to calm yourself. That alone is silly. What do you have to be nervous for? The process is always the same, always consistent, so why do you feel like this?

The young, unmarried women begin to congregate near the arch of flowers. Breathing deep, you march forward, finding your spot where it always is. You can taste the eagerness in the air. The women around you are just as nervous, nearly bouncing on their toes. They whisper to each other, giggling, but none of them glance your way or address you.

All day, and not even one has thanked you for your work.

But you won’t let it eat away at your resolve. Today is a good day. You’ll drink berry wine and gorge yourself on delicious food while listening to the married women gossip about their husbands.

As the village elders arrive, all talking ceases. That is the cue, and just like the women in line, you curtesy. You’re not allowed to look up, to glance into the face of the man who will place a crown upon your head. You keep your head bent and gaze on the ground.

There is shuffling, the rustling of hands lifting crowns. You focus on the green grass beneath your feet. You’re the only one up here not wearing shoes. You breathe in, and out, watching as so many pairs of polished boots pass by.

When someone does stop before you, the boots are not clean. They are muddy and have seen travel. You almost want to laugh but really, you’re curious. Who is this? Who would be so bold to come to the crowning with filthy boots?

In the next moment, the crown is placed upon your head. You don’t move. Don’t breathe. The stranger’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, pressing gently. You respond. You can’t resist. It is natural to do so.

Your gaze takes in this stranger as your head lifts. And when you see his face, you realize that this is no stranger at all.

“Aragorn,” you whisper, and his response is a smile.

There is applause, and good-natured cheering all around, and yet you respond to none of it. It is only him, this man you’ve been missing, standing before you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask just as the music starts up. It’s too early. Aragorn often arrives in the fall when the leaves start to change.

Others are already wandering off together or going their separate ways. You’re left staring, happy to see him but not understanding why.

“To see you,” he replies.

To see you. To see you. Whatever nervousness you felt before is gone, replaced with a giddiness that sends heat right to your cheeks.

When you don’t reply immediately, Aragorn frowns. “Have I upset you?”

“No!” You reach for him, grabbing his upper arm, taking a step forward. “Not at all. I’m just…surprised.”

His gaze softens, and you could fall into his depths. “Didn’t think I’d come?”

“You always visit when the weather begins to cool.”

“I do,” he agrees. “Couldn’t stay away.” Aragorn says this almost absently as his fingers toy with a white ribbon on your dress.

A young woman shrieks with delight, and you and Aragorn both turn as she’s hoisted in the air.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks.

The answer is immediate. “Yes.”

He presents his hand, and you take it. His palm is warm. Strong. Aragorn leads, and then you’re moving, matching the correct steps. It’s not an intense dance but it isn’t slow either.

“Did you just arrive?”

He smiles. “As they were distributing the flowers.”

“Is that why you’re so dirty?” Aragorn laughs as you lean in and sniff, making an exaggerated expression. “And smelly?”

“I thought you liked the way I smelled after a ride.” Aragorn wraps his arm around your waist, turning as he does so.

“A ride,” you correct. “Not a journey.”

The music swells, dips, and then increases in pace. You’re left focusing on your feet, going through the motions. But Aragorn knows what he’s doing, and he leads you through it effortlessly. It’s difficult to speak, but his hands do enough talking. Aragorn’s touch lingers. He might squeeze slightly or allow his hand to wander. It stirs something hot in your belly that travels lower until you’re blazing everywhere.

When the music comes to an end, and the two of you are out of breath, Aragorn places his hand on your lower waist and guides you away.

“Something to drink?”

“Please.”

Berry wine is had before Aragorn takes your hand again, the two of you strolling off into the nearby orchard. Between the trees, there is privacy, the two of you walking in gentle silence. It’s just your hand in his and the warm breeze that stirs up your dress.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say, stopping next to an apple tree. There are leaves on its branches but no blooms.

Aragorn comes to a stop beside you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder. “Glad? That is all you feel?” With a soft touch, Aragorn turns your head in his direction. His head is angled downward, and there is no escaping what you see in his eyes.

There are times when the two of you have found a bit of quiet, some peace only with the need to explore the other. As you gaze upon his face, you are entirely aware of what he wants, but Aragorn is an honorable man. He will not push or insist on more unless you’re the one who seeks it out.

The berry wine is warm in your blood. Aragorn’s nearness is just as intoxicating. His fingers play with that same ribbon, and you lean into his touch until your noses brush lightly against each other.

“There is plenty I feel,” you reply, your voice a whisper amongst the birdsong and breeze.

“Is your heart willing to share?” Aragorn tugs lightly on the ribbon, loosening a portion of the bodice.

“Is yours willing to hear the truth?” you counter, knowing that you’d give him anything in this moment.

Aragorn tugs on the ribbon again, loosening the bodice further. Air rushes into your lungs as your chest receives a bit of freedom. “Tell me now. Under the trees. Let the sky listen.”

“You’re far too sweet to be a warrior,” you laugh, and Aragorn grins, closing the distance. The kiss is chaste and lovely, sending heat down to your toes and up to the crown of your head.

Your fingers find the front of his tunic. They curl inward, pulling of their own accord, seeking his closeness. Aragorn indulges, deepening the kiss until your bodies are pressed together. His hand rises, clutching the back of your neck. There is only you and him and your repeated meetings.

When you finally break apart, your lips are raw, and you hunger for more. You ache for deeper things, and long to tell him so.

“Is this all right?” he asks, fingers brushing against your exposed collarbone.

“Yes,” you murmur in reply, shivering under his touch.

Aragorn returns to your mouth, and you open for him. Your own fingers explore as much as his, but it is Aragorn’s fingers that venture beneath fabric.

You inhale sharply, and his hand retreats. “Apologies.”

“Don’t stop,” you say, grasping his wrist to guide his hand back to your skin.

Under the shade of the apple tree, Aragorn follows your lead, the two of you finding a dance. Although time has not been kind, keeping the two of you parted, there is no need to rush. You are happy simply existing with him, taking time to explore and savor what you’ve missed over the last few months.

Every caress is a song, and each kiss not only satiates but fuels the hunger that sits low in your belly. Fingers press and dig into skin. Clothing opens or falls away. There is no one else around, and Aragorn’s warmth is all you seek.

“Will you stay?” you ask between kisses.

Aragorn pauses, drawing back slightly. “For a few days.”

A few days. A few days with him and then separation. With Aragorn arriving now, will he return in the fall? Or will this be your new normal?

Even as these doubts swirl in your mind, you know the truth.

You don’t care.

As long as he comes, as long as he returns to you when he can, that is enough.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck

@tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath

@berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics

@beebeechaos @hantheconqueror @miaraei

#aragorn fanfiction #aragorn fanfic #aragorn fic #aragorn fluff #aragorn x f!reader #aragorn x female reader #aragorn x fem!reader #aragorn x you #aragorn x reader #aragorn elessar #aragorn smut #aragorn lotr #lotr aragorn #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #lotr smut #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings movies #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings smut

[fandom-friday]

Thank you so much to everyone that submitted recommendations this week! A comprehensive list of this week’s submissions can be found under the cut! Recommendations are organized by show/media, and any main pairings will be listed after the title.

