#lord of the rings au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

popjunkie42 · 4 months

Text

Gifts for WitchlingsandWyverns!

From your ACOTAR Secret Santa! @witchlingsandwyverns

I have had so much fun working on a story for you and getting to send you gifts and sneak peeks over the past few weeks! I have always loved your art and creativity and I really hope I can give you something you'll enjoy this holiday season.

I got inspired early on to lean into the fantasy and do a sort-of Lord of the Rings AU. This story takes place during the war 500 years before ACOTAR against the human slave lands and the human-faerie alliance. I imagine Feyre as a Spring fae, and she and Rhysand meet for the first time in the Dawn Palace's House of Healing. I was inspired by one of my all-time favorite fantasy couples, Eowyn and Faramir.

Blossoming in Winter - Chapter 1: Under the Wings of the Shadow (on AO3, the first part of Chapter 1 below) and tagging @acotargiftexchange

A million thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @temperedink for being my amazing beta readers!

Your story is mostly complete and will be four chapters long. I hope to publish every few days up until Christmas, but be patient with me if the final edits take a bit longer!

I've had so much fun being your secret gift giver and learning more about you! I hope you have an amazing birthday, and holiday season, and that you enjoy all the ACOTAR riches coming our way!

Love,

PopJunkie42

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

To Thesan, High Lord of Dawn and Commander of the Peregryn Legions:

Esteemed High Lord,

It is with great thanks and humility I write to you on behalf of Lord Tamlin, third son of Spring.

The Peregryn legion you sent to our aid was invaluable in our victory on the coast of the western Spring lands.Through whatever grand insight you possess, they arrived in the knick of time, as our armies were on the verge of being overwhelmed. The turn of the tide led to a grand victory on the side of Prythian. Though casualties were great, the land has been held successfully by our warband and will, we believe, provide strategic ground for both monitoring Hybern’s forces and maintaining a foothold on the shore, to prevent further ships and troops from docking in Prythian and adding to our troubles.

Indeed, if you’ll forgive me for my storytelling, I can tell you the sight of feathered wings will forever bring a surge of joy to the hearts of the Spring warriors, and the tales of the Peregryn’s bravery will long be told in our lands and at our tables. The legion’s arrival at dawn after the long night siege, the rising sun at their backs, was the stuff of grand tales, and seemed to us a blessing from the Cauldron and the Mother. Lord Tamlin (and myself) sincerely hope that his future court and the Dawn Court may remember this great victory and the strength of our combined partnership in the days and years to come.

Lord Tamlin wishes greatly to speak with you and the other High Lords further, once battles have ceased and Prythian is free of the stain of Hybern, about the future of our illustrious court and the question of leadership therein. Though the Prince has always valued the leadership of his father and wisdom of his brothers, their choice to ally with the King of Hybern shows their loyalties and interests lie outside of Prythian. After this war is won, Prince Tamlin wishes only to treat with those loyal to the lands of Prythian.

Though I write to thank you for your great kindness, I also am afraid I must use this letter to beg another courtesy. It has been heard that your illustrious Court has opened its doors to the High Lord’s families and those in greatest need of healing, to be blessed by the grand bounty of your powers and knowledge. It is with this in mind that Lord Tamlin humbly asks you to take in another patient: Lady Feyre Archeron, an archer in his personal guard.

Although Lady Feyre boasts no direct relation to the High Lords, perhaps word of her bravery has already reached your lands. For it was Lady Feyre who dared to enter the Middle and defeat the fearsome Sylvanus, the forest god, the last of the old gods walking among us. We know that all the High Lords and generals have knowledge of this beast, as he has split the land in two and his wrath and magic had prevented the joining of the northern and southern armies in our long-standing war. Although rumored to be immortal and impervious to death, even by the hand of a High Lord, the monster was single-handedly defeated by Lady Feyre. We have no doubt that her name will long be known throughout Prythian, and the grand tale of her conquest will be the subject of songs and poems. Perhaps if taken under your healers, you will get the entire story firsthand from her, as she has not spoken of it since returning to Spring. Such a tale would be the envy of the land, and certainly of your neighbors in Day.

Lady Feyre, though brave and strong, returned to the Spring Court wounded by the deep magic of the god. Her spirits fail her, and her body withers under wounds our healers cannot touch. Lord Tamlin beseeches you and your healers to care for her with your powerful magic, as her hurts go beyond the body and perhaps into the soul.

With much gratitude and hope in battle,

Lucien, Emissary of Spring

on behalf of Prince Tamlin, the rightful heir

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Please, Lady Feyre…”

The warden of the healing wing scuttled behind the female, her steps brisk, his own faltering as he rushed in his voluminous robes.

But both came to a pause in front of the wooden door, one of many in the hall of healing. A cold fog of darkness, whirling and flecked with stars, was pouring from the crack at the bottom.

Feyre Archeron, her face pale and jaw set, looked upon the tendrils of darkness now lapping at her feet. With a deep breath, she knocked loudly and opened the door.

She did not pause at the wave of cold night that washed over her at the threshold, nor at the brisk “What?” bitten out by the occupant. She only paused when the shadows cleared and she saw the patient clearly.

The Prince of Night sat up in bed, framed by outstretched, massive black wings. The span of wings was echoed in swirling black tattoos on his expansive bare chest, split by a wound covered in bandages across his shoulder. His face was fine, if a bit wan, and adorned by a vicious frown. His eyes quickly snapped to Feyre as she stood in the door. But it was the wings, gleaming iridescent in the light, that took her breath. It looked as if he sat upon a throne ensconced by those vicious and beautiful tokens of death.

At least, it did at first. Now that she took a breath she noticed the way his wings were scaffolded by light fabric tethers and a framework of wooden dowels. Covered in bandages and oily with salves whose scent filled the room and her nose. Blood, too, dripped to the floor and across his white silken sheets, and bled through the starched bandages. She saw gashes and holes in the thin membrane of his wings, the skin raw and irritated and covered in healing ointments.

Just like that, her determination wavered at the sight of his injuries. She had spent enough time in Spring’s healing tents to know his wounds were fresh, and to recognize his pallor and sheen of sweat upon his brow as tokens of his pain.

Feyre realized she had been frozen on the threshold of the room, staring at his wings. Dropping her eyes, she met the menacing stare of the son of Night.

The warden bustled past her and into the room, bowing deeply at the waist.

“Apologies, my Lord. She…”

“I thought I ordered you to let me remain undisturbed,” the Prince bit out, his voice hard and impatient.

“Yes, my Lord, but -“

“Are you Rhysand? Prince of the Hewn City and son to the High Lord of the Night Court?” Feyre asked.

The Prince’s eyes were upon her again, glowing in the dim light of the room. “I am.”

“Good. I’ve been looking for you.”

“And to whom do I owe this unwanted disturbance to my peaceful convalescence?”

Feyre swallowed. This was not going as she had planned, if she had a plan at all. She was the one who was angry, she was the one with demands.

“Well?”

“I am Feyre.”

“Well, that explains everything.” Her face turned to a scowl as his eyes roamed over her body, full of haughty judgment. A pang of embarrassment, and then anger tore through her as she considered her rumpled tunic, cut and tied to fit around her bandaged arm, her plain pants, her weather-stained leather boots.

Before the warden could start his bumbling apologies again, Feyre forged ahead.

“I am being kept here against my will. I wish to leave. And the warden,” she looked to him with what she hoped was utmost disdain, “told me you were the highest ranking fae here, while the High Lord of Dawn is away.”

Rhysand laughed. It was a bitter sound.

“Do I look like I am giving orders here?” he asked, spreading his arms against his outstretched wings. “Do I look like a lord of Dawn? I am as much a prisoner as you. Moreso, as I’m being kept in chains.”

The warden stood straighter as Feyre clenched her jaw. With High Lord Thesan gone for what could be the end of the war, and the nurses’ endless vigil in front of her door, she had no means of escape.

From his bed, Prince Rhysand sighed. She watched him wince slightly at the movement of his shoulders.

“And why would you want to be released from this gentle hall of healing? You look as if you’re in need of it’s services,” he said, his eyes again on her body.

She knew what he was seeing. Had seen it herself in the glass this morning, before she tilted it away from her bed in dismay at the grayish pallor of her face, her skin papery and thin, the blue veins beneath giving her a sickly hue. Her eyes had charted the scratches on the left side of her face and neck that refused to heal, stark red slashes on her skin.

Of her arm, bandaged and tied closely to her chest. Only her pale fingers, chalky white and withered, gave any hint as to what lay underneath.