🩶 = 18+ content

Fics:

The Clone Wars: When We Bleed, We Bleed the Same (Captain Rex x OC Nevaeh Requa) by @inkstainedhandswithrings 🩶 Puddles and Paddles (Clone OC Brett x f!Reader) by @the-bad-batch-baroness

The Bad Batch: 🩶 A Gentle Touch (Wrecker x f!Reader) by @wings-and-beskar 🩶 The Slow Stretch (Wrecker x f!Reader) by @littlemissmanga Wrecker Headcanons by @dystopicjumpsuit Cuddly!Wrecker Thoughts by @tinywitchgoblin Two Faces (The Bad Batch x f!Reader) by @stellarbit 🩶 Blood Daughter by @letsquestjess

Batman: Get Behind Me by FelicityGrimm (AO3) Back Awhile by Cobwebbs (AO3) Bad Man by ArtistAtHeart1 (AO3) Love Me A Little by Living_Free (AO3) Baby Beluga by @hood-ex Being Eight Again by @alone77

Art:

The Clone Wars: Captain Rex Art by @rexxdjarin Fives Art by @seven-winged-liar Fives Art by @viosi Fives Art by @zealfruity 🩶 OC Misfit and OC Jam Art by @mire-draws-things-spiceverse OC Sevenset and OC Do-Si-Do Art by @jgvfhl OC Sixes Art by @jgvfhl

The Bad Batch: Shirtless Wrecker Art by @zaana Hunter x OC Saachi Gunder Art by @amalthiaph

The Book of Boba Fett: Boba Fett Art by @adamworks

Star Wars Prequel Series: The Fallen Angel by @bigspoonlttlespoon

Lord of the Rings: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn by @minpage

Crossover AUs: Duplicate Soldiers from Space Conflicts (Star Wars X Gravity Falls Crossover) by @jgvfhl

#ff weekly summary

[wordbunch]

hopeless (Pippin x f!reader) pt. 2

PART ONE HERE

a/n: MY PRECIOUS FLOWERS the fix-it fic is here!!! i'm sorry i made you sad with the first part, but i'm grateful for ALL the love it got, seriously! i hope you enjoy this fluffy piece and that it heals the heartbreak i've caused... please be so kind to reblog, and definitely let me know your thoughts abt it!!!

fsr these lyrics were on my mind as i wrote: yeah i showed up at your party / will you have me? will you love me? / will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? / if you kiss me will it be just like i dreamed it? / will it patch your broken wings? / i’m only 17, i don’t know anything / but i know i miss you

The world was blurry, but felt a touch more kind when [y/n] gradually started coming to her senses, happy to feel a pillow under her head instead of dirt and pebbles. However, she was only slightly scared to fully open her eyes, not knowing what she would be met with after everything that happened… how many days ago? Hours? She could not tell. Her surroundings were quiet, but not eerily quiet, grayish sunlight seeping through a singular window and- someone’s hand enclosed around her own.

Despite the pain and tiredness, her curiosity got the best of her and she finally dared to open her eyes and learn where she was - and apparently who she was with. A small makeshift bed under a window was where she found herself, and Pippin was slumped half on it, half on the floor, one hand folded under his head and another one holding her own. He was facing the direction opposite of her, so he didn’t see when she opened her eyes, but as soon as her free hand went to her side to check for bandages, his head shot up, and he looked simultaneously very awake and very tired.

For a few moments they just stood blinking at each other in confusion, but as soon as he moved slightly in order to inch closer to her, she anxiously gripped his hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded with a desperate crack in her voice. Regardless, it was his favorite voice that he had ever heard. He squeezed her hand in return, settling closer so that they were eye to eye with each other.

“Am I dreaming?” Pippin wondered aloud, as he looked her up and down, and then to their joined hands. [y/n] felt her heart swelling. 

“I think not,” she replied, touching the tip of his nose with her finger, “or we both are dreaming. what concoction did you heal me with?” she joked, and he still looked as if he was in a daze. Was she actually awake and talking to him and not removing her hand from his?

After a few seconds of stunned silence, he answered her. “Aragorn was the one who healed you,” he fiddled with her fingers, “I was just- just there. But I can leave you be, now, if you want.”

“I most certainly don’t,” [y/n]  replied, figuring it was finally the time to gather her courage and her feelings and make something out of them, and not wait for another brush with death. “I never want you to go, and I never did, I-I just didn’t know how to say it without risking ruining one of the most precious friendships in my life,” she confessed. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to say anything more beautiful than all those things you told me the other day.” she looked up sheepishly at a very wide-eyed Pippin, whose cheeks were starting to heat up rapidly.

“Y-you remember what I said?” he inquired hesitantly, not sure what kind of answer to prepare for. Sure, he was always an optimist, but did he really think [y/n] would be in love with him? Partially he braced himself for a kind rejection, but the stubborn part of him already went ahead with planning how to perfectly kiss a perfect person. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze.

“I remember everything you say,” she smiled, resting a hand on his cheek and snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Well, most of it anyway, you can talk a lot,” she chuckled, and he responded with a short, nervous laughter. It was strange to see him, of all people, being tense. “But yes, I remember,” she paused, looking down for a split second before meeting his eyes, “I love you… and you still need to show me the Shire,” she grinned at him, very amused by the absolute shock that was evident on his features. 

“B-but you can go to Rivendell afterwards, or-” Pippin stuttered, as he mentally cursed himself for not being more prepared for that conversation - he’d had quite some time while [y/n] was in a deep sleep - but he always got carried away with his daydreams of living happily ever after by her side. He didn’t consider that any of that might be a real possibility, and for goodness' sake, why was his brain now actively trying to make him reject her first, so that he didn’t have to get heartbroken? 

“I have been to Gondor, I have been to Rivendell, Lórien, all those magical places,” she spoke with a dreamy, faraway look on her face, and he began to think that was the moment in which she would turn him down once and for all. Surely she didn’t romantically love him and she was just being cordial, as per usual. “And they are truly beautiful. But I was never happy in any of them as much as I am with you. Even here, on this terribly uncomfortable bed, even back there after the battle, when I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you that I am in love with you. I have been ever since that one night when we stayed up talking until sunrise and Gandalf looked as though he would end us both.”

At an absolute loss for words, with his face on fire and a racing heartbeat, there was only one thing left for Pippin to do - lean in close enough to press his lips to [y/n]’s, who responded instantly, one hand winding up in his hair. He had no idea what to say to all the heartfelt words she had just spilled, and even less how to properly kiss, which didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it his all. He thought his heart was going to give out when he felt [y/n] smiling into the kiss, and he pulled away just enough to lean his forehead against hers. 

“I must be the first person ever to leave you speechless,” she joked quietly, brushing her nose against his. “Quite an achievement.”

“I think you said more beautiful things than I did,” he confessed sheepishly.

“Oh, shut up,” she playfully smacked him on the shoulder, making him laugh, finally relaxed. The way she was looking up at him made him weak in the knees.

“Do you want me to speak or do you want me to shut up, then?” he teased back, fighting an urge to crush her in the tightest of hugs but too scared of hurting her already injured side. 

“First, I want you to kiss me again,” she replied, pulling him closer once again, “and then I want you to tell me about all those things you promised to show me when I go to the Shire with you.”

taglist my beloved

@starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @sweetpea-thoughts @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorinpainter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth

#hopeless pt 2 #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #from my pocketses #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings x reader #pippin took x reader #pippin x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfiction #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #pippin took

[deadlymistletoe]

Charming Stranger

Pairing: Aragorn x f!reader

Genre: Romance

Description: When a charming stranger helps you regain control of your horse in the woods, you don’t expect to see him again. You definitely don't expect him to be the king of Gondor.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1989

A/N: Yes, this is inspired by how Ella meets Kit and doesn’t find out he’s a prince until later in the Live Action Cinderella. And yes, the title is a pun for Prince Charming.

“Caspian please!” You pleaded with your horse as you clung to the dark stallion in an attempt to hold on as he raced through the woods.

You’d ventured to the woods near your village on the outskirts of Gondor in order to collect herbs for the apothecary you helped your parents run when a squirrel had raced past your horse’s feet and given him a fright, sending Caspian bolting through the woods as you tried, unsuccessfully, to slow him down before you could fall off.

“Woah.” You turned your head as hoofbeats that belonged to another horse sounded and a chestnut came up beside you, the dark haired rider catching the reins of your horse and murmuring words in another language as he coaxed Caspian to slow down, your legs almost touching as he drew in beside you.

Finally, the man managed to draw Caspian to a stop, and you straightened in your saddle, trying to compose yourself as the man smoothly dismounted his horse, standing in front of Caspian and stroking his nose as he continued talking in that strange but beautiful language.

It wasn’t long until Caspian had calmed down and the man turned his striking grey eyes on you.

You swallowed under his gaze, your eyes tracing his figure without your permission as you took in the dark hair to his shoulders and the long, but shapely coat he wore.

His voice, soft and slightly accented broke through your thoughts, your eyes snapping up to his face again. “Are you alright, Miss…?”

You blushed, feeling as though you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t as you answered him. “Y/N.”

He bowed his head towards you. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

As he handed Caspian’s reins back to you and mounted his own horse, you called after him, both feeling slightly daring and worrying that he’d leave without a word if you didn’t. “And does this woman get to know the name of her saviour?”

An unreadable look crossed his face, and for a moment you worried you’d overstepped, but then he smiled. “My family calls me Estel.”

You tilted your head. “Isn’t that elvish?”

He gave a nod, but didn’t expand on why a man had an elvish name.

You wanted to keep him talking, hear his voice again, you realised as you fumbled for an excuse to keep him here for a while longer.

“Are you a ranger?” You asked, nodding towards his coat that had clearly been well worn and repaired many times over. You wondered why he continued wearing such an old item, when the tunic and trousers he wore underneath were clearly of well making.

“You could say that. May I ask why a beautiful woman is on her own in the forest?” You had a feeling he was changing the subject on purpose, but you didn’t want to push in case he left. Besides, you quite liked the way it sounded when he addressed you as a ‘beautiful’ woman, something you hadn’t heard from a man before.

“My family owns the apothecary at the nearby village. I was hunting for herbs, but a squirrel spooked my horse.” You ran your hand down Caspian’s mane as you spoke.

“And does your horse have a name?” When you told him he smiled, looking at your horse. “A fine name for a fine horse.”

You giggled as Caspian preened under the attention. At Estel’s questioning glance you elaborated. “You’re full of compliments today, aren’t you?”

He grinned, about to speak when the two of you were interrupted by distant voices, clearly calling someone although you couldn’t make out the name.

He sighed, looking back at you. “That will be my companions, I rushed off without a word when I saw you pass. I have to go.” He hesitated before leaving. “Will you be able to find your own way home?”

You nodded with a smile. “I’ve been to these woods many times, my lord.”

He nodded, but before he left he reached over and took your hand, lifting it to his lips. “My lady.”

And then he left, calling out to his companions as he disappeared into the trees.

You were still smiling when you got home.

~

You’d spent the past couple of weeks drying out the herbs you’d collected, and you hadn’t been able to forget the ranger you’d met that day.

Everytime he crossed your thoughts, you’d find yourself smiling, a blush covering your cheeks whenever someone questioned you about what was making you so happy.

You were once again lost in your thoughts as you sat behind the counter of the little shop, writing purchases into the book, when you heard a disturbance outside.

“The king is coming! The king is here!”

Your mouth fell open. The king had come to your village? Of course, it had been said that he was visiting all the villages and cities in Gondor, but it had already been awhile since the mysterious king had been crowned and with no news since you’d started to think he’d forgotten your little village, being so small and on the border as it was.

Clearly you were wrong. You glanced at your mother, who nodded with a smile. “Go on. I’ll watch the shop. You can tell me about this king later.”

You placed the book and ink to the side, untying your apron from your waist and dusting imaginary dirt from your dress as you rushed out the shop and onto the street.

People were already lining the dusty road, having come out of the shops lining the main street to get a glimpse of the king nobody had seen the face of.

You joined them, watching in anticipation as the group from Minas Tirith drew closer to your end of the street.

The first thought you had when you saw them was that the king’s horse looked familiar. 

Then the man on the horse looked in your direction and you realised exactly why the king and his horse seemed familiar.

Grey eyes met yours and you gasped. He nodded his head to you and, still in a state of shock you stepped back, bumping into the person behind you before you turned, breaking eye contact and hurrying back to the apothecary.

You gave your startled mother no explanation as you grabbed your bag and left out the back door, making your way to your house.

It was only when you were alone in your small house that you let yourself freak out properly.

It hadn’t been a ranger who’d helped you that day, but the king! Then again, weren’t there rumors that the king had been a ranger in his youth?

Either way, you groaned when you remembered how casual you’d been with him, how you’d not so subtly admired his figure, how you’d made excuses for him to stay, how you’d borderline flirted with him after he’d called you beautiful.

There was no way you could ever face the king again.

So you made up your mind; you would stay far away from the king while he was here, staying either in the apothecary or your home, and nothing could go wrong.

~

Your plan worked for less than a day. The next morning, your parents were unable to run the shop, so you agreed to do it for them while they ran errands.

Less than an hour after you flipped the sign on the door to say ‘open’, you heard the bell tinkle from where you’d been sorting herbs in the back room, announcing a customer.

“Just a moment!” You called, putting the lids on the jars and grabbing a couple to take with you to put on the shelves.

“Sorry, we just got some new supplies so…” You trailed off as you looked up and came face to face with the very person you were hoping not to see. “Oh.”

A jar slipped from your hand, but apparently the king’s quick reflexes extended from out of control horses to everyday life, because he easily reached out and caught it before it hit the ground, holding it out to you.

“Thank you, your majesty.” You murmured, taking the offered jar and placing it on the counter along with the others in your arms.

He sighed. “Must you treat me like a stranger now?”

You shot him a glance over your shoulder as you arranged the jars. “Aren’t we? All I know about you is your name, and even that may not be true now.”

“I never lied to you, Y/N. Estel was my name growing up, I was once a ranger and I believe you are a beautiful woman with a fine horse.” You fought back a blush at the last past, turning to face the king with crossed arms.

“Why are you here? Surely you have better things you could be doing.”

You tilted your head as you waited for an answer. Maybe he did think you were beautiful, but if this was just a game to him then you weren’t going to be made a fool of anymore than you already had.

He swallowed. “I know this is only our second meeting, but you intrigue me. You’re beautiful, talented, you aren’t falling over yourself to make a good impression on me.”

He hesitated, meeting your gaze. “If you do not already have a suitor, I would be honoured if you’d allow me to get to know you better.”

You shook your head with a sigh, looking away. Yes, you were attracted to him, and yes, every word he uttered only made you want to get closer to him but still… “I am not of royal or noble blood. It would not be proper…”

He cut you off, moving closer to you, so you were almost touching as you lent back against the counter, gently lifting your chin to face him with a calloused hand. “I don’t care, I have never cared about that sort of thing. I spent most of my life as a ranger, so if you think something like that would bother me, you’d be wrong.”

You swallowed. “Convince me, then.”

He frowned slightly. “What?”

“Convince me that you mean what you say and this isn’t a game to you.”