“I wish to return to battle,” Feyre said, willing confidence and command into her tone. Surely a High Lord’s son couldn’t deny the war one more willing soldier. “I did not wish to be sent here and I do not wish to waste time waiting to heal. I only wish to fight.”

“Why do you not wish to be healed? A wounded warrior is of little use on a battlefield. And haven’t you heard that we all talk of victory and peace now?”

Feyre lifted her chin high, poured all of the confidence and pride she could muster into her face. Thought of Lucien, of Tamlin addressing his armies.

“I am an archer in Lord Tamlin’s personal guard. And battle is where I belong.”

The prince regarded her further. His anger had softened and the blackness swirling about the room had dissipated to soft shadows. He tilted his head. “Again, an archer who cannot use her bow isn’t much use to an army.”

“I have other skills to use, my lord,” she said, the last words dripping with ire. “Not everything heals. And I do not fear our enemies nor death on a battlefield. Indeed, to die in battle is an honor, is it not?” She wished desperately for him to heed her words. Every hour she felt the final battle rushing further away from her, like the ships traveling swiftly across the sea. Surely, a High Lord’s son would not deny the war another willing soldier.

Prince Rhysand swallowed. “An honor?” he laughed, low and dark, the sound pulsing across her skin. “I suppose it is. Certainly those bleeding on Prythian’s fields no longer have to face the horrors of what we have done or what will come next. Is that what you wish for, Lady Feyre?”

Feyre bristled at his tone. Whatever future waited for Prythian had little to do with her now. “I am a warrior pledged to battle, and the battle still goes on, and yet I am here.”

She wasn’t sure what it was, now, that look on his face. Silence filled the room.

“Well, Lady Feyre,” she chafed again at the term. No matter that she had explained to her nurses that she was not a lady, the epithet had followed her through the halls. “Whether it was the Cauldron, the Mother, or the old gods, our lives have been spared. And, as I have explained to you, I have no authority here in the halls of the Dawn Court. Even if I would grant you my blessing to send you to your death, the sentiment is meaningless here. So I am afraid we both will remain imprisoned, and live to see another glorious day.”

Feyre took in a deep breath through her nose. A second.

“Then you will not help me?” Rhysand wore a frown.

“Not in this.”

“Fine. Apologies for disturbing you, my lord.” she said, and turned on a clipped heel out the door.

Read the rest on AO3

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre #acotar fanfiction #acotar gift exchange 2023 #lord of the rings AU

47 notes · View notes

notsopersonalcharlie · 2 months

Text

My Ranger

LOTR Ranger!Bucky x fem!reader

Note: Absolutely borrowed the concept of Ranger Bucky and serving girl reader from @witchywithwhiskey's LOTR masterlist. Obsessed.

Warnings: Minor mentions of casual groping, nothing else I don't think

You stacked another plate and then precariously balanced the last three glasses on your tray before carefully winding your way through the crowded tavern. It had been a busier night than you all had expected. A major part of the bridge had broken down just before sunset and with no other options but to stay in town, you had gathered double the number of patrons you were expecting. In addition to the spring festival starting up in a few days, every table, chair, barstool, and vague standing area had been occupied.

You dropped off the stack in the kitchen, where two of the tavern owner’s children were cleaning up in a large tub that was being constantly refilled. The tavern itself only had a few regular workers, never quite meant for a crowd this large unexpectedly. Both cooks and all four serving girls were run down as soon as the bridge crashed.

“We need two more orders of stew and bread!” You called over your shoulder already on your way out to get more orders and dishes. A number of the tables had been pushed aside to accommodate space for dancing. It was lively and full of laughter and it made it impossible not to smile while hollering across tables to catch people’s orders. Thankfully you had reached the part of the evening where most of the orders were ale or spirits, and you gratefully poured drink after drink, serving them to already half drunk dancers.

You watched the dancers wistfully, wondering what your own dance partner was doing now. You’d met James Barnes entirely by accident on his first passing through the town. His horse had been eating the flowers growing in your window box and when he knocked to apologize it was as if you’d both fallen in love at first glance. He had stayed in town days longer than he should have, and had to ride nearly non-stop for days to make it to the post he was headed for in time, but he came back as soon as he had been relieved to see you and on and on for the last three years. You never knew when he would be back, just that he always would.