He didn’t reply in words, moving his head closer to yours until your lips were only inches apart, and for a moment you thought he would kiss you, but instead he pressed a small wooden box into your hand before stepping back.

“Open it.”

You did as he said, giving him a questioning look at the round, bronze disk inside, a small blue gem in the middle and designs you’d only seen on royal armor etched around it, sitting on a pillow of tiny white petals.

“I will be here for five days, of which I will spend wooing you as any man would. After that, should you be convinced, and willing, my friend will be passing through again in four weeks time. Show him this token and he will bring you to Minas Tirith to stay as long as you wish.” 

You opened your mouth, not sure what to say, but he held a finger to your lips. “I do not expect an answer now. I know you may not wish to leave your parents, but it would not be forever. You would be free to leave and return as you wished.”

“Okay.” You agreed. “You have a week to convince me.”

He grinned. “Alright. But if we’re going to do this properly, you have to call me Aragorn. No more ‘your majesty’.”

You matched his smile. “Very well, Aragorn.”

~

And as Aragorn kissed your hand before mounting his horse five days later, you already knew what you would do when the time to choose came.

King or ranger, this charming man who had been nothing but a stranger mere days ago had stolen your heart.

Taglist:

@fizzyxcustard @bookworm-with-coffee

#imagines #female reader #lord of the rings #aragorn #aragorn x reader #my writing

[ali-r3n]

REN FAIRE WEDDING

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

{Idea by: @sillypurplemurple ~ Ok so I found out you can get married at Renaissance fairs, now that I know this I can't help but picture Eddie marrying reader in all the little renn fair outfits 🥹❤️ please someone write this I would completely pass away}

Fluff, Quotes from Lord of the Rings

Y/N’s relationship with Eddie wasn’t like others so why would her wedding?

One day Eddie took her to a Ren Faire a couple of cities over from Hawkins. As she walked hand-in-hand, they came across a couple getting married. They stopped and watched the bride and groom, dressed up in medieval costumes as they recited their vows. 

Y/N looked over at Eddie who had a twinkle in his big doe like eyes. He gave her a smile. “That’ll be us someday, Sweetheart,” he promised. 

Sure enough, Y/N stood dressed in an Elven gown. A headdress that looked like something  straight out of Lord of the Rings sat in place of a veil. A pair of pointed elf ears peaked through her hair. 

The couple looked like they stepped out of one of Eddie’s D&D games. 

“How are you doing, Sweetheart?” he asked. 

“Amazing. I feel like Arwen.” 

He grinned. “Does that make me Aragorn?” 

Eddie placed his hand on the handle of the sword that sat on his hip and puffed out his chest. “You said you’d bind yourself to me,” he said with a deeper voice. “Forsaking the immortal life of your people.” 

She smiled and took his hand. Her thumb brushed over the silver band that sat on his ring finger. “And to that I hold  I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” 

He blinked as he stared at her like she hung the stars in the sky. His grip tightened on her hand and he started to pull her through the crowd. She had just enough time to pick up her skirt so that she wouldn’t trip over it. 

“Eddie, where are we going?”

“To find the officiant! So that I can marry you all over again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie Munson Taglist:

@seros-bitch @eddiemunsons-girl @m-i-1-0 @lunar-flwr @winchester-angel @angelbbygrl @madnessismylover @cherrybean1116 @edwardjamesmunson @3ternalreal1ty

@meaganjm @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonsfavbitch @fangirling-4-ever @zzokks @mattymurdocksbitch @fillechatoyante @luvbug4728 @doll-in-the-walls @ches-86 @shenevertricks1831 @urlocalhippie2029 @celestair @ruinedbythehobbit @purple-storm

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad @livslifeonline @strangerthingsstories5255 @becca-alexa @aactuaaltraash @wren-2-d

Stranger Things Taglist:

@valeriiecameron @maruushkka @rainbows-dreams @april-foolish

Stranger Things (Billy excluded) Taglist;

@sleepyhead1456

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things blurb #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you

[entishramblings]

The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 7 [Legolas/F!Reader]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6

A.N: hey my preciouses. so im back from my hiatus with some pain and suffering for you all. this part was very hard to write as this story is a 10th walker. lol i struggle to follow an already created plot and not get bored writing—and that’s why I gotta add some twists and funky ass kicking Rámaitë Mahtar lore heh. anywaysss...enjoy!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.  

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count: 6.5k (i know I'm sorry i am a menace) 

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, beard abuse (sorry gimli)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD | The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist | HERE for OC format

The fellowship and the Rámaite Mahtar spent hours upon hours enduring the biting lash of the snow's frigid touch and the piercing wail of the wind. The Pass of Caradhras fought against them, hard and strong. Relentless it was; as if the mountain itself was pained by their footsteps, doing all it could to shake them off and consign them to a frozen grave. Though they soon discovered that the mountain was not alone in pursuing their downfall.

Legolas frowned, squinting past the snowflakes that landed upon his lashes. It was hard to focus on anything but navigating through the blowing blizzard, for if he wavered his calculations, he and the fellowship would surely fall to their deaths. Yet still, something tugged at his mind, begging him to recognize its warning. The elf, determined to unravel what it was, let his senses settle into the air around him, absorbing all he could. That is when he heard it—a resonant voice murmuring curses into the wintry air.

The elven prince spun on his heel—so fast that he startled the dwarf behind him. Now facing the rest of his company, he cried out his cautionary statement. “Someone is aiding the storm. There is a fell voice upon the air.”

Gandalf met his eye, and only one word passed the wizard’s slips. “Saruman.”

(Y/N) turned to Legolas. Over the wind, she yelled her question to him. “Who is this man of saru?”

However, before any method of how he could even begin to articulate such a person even entered his mind, Aragorn and Boromir tones sprung into the air. Their voices grew insistent, advocating to return the way they came, only for Gandalf to fiercely argue against it.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) addressed again, not paying mind to the serious conversation behind her. “Who is this man of saru?”

“(Y/N),” he started. However, he was interrupted by a deep murmur that reverberated through the mountain’s core. That was the only warning the fellowship received. Seconds later, heavy clumps of snow came thundering down from the slopes above them. Legolas’ unfinished words were swept away by the mountain's rampage, lost amidst the chaotic dance of falling powder.

“Get back!” was briefly heard as Aragorn pressed his body against the side of the mountain. He attempted to take Frodo and Sam with him through a failed outreached hand grasping upon nothingness. 

The Rámaite Mahtar’s eyes followed the motion, her instincts kicking in. 

Her wings snapped open, tearing through the fabric and leather armor that clothed her. They extended outwards, providing a canopy over the four hobbits, just as the avalanche was to bury them. 

(Y/N) grit her teeth, her form shaking slightly as the pressure hit. 

Silent the hobbits were, no sound leaving their normally chatty lips, as the onslaught of snow railed upon (Y/N). Only awe was present upon their expressions as those four pairs of big, worried eyes looked up at her stern face. 

The Rámaite Mahtar, however, took no notice to their concern. She held steady until no further weight was forced upon her wings.

Slowly, she lifted her head up—proud and strong—and her wings following suit. She shook them off. The snow she had caught tumbled from her feathery masses. It skipped off the edge of the mountain, leaving its longtime home.

Legolas emerged from beneath the snow rather quickly. A single glimpse of (Y/N)'s outstretched wings and the visible hobbits revealed to him what she had done. Knowing they were out of harm's way, he wasted no time in digging through the snow to unearth his other companions.

As the first hand broke the surface, Legolas seized hold of it and yanked. Spluttering, up came Aragorn. The two didn't need to speak to know what else needed to be done. They instantly began to sweep away the glistening snowflakes that continued to conceal their comrades. They hoped to retrieve them—one by one—from their frozen confinement. 