You switched off with the tavern owner’s husband, picking up his place behind the bar to pour ales and collect coins along with Lyddie, who had arrived in town just a few weeks before to pick up any work she could ahead of the festival. Good timing for her too.

“There’s a man in the corner who’s been staring at you for far too long,” she said into your ear as you poured another ale and slid it across the bar for a copper piece. The man slid you three instead and winked. You worked hard not to roll your eyes as you tucked the extra coins into your pocket.

“Probably just another one of the band’s troop hoping to get their hands to less use.” The night before there had been a caravan full of young men on their way to perform at tomorrow’s opening day. Two of them had gotten handsy enough that some of the local men had tossed them out to the street. They had gotten a stern talking to by the troop leader, a bard who had come around before and was well respected, and both boys had sulked back in the morning to apologize for their actions. Boys never learned till they had been beat over the head.

“Perhaps. He looks alone though.” You carried on pouring and accepting coin into a safebox, smiling at the odd woman or two who pushed her way through the crowd for another drink. For the most part the women dancing with the men from out of town were locals in it for a joke or a fun night.

A whole cohort of the girls who weren’t supposed to technically be “women” till the weekend’s festival had arrived full of giggles and flowers in their hair and you and Lyddie were quickly tasked with keeping an eye on them. Which of course meant accepting a few dances of your own, but only with the practical men of the town who joked with you nightly and always slipped a couple silvers in your hands.

It wasn’t long before the girls had tired out and decided to rest at a table, and during a break in the music you overheard them.

“He’s been staring at the dancefloor.”

“Maybe he fancies one of us.”

“He must be a ranger, did you see how he’s dressed, and so mysterious!” The word ranger sent you spinning, following their eyeline to the corner where Lyddie had vaguely pointed before. There was a man, certainly a ranger, sitting in the shadows of the corner of the darkened windows. For a moment you couldn’t be certain, but he leaned forward so his blue eyes caught the light. He quirked his eyebrow, the ghost of a smile appearing across his lips. You nearly yelped out loud, ignoring the cries of the dancers you knocked out of the way, sailing into Bucky’s waiting arms.

“I hope you don’t react like that for all the strange men sitting in corners,” he whispered into your ear, holding you tight in his arms.

“You’ve been sat there all night and didn’t say a word?” You exclaimed, pulling back from him so you could hit him in the chest and get a better look at him. His hair had grown long as had his beard. Yet his blue eyes were shining bright with a grin just for you. The whole room had faded for a moment, but a whoop and it restarted in overwhelming song. Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a purple flower, a little bit crushed but it meant everything to you just the same. He tucked it behind your ear.

“A dance, my beautiful flower?”

“How could I ever refuse.” A dance turned to two, and the tavern owner all but shooed the two of you out the door with the promise that you would be back in the morning to make up any hours. She had dismissed you with a huff and told Bucky he should keep you away under all circumstances.

“Titan!” The horse was just as happy to see you as you were to see him, and practically led his own way to your small cottage once Bucky lifted you up into the saddle. He climbed up behind you, warm body pressed to your back, holding you tightly at the waist as he told you of the last many moons of adventures he had. He had been everything but bored it seemed.

“And you? What exciting times have been had here?”

“Oh, the bridge falling has been the most excitement in weeks. For a few days the river was frozen enough to walk on, but nothing else has been quite as remarkable as seeing you.” He laughed, the rumble in his chest warming you more than his cloak draped around the both of you and you leaned back closing your eyes and enjoying the absolutely safety in his arms.

“I’m certain that’s false. What of the baker’s daughter? Did she actually go to Gondor? And the new butcher shop! I saw it on my way to the Three Horseshoes. Joseph could not have enjoyed that.” You felt silly telling him the trivial happenings of your small town, but he listened avidly, engaging where he could and ensuring he had all the details to fit back into your life for however much longer he had here with you. By the time Titan had stopped to eat flowers from your window box, Bucky was laughing, sliding down and catching you in his arms as you completed the tale of pulling the Blacksmith from the well down the hill near the town square.

He frowned when you were suddenly serious after he cleaned up Titan in the barn.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

“You’ll be gone again soon, won’t you? War brewing in the East, raids in the south. You can’t have much time here at all.” A sad smile overtook his frown, and Bucky pulled you close, pushing your hair away so he could rest his hand on you cheek.