(Y/N), seemingly deeming the two men competent enough to handle the task, moved closer to the hobbits. She patted Frodo’s head as she looked between the four of them. “Safe, safe, yes?” 

Their responses consisted of small nods and drifting gazes, their minds still in shock.

Boromir and Gandalf soon emerged, though one member of their company was still not yet found.

“Gimli! Where is Gimli?” Legolas called out desperately.

(Y/N) furrowed her brows as her gaze scanned the snowy landscape. Meanwhile, the rest of the fellowship frantically dug, their efforts driven by urgency. (Y/N) took a few steps forward, her expression determined.

Suddenly, she began stomping in various spots on the fluffy snow bed.

Her companions, including Legolas, exchanged puzzled glances, unable to comprehend her actions. However, their confusion quickly dissipated when a muffled war cry echoed from beneath her feet. Without hesitation, (Y/N) plunged her hand deep into the snow and pulled hard. Emerging from the white depths, beard first, came Gimli, hollering and gasping for air.

Sighs of relief exited many lips before the arguing between the navigators started once again. 

(Y/N) looked between them, watching, observing, trying and failing to understand the gravity of the situation. Though it seemed it wasn't really up to her to have to understand. The decision got passed down to Frodo and the small hobbit picked their dwarven friend’s option: The Mines of Moria. 

Therefore, they wearily trudged down the mountain, their souls burdened and their bodies fatigued. (Y/N)'s wings guarded the hobbits, shielding them from the biting winds until they finally arrived before the sealed doors of the dwarven kingdom. And there they remained, seated in patient anticipation—for hours on end.

In the stillness, only the soft murmurs of Gandalf's whispered words and hushed conversations drifted among the fellowship, creating an atmosphere of quiet suspense. 

Legolas perched beside Y/N, holding her leather armor layer in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. He was carefully carving the ripped section into a smoother line, ensuring easy exposure of her wings. Given their current lifestyle, he presumed it was crucial for her to retract and unveil her deadliest weapon effortlessly. Besides, they lacked the time and resources to stop in a town again, and even if they did, they wouldn't find suitable clothing to accommodate her unique form. The Rámaite Mahtar were not supposed to exist—not in this world at this time. She was an exception. She was a phenomenon. She was a secret—one that could get them all killed. 

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated. “Who is this man of saru?”

The elf briefly glanced up at her as he continued to work. This was the third time he was asked this question by her, and he knew she would ask it again if it was left unanswered. She was persistent like that. He cleared his throat. “Do you remember how we told you that there were some who intended to harm us and the people of this world?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he continued. “Saruman is one of them. He is aiding and orchestrating armies for Sauron.”

“Sauron?” (Y/N) questioned.

Legolas sighed, placing the leather down as he focused on (Y/N). He knew he would have to give her all his attention for this conversation. It wasn't one that you could have so casually. “Sauron is consumed by an insatiable thirst for power. He wants to enslave its people, create an empire of pain and suffering, and burn it down to ash and bone.” 

“Why?” she asked, so innocently. 

 “(Y/N),” he stated softly, gazing into those goddamn brilliant, concerned, (e/c) eyes of hers. “Sauron…Sauron was a servant of Morgoth.”

The Rámaite Mahtar's lips parted, releasing a hushed gasp that was woven with fear and disbelief. 

Legolas watched as these emotions shattered her soul and wreaked havoc in her heart. Her brows furrowed, her lips contorted, her gaze wandered, and her eyelids fluttered. Processing. That is what she was doing—absorbing the shock and dissecting its meaning. 

“(Y/N),” he whispered, reaching for her hand. “(Y/N), Morgoth will not come here. He cannot come to this plane. The Valar would never permit it.”

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “Yes, he would. For me, he would. For me, they would let him.”

“(Y/N),” he said again, desperately.

She stood, shaking her head, her voice rising slightly. “You do not understand!!!”

Legolas, sensing her distress escalating, abandoned his seat and moved to stand with her. Gently, he took both her hands in his own. “(Y/N), help me understand.” He peered down into her wild eyes, searching for an answer. “Please, help me understand. I am here. I am listening.”

She glanced down at the ground below her feet, taking in a deep breath as she tried to gather herself—to regulate her emotions, Legolas perceived.

After a moment, she looked back to him. Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “I—I did things. B–before. When I was here long ago.”

The Prince nodded his head in encouragement. 

She shut her eyes and withdrew her hands from his hold, letting her arms wrap around herself in what appeared to be a self-soothing state. “T–terrible things.” (Y/N) focused her gaze back onto Legolas. “They–they wanted it empty of some of the stuff they put in it.”

“What do you mean?” he inquired softly, his confusion deepening. “What did they want empty?”

(Y/N) frowned, her expression twitching as she tried to pick out the correct word to use. “The–the world.” She paused, just for a moment. “So, we emptied it. But–but we did not understand. I did not understand. There were peoples there.” As her words flowed on, she delicately extended her hand and brushed her fingertips against his ear. He fought the urge to flinch at the contact, but he did not stop her. Knowing how sincere and vulnerable she was in that moment, he wanted her to continue her truth. He didn't desire to give her any reason at all to halt her words. “Peoples like—like you, but not like you. Different.” She furthered, her hand then slid along the curve of his elvish ear until it was nothing but a ghost. (Y/N) looked down once again. “They screamed and cried, but we did not know, so we did not stop.”

“(Y/N),” he whispered, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “It was not your fault. The Valar did not teach you. They did not teach you of right and wrong.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, a tear escaping them. “It was my fault. I was the leader.”

Legolas’ thumb gently wiped away the water that ran down her cheek. “But you did not know, my starlight. You did not know.”

A quiet sob escaped her chest as she tried to look away from him. Though he would not let her. He would not let her suffer this guilt alone. Legolas pulled her form into his own. He enveloped her in his embrace, encircling his arm around her waist, while his other hand cradled the back of her head.

Instantly, she responded to this affection. Her hands—those small, deadly hands that had annihilated so many people—grasped onto his tunic, yanking at the threads. The ethereal glow of her wings enveloped him as well, as if just her arms were not enough to hug him back. And the pressure of her body against his was firm, almost urging him to anchor himself in case he lost balance. In that moment, with her face nestled against his chest, she sought solace and refuge in his embrace.

Softly, he pressed a kiss to her head as his hand moved in slow, soothing circles on her back.

Legolas knew the rest of the fellowship was trying, and failing, not to stare, but he did not care. This—this was important. This realization. This moment. This needed to happen. It represented her growth in the most pure and genuine way. 

The embrace, however, was disturbed by the sound of a gentle plop that resonated in the air like a soft melody—though one very much out of place. One after another, the droplets of sound caressed their ears, intruding upon the intimate moment they shared. However, Aragorn’s chidding tone unintentionally attempted to give it back to them as he ordered Merry and Pippin to halt their actions.

Still, (Y/N) turned to look at the rippling of the water, watching as it moved with little rifts and smooth slides. The Rámaite Mahtar tilted her head, ignoring Frodo’s voice pipping up with a question regarding the door’s riddle. It wasn't directed at her anyways. She took a step closer to the water, and another, and another—until the sound of loud stone shifting claimed her and her companion’s attention.

The group gathered their belongings, (Y/N) folding in her wings and pulling the altered leather armor upon her form, before they flowed through the now opened doors. As they listened to Gimli rave of his cousins’ hospitality, they filed in. However, hospitality did not greet them. Nothing did. There were no torches. There were no cheers. There were no dwarven faces. Simply put: not a trace of life offered them a welcome and naught but dread stirred in their presence. As darkness wrapped around them, Gandalf lit his staff. That glow began to reflect light, allowing the fellowship to bear witness to the truth.

“This–this is no mine.” Boromir began, horror upon his tone. “It’s a tomb!”

Immediately, Gimli’s loud cries of despair echoed throughout the vast walls and the hobbits’ heavy breathing followed. 

“We should never have come here. We must make for the Gap of Rohan!” Boromir exclaimed. 

Rash shuffling from each member of the group followed as they began scrambling from the hallway of bones. Those bones, however, were immediately replaced by a new threat—one of tentacles and slime.

Before they even could escape the tomb, Frodo was clawing at the ground, his anguished cries for help piercing the air. The other hobbits urgently grasped his arms, straining with all their might to free him from the vile creature coiling around his legs. Yet his friends were only so strong. The creature drug the poor hobbit to the lake, flinging him through the air like a mere plaything. 

Instantly, the fellowship, with weapons raised, were scrambling after him.

Though, the one that was the fastest was (Y/N). Her wings extended from her form, not breaking the newly crafted adjustments to her leather. With one strong push, she was in the air and weaving through the tentacles. 

“By the Valar,” Aragorn whispered.

At his tone, Legolas’ gaze flickered from his aimed arrow and to his friend’s line of sight above the beast of the lake. Immediately, the elf’s lips parted in astonishment. Even after the months that they had known the Rámaite Mahtar, they had yet to see her fly. They had seen those beautiful wings act as blades, blankets, and canopies, but they hadn't seen them act for their intended purpose. They hadn't seen them serve as instruments of the wind. Legolas could not help but let his bow falter as he stared. 

“She’s….she’s beautiful,” Legolas whispered. 

Aragorn, his own shock subsiding, grabbed the elf’s arm and hissed a panicked order at him. “Legolas, cast aside your admiration and put an end to that vile beast!”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, drawing his arrow once again.

Aragorn ran into the water, slicing at the tentacles in desperate hope to free Frodo—and prevent his own capture. 

(Y/N) maintained a relentless attack from above, using her wings as weapons to sever the slimy limbs impeding her path towards Frodo. With remarkable speed and precision, each stroke of her wings propelled her closer to the young hobbit, the distance shrinking inch by inch. However, just as she was closing in, the beast sent two tentacles her way. She spun quickly, her wings slicing them both, but it was the third to the back that she did not anticipate. It smacked against her shoulder blades, hard. Her body was launched backwards as if she was nothing but a gnat being batted away. The blow held such vigorous force that she crashed into the side of the mountain and tumbled with broken rock. Everything crumbled until she too joined the dust upon the ground.

Legolas, with fearful eyes, screamed her name. She did not answer.

The Prince continued firing arrow after arrow as he moved backwards towards the broken Rámaite Mahtar. Each forceful strike diverted the creature's attention. This distraction allowed Aragorn to slice the tentacle constricting Frodo, while Boromir swiftly caught him.

“Go, go, go!” Aragorn yelled, pushing Boromir and Frodo back onto the land. “Into the mines!”

The group darted through the entrance, Legolas scooping (Y/N) up into his arms as he did so. 

The lake’s guardian tried to pursue them, its battered limbs slamming against the rugged mountain surface. However, in doing so, the squid-like creature lost its meal. In its desperate attempt to give chase, the fellowship’s fate was sealed. The attack caused the rocks to tremble and shudder. So much so, that the entrance to the passage crumbled and collapsed—entombing the alive with the dead.

Thick dust now drifted through the air, melding with the sounds of adrenalized breath and pounding hearts. They stood still as Gandalf lit his staff once more.

“We have now but one choice,” the wizard started as he began walking deeper into the mine. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.”

“Mithrandir, wait.” Legolas called out, almost desperately. 

All eyes shifted, only to be surprised to see the Rámaite Mahtar cradled in his arms. Before, she had appeared to be invincible. From the first day they encountered her, when she lifted the strongest member of the fellowship by the throat and nearly killed him, they had thought she was unstoppable. This belief was further reinforced as they witnessed her relentless prowess in battle. She ruthlessly obliterated a pack of orcs like it was nothing. She had annihilated them with sheer force that made even the elves look weak. A glimmer of possibility was instilled in them. Maybe their quest was not destined to fail after all? She was their hope. And now? Now that hope was a slumped, unmoving, bleeding form. 

“(Y/N)?” Pippin whispered, his voice so quiet, so small. 

“Is–is she alive?” Merry added, his tone mirroring his closest friend’s.

Legolas did not answer them as he gently laid her body onto the ground, kneeling next to her. With frantic lips murmuring a prayer in Sindarin, he reached to hold her face. Almost instantly, the Prince’s shaking hands were painted in her red blood. He tried to not focus on it as his nimble fingers found her carotid artery. He couldn't afford to think that she could be dead. Not now. Not ever. 

The air was quiet and full of anxiety as they awaited his words—ones that would either break or heal their hearts. 

“She’s alive.” 

Sighs of relief left many’s lips, though Legolas did not hear one exit the wizard’s. 

“I must treat her wounds.”

Gandalf huffed. “We cannot linger here.”

“Mithrandir!” Legolas called out, appalled. “She cannot be left to bleed—”

“Legolas, îdh, listo. (Legolas, calm, please.)” Aragorn stated, raising his hand. He then turned to the wizard. “Gandalf, Legolas is right. Without medical attention she could die. I understand you do not trust her yet, but she has saved our lives many times over. We need her.” He paused, nodding to the hobbits. “They need her.” 

He huffed but dipped his head in agreement. He couldn't argue with that logic. “Ten minutes.”

Legolas was quick to pull his medical bag from his shoulder and began digging for supplies. 

“Legolas, man  tur- im ceri? (Legolas, what can I do?)” Aragorn stated as he knelt beside him. 

The Prince passed him a small pouch as well as a mortar and pestle. “Mol hi into a sirith ir im heneb hen. (Grind this into a paste while I examine her.)”

Aragorn nodded, beginning the assigned task. 

Legolas lifted her head, feeling the back of it, before speaking in the common tongue for the others to understand. “Swelling, but no blood from this blow. Seems it just knocked her out.” He twisted her face to see the bleeding cut above her brow. “This cut is pretty deep. I will need to stitch it so the skin mends properly.” 

“Despite her ability to heal quickly? Cuts like this usually are gone within a day or so for her, correct?” 

“Yes, but the flow is heavy and with the risk of infection—especially with all the grime in here…..” Legolas let his sentence trail off. 

“Master elf,” Samwise interrupted softly. “Is there anything I can do?” 

The Prince looked up at him. A gentle smile crossed his face for he knew of (Y/N)’s relationship with the hobbits. He knew how much she cared for them and they her. “Sam, if you could get Gandalf’s staff, maybe provide us with some better light?”

The hobbit nodded and quickly scurried off. Legolas could hear the soft conversation between the grumpy wizard and the innocent hobbit, though he was too focused on (Y/N) to pay attention. Regardless, Gandalf must have given in, for the hobbit returned seconds later with the light. 

“Sam, hold it over here. I must check her wings.”

The light cascaded brightly above them, its luminosity filtering across the brilliant wings. The feathers absorbed and reflected those subtle colors, shining them back upon the three men. If the scene wasn't encased in blood and emotional turmoil, it would have been a radiant spectacle. But now, the once alluring silk-like texture bore the marks of horror—marks none would want to see freely.

“There does not appear to be any significant damage. Most of the blood is from the head wound or superficial cuts.” Legolas stated. “It looks worse than it really is.”

“But–but then why isn't she waking up?” Pippin inquired with unease.

Legolas did not answer, for he didn't have a reason to give the hobbit. Instead, he returned to the wound upon her brow. “Pass me that needle and threat.” 

Soon enough, the Rámaite Mahtar’s cut was sealed and the blood upon her face was wiped clean. If they had not known of the events that had transpired, maybe she would have looked like she was sleeping peacefully. That, however, much to their dismay, was not the case.

Boromir, seeing (Y/N)'s treatment completed, spoke again. “We can take shifts carrying her.”

Legolas clenched his jaw, refusing to look at the Gondorian, as he gathered the winged warrior into his arms. “When her wings are exposed, it adds at least a hundred pounds to her weight. Without elven strength, you wouldn’t be able to carry her for long.” 

Boromir scoffed lightly and sent a look at the elf. 

Legolas wanted to snap back with another snarky reply, but he knew it would do no good. Hell, his previous comment was uncalled for—and he knew it. Boromir was a good, honorable man at heart. Legolas knew he would never do anything to harm (Y/N). The Gondorian respected her—as a woman, warrior, and friend. Besides, at this point, it was quite apparent that the Prince and Rámaite Mahtar’s souls were bound. So, Legolas kept his mouth shut as he pushed past Boromir and towards the front of the group. 

Aragorn walked up beside the Gondorian. He gently patted the man’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. Elves tend to get quite possessive over their lovers, especially under dire circumstances.” The Ranger then chuckled. “Not one of their finer traits.” 

Boromir snorted lightly in amusement, now not taking Legolas’ behavior to heart. “Indeed,” was his simple reply. 

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as they continued their journey along the paths of the old dwarven corridors. The fellowship found themselves halted at a crossroads, a convergence of three diverging paths, where Gandalf stood at the forefront, evaluating which direction to proceed with. 

Legolas settled himself on the ground, leaning his back against the cool stone surface. Keeping (Y/N) in his lap, he gently adjusted her position, allowing her head to rest upon his chest and shoulder, her face nestled against the curve of his neck. Finding a moment of reprieve, he let out a soft sigh and pressed his head against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes. With a soothing touch, he traced gentle strokes along the Rámaite Mahtar's cheek, passing the time with rest.

It felt like only minutes, even though he knew it was hours, when Gandalf called for them to follow. Legolas begrudgingly stood with (Y/N) in his arms.

“Legolas,” Aragorn’s voice softly sounded beside him. “Let me take her.”

The elf turned to face his friend. “It’s alright. I’ve got her.” 

The Ranger shook his head. “You must keep some strength if we are to make it through this mine. Exhaustion will do you no good. I will watch over her, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Legolas exhaled slowly but dipped his head in agreement. He knew Aragorn was right. As an elf, he had senses that would allow him to slay twice as many servants of darkness. If they were to come across any enemies, they would need him—especially with their strongest weapon now unconscious. Therefore, he passed (Y/N) to Aragorn.

The Ranger was careful as he took her into his arms, her wings hanging limp around him and brushing upon the dusty floor. “Valar—“ he mumbled. “You weren’t kidding about her weight.” 

Legolas smirked lightly. “If she is too heavy, I can take her back.”

The Ranger grunted. “No, no. I’m fine.” 

The elf raised his brows but followed the others.

Legolas kept an eye on Aragorn and (Y/N) as they moved. Though it wasn't out of distrust or jealousy, it was out of concern. He could sense, as the minutes passed and as the terrain roughened, the Ranger began to tire. However, it seemed he was not the only one who could tell. 

Boromir approached Aragorn. “You look like you could use a break. I will carry her.” 

Aragorn let out a low—and slightly strained—laugh. “Are you certain? Legolas wasn’t mistaken about her weight.” 

The Gondorian bobbed his head. “I hardly believe she is that much to bear.” 

“Suit yourself,” the Ranger replied as he passed the winged warrior to the other man. 

“By the Creator….” Boromir immediately gruffed out. 

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to tease. “I warned you.” 

“That you did,” the Gondorian grunted. He then nodded ahead. “We don’t want to get left behind. Let’s keep moving.” 

However, it wasn’t long before Boromir approached Legolas. “I won’t ever doubt the strength of you and your people again,” he expressed, accompanied by a warm smile. “Are you able to carry your girl again?” 

Legolas nodded, guilt flickering in his heart for his previous rude demeanor towards the man. “Yes. Thank you, Boromir. I appreciate your help.”

The Gondorian nodded in understanding before he passed (Y/N) back towards the elf. 

…..

As the days passed, (Y/N) still hadn’t woken, which proved to be worrisome. The wound upon her forehead had healed, leaving only a light scar that Legolas knew would disappear in a couple days. The swelling upon the back of her head vanished as well, providing even more confusion to her still unconscious state. She would stir here and there, but never did those curious, (e/c) eyes open. If she had survived a fall from the Valar’s incarceration, why was she remaining unconscious from a strike of the lake’s beast?

Still, they could not wait on her to wake. They had to push further. So, the fellowship continued to pass through Moria in secret, observing the dwarven wonders as they did so. However, it was ignorant to hope that that secrecy would last—and as soon as the corpse of an old dwarf tumbled down that well, they knew they were discovered. 

It all happened so fast. 

Legolas barely had time to place (Y/N)’s form down against Balin’s tomb before the doors were splintering, revealing orc faces dripping with evil desire. 

However, at the first clank of a sword, there came at least one good act.

A large gasp, loud and alarm-filled, struck the air. The Rámaite Mahtar jolted upright. In an instant, her wings snapped back to life, shedding their previously limp state, and surged outward with lethal swiftness. As they unfurled, they decapitated three nearby orcs.

Legolas could only manage to call out her name in relief before he too was consumed by the battle. 

With (Y/N) ripping the vile creatures into pieces, even faster than the elf, the fellowship had thought they had a chance. Well, that was until one sentence left the Gondorian’s lips.

“They have a fucking cave troll.” 

From then on, it was a blur. Each member of the group was fighting for their lives—including the hobbits. Though all their hearts stopped when Frodo called out in pain and crumbled to the ground. Shrieks of fear left every member’s lips as Aragorn desperately rushed to his body. Those heartaching cries, however, quieted when Frodo’s small voice sang out clearly. “It’s alright. I’m not hurt.” 

Then they were running again, and again, and again. 

The immense chamber teemed with a horde of orcs, swarming across every surface—the ground, walls, and ceiling. So much so, that the members of the quest were encircled by them, barely having room to breathe. A sort of stalemate settled in, both sides waiting for the other to make the first move.

(Y/N)’s wings twitched as she rotated, readying herself.

Though a fight did not come—not from the thousands of revolting beings. 

Badum, badum, badum. 

Each member of the fellowship spun and turned at that sound. 

Badum, badum, badum. 

The orcs faltered and swiveled their heads. 

Badum, badum, badum. 

Panic then erupted. The grotesque creatures scrambled to flee. They shoved and pushed one and other as their gangly forms scurried away—back to the hellhole that they came from. 

Badum, badum, badum. 

“What is this new devilry?” Boromir whispered. 

Badum, badum, badum. 

Gandalf sucked in a deep breath. “A balrog of Morgoth.”

(Y/N)’s heart froze. 

“A demon of the ancient world,” Gandalf continued. “This foe is beyond any of you. RUN!”

It was here that the fellowship mimicked the goblins—though with more care for one another. They took off down the vast hallway as they made for the Bridge of Khazad Dum. Their legs moved quicker than they ever would have thought possible—stopping only when there was a gap in a path above the fiery abyss.

Legolas was the first to leap across, his nimble form making it appear easy. Gandalf was the next to make the jump. Merry and Pippin were to follow with Boromir; however, they were halted as arrows shot at their feet—just nearly missing. 

(Y/N) whipped her head around, just in time to see another projectile whizzing straight towards Boromir. 

The Rámaite Mahtar was quick to lift her wing in front of him. The fine tip pierced her instantly, causing a deep grunt of pain to exit her lips. The arrow went through the feathery flesh, but halted as it got stuck in tight muscle—only inches away from Boromir’s forehead. 

The Gondorian’s wide eyes shifted to her—in thanks, in shock, in guilt. 

Legolas quickly turned and fired his bow, taking out the archer. 

“Go!” (Y/N) shouted as she lowered her wing. 

With that, Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin and leaped onto the other side. His feet landed just before the section they had previously stood on collapsed. 

(Y/N) was next. She lifted her wings slightly, despite the pain, to give herself more of a drift. As she landed she shuffled close to Merry and Pippin and ripped the arrow from her wing with a groan.

As Legolas caught Sam and then Gimli—by the beard—another arrow whizzed past the hobbits’ head. 

Once again, the Rámaite Mahtar shielded them—earning two more arrows in the wing. 

By the time Frodo and Aragorn finagled their way across the ever growing gap, the Balrog was upon them. 

The fellowship were fleeing as fast as they possibly could. A few brave souls dared to steal a glance behind, their hearts pounding in their chests. Among them was Frodo, and as his eyes locked onto the fiery menace descending upon Gandalf, a cry of terror escaped his lips. The collective gaze of the group shifted at that, now drawn to the scene unfolding before them. They then bore witness.

The wizard stood strong. His deep voice, full of power and protection, echoed through the cavern. “You cannot pass.” 

The Balrog attacked. Gandalf defended. 

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow!”

Once again, the Balrog attacked. Gandalf defended. 

The wizard brought his sword and staff crashing down upon the bridge, a resounding boom echoing through the air. His voice then thundered, filled with unwavering determination. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" Those words seemed to reverberate through the chamber, carrying the weight of his command across the stone. In that moment, he stood as a barrier, defying the very force that sought to destroy them and their mission.

The bridge began to crumble. Piece by piece, the stone began to fall, taking the Balrog with it. 

Gandalf inhaled deeply. 

It was done. 

The whip, however, lashed out one final time. With a swift motion, it coiled around the wizard's ankle, forcefully pulling him off his feet. In a fleeting moment, he was airborne, his body suspended before gravity claimed its prize. Gandalf’s hands flailed, desperately reaching out for anything to anchor him to the bridge's edge. His fingers found the stone and his nails dug in. Though, he knew he had no chance. He wished only to leave a message for the one who looked up to him the most.

Frodo cried out once again, lunging for his mentor and friend.

Boromir, however, wrapped a strong arm around him and held him back. 

The little hobbit, sobbing, held eye contact with the wizard. 

“Fly you fools,” Gandalf whispered. 

Then, he too, was gone. 

Frodo screamed, his cry intertwining with that of his fellow hobbits, creating a symphony of despair that echoed through the burning darkness.

However, they weren’t the only ones to have a profound reaction.

Surprisingly, (Y/N) rushed forward. She sprinted down the bridge, her legs carrying her fast, but she wasn’t fast enough. Legolas anticipated what she was going to do. He saw how her strides stretched wide and how her wings extended. She was gonna jump. Reacting swiftly, he took off after her. His paces were wider and his speed was quick. Just as she was about to push herself into the air, Legolas grabbed onto her waist and yanked her backward. The unstable bridge trembled under the sudden motion, threatening to give way, but the elf maintained his balance and steadied the winged woman in his grasp.

“LEGOLAS!” she snapped in fierce anger. Her threatening gaze—one that he had only seen directed towards enemies—poured into him, almost incinerating his soul. 

“IT’S TOO LATE!” He barked back, ignoring the startlement that just flushed his veins and choosing to focus on the bridge crumbling beneath their feet. “RUN!” 

With that he tugged her in the opposite direction, following the remaining members of the fellowship. 

When they burst from the mines, their souls shattered like fragile glass. The hobbits collapsed upon the stony ground, their tears flowing freely, their sorrow reverberating through their chests. Agonized grimaces etched themselves onto the faces of Gimli and Boromir. Aragorn tried his best to conceal his pain, though his grey eyes betrayed him with hidden turmoil. And Legolas? He stood motionless, disbelief written across his face.

(Y/N), however, snapped him out of it. She pushed her palms against his chest, hard. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

He twisted to look at her. “What?”

“Why did you stop me?!” The Rámaite Mahtar quipped back aggressively. She grasped onto the two arrows still embedded in her wing. She yanked them out. “I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!” 

Legolas shook his head, his tone calm and full of despair. “No, (Y/N). No, you could not.”

Her hands ran through her hair, frantically and angrily, the strands tangled and pulled on as she sought release from the overwhelming emotions rippling through her blood. A frustrated scream escaped her lips—a raw manifestation of these turbulent feelings surging. With a sudden burst, she spun back around, facing him with eyes ablaze. “I have killed one of those–those balrogs!” She took an enraged step towards him. “My legion and I bleed one dry of its fire! And you—”

Legolas interrupted her, his tone now picking up. “And I stopped you from killing yourself! You and your legion—”

“Legolas!—”

He grabbed onto her shoulders as his next words raced across the stones, silencing the area from all but tears. “YOUR LEGION ISN'T HERE!” 

The wind skipped through the leaves of the trees, uneasy at the elf’s sudden tone. It blew gently upon the despairing people, begging to kiss their skin with some kind of hope, but only succeeding in tearing their hearts further. Still, it continued its melancholic dance. Seemingly carrying the weight of their shattered souls with its whispering of sorrowful melodies. 

Nature itself mourned alongside (Y/N) as she stared, bewildered, at Legolas. 

The Prince closed his eyes and lowered his head. He inhaled deeply, regretting his tone. After a moment, now returned to his normal steady and calm temperament, he gazed into her eyes and spoke again. “(Y/N), your legion is not here and they will remain absent. They were not present to help you defeat this Balrog and they will not come to help you fight others. They are imprisoned, beyond your reach. They won't escape as you did—not now, not after you have. The chains will have been fortified and the gates sealed with blood. You are the sole Rámaite Mahtar that will ever step on these lands.” He paused, his tone now a whisper. “You are alone.”

(Y/N)’s expression distorted. Her brows crinkled, her lips quivered, her eyes watered, and her form shook. Emotions whipped through her blood, boiling and freezing in the pain of realization and acceptance. She supposed a part of her had thought that her race would eventually return with her—join her in learning this plane. Though now that that secret hope was exposed and disproven, there was nothing else to be said. The truth stood liberated from the web of self-created falsehoods that had previously concealed it.

“(Y/N),” Legolas whispered, realizing the dream he had just shattered. 

And that was all it took. 

A loud sob escaped her throat and tears pooled down her face. She flung her form into his arms and cried.

She cried and she cried—as loudly as the hobbits. 

And Legolas held her. He rocked her back and forth as he smoothed her hair, desperately trying to keep her safe from the pain, though he knew it was too late. He pressed a kiss to her head as he whispered into her ear. “Though you may be alone among your kind, I will forever be by your side.”

…..

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6

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