“I know not how long I can stay with you, but I do know that I will spend every moment of it with you, present and attention all for you.” You accepted his solemn promise with a long kiss, his hand pressing your lips close and his arm holding your bodies closer.

“And I will start with all my attention on you as soon as we get inside.”

#charliewrites #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #lord of the rings au

41 notes · View notes

aintinacage · 7 months

Text

Kate Bishop & Yelena Belova | LOTR Elves

Trick or Treat -> @cyphers-and-sunspots

43 notes · View notes

lady-of-imladris · 8 months

Text

Arda University

Synopsis: Frodo is anxiously preparing for his Algebra exam. His friends take him on a little quest to cheer him up.

Lighthearted little fic, just for fun. I hope you like it <3

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: drug mention

Additional tags: daddy kink (mentioned)

Frodo sighed deeply for the fifth time in a row, letting his head drop onto the math textbook on the table, mumbling something along the lines of wanting to drop out. “Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?” Sam, his roommate, walked over to his desk and presented a mug of hot chocolate to the tired hobbit. Frodo gladly accepted the comforting beverage and looked up at his friend wearily. “I cannot do this anymore Sam. Professor Saruman is notorious for making his exams almost impossible to pass and my cousin Merry failed his class twice.” Samwise Gamgee chocked back a laugh: “Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo but I met your cousin Merry and he is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”

As if on command, a characteristic knock on the door announced the arrival of Merry. Sam opened the door. “Hi Sam, hi Frodo,” Merry and Pippin, whom the former was rarely seen without, said in unison. Sam’s sigh as he let them in was the only greeting they got from him. In Samwise Gamgee’s opinion, these two were never up to any good. Frodo greeted them with a “hmmm,” barely looking up from his textbook. “Frodo, I heard you’re taking Algebra with Saruman tomorrow, huh?” Merry said sympathetically, “so we came to give you our condolences in person.” Frodo let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling with an empty expression.

“Oh Eru, I am done for,” the hobbit proclaimed dramatically, “I could not have chosen a more awful class to take.” Pippin chuckled mischievously. “Try Sindarin 101 if you really want to be humbled. Word is, the last exam was so bad even Legolas failed.” Sam looked over at the youngest hobbit with furrowed brows. “That is hardly possible. Legolas is an elf, he grew up speaking Sindarin.” Pippin started laughing hysterically. “And that’s not even the worst of it! The professor is his father!” Sam made it clear that he did not believe a word that came out of Pippin’s mouth.

Merry and Pippin insisted on dragging Frodo and Sam along to meet with Aragorn, stating that “Aragorn tells this story so much better, we don’t know all the facts” and “Frodo needs a break from studying anyway.” Thus, the four of them made their way from their dorm, Shire, to Gondor, where Aragorn and his roommate Boromir, the Lords of Gondor, lived. Why they were being referred to as “the Lords,” no one knew. “Strider, open up!” Pippin called loudly as he knocked on the door. Aragorn looked terrible. He was the kind of guy that went to every single party. No one knew when he had last slept, or showered for that matter. Boromir looked equally tired, albeit in a different way. He appeared to have been studying for three days straight.

They made themselves comfortable on the floor with a bowl of popcorn after Aragorn had agreed to tell the full story of the legendary Sindarin 101 exam. Aragorn sighed deeply, fighting back laughter as he prepared himself. “Okay, so you guys remember Arwen, right?” “Your crush?” Pippin asked unabashedly, wincing as Sam elbowed him in the ribs. Boromir let out a snort before walking out to find a more quiet place to study.

Aragorn sighed again. “Anyway. Professor Oropherion demands a lot. His exams are hard, there are a lot of books to read in preparation. Legolas, being the lazy fucker that he is, did not read a single book on the list, hoping that his father would let him pass. Then, a week or so before the exam, Oropherion asks his son how the studying is going and if he needs help with anything. Turns out, his father would, in fact, not just let him pass.” Frodo piped up: “And that is obviously why he failed.” But Aragorn merely shook his head. “No, Frodo, that is not even the half of it.”

“That is where Arwen comes into play. She is a natural. She loves the assigned reading and even goes to office hours to discuss it. Legolas told me he failed the exam because he cheated. Copied off all of Arwen’s answers. But that is where it gets confusing. Arwen got an A, so we were all wondering how Legolas could have fucked it up this badly.” Sam nodded thoughtfully, asking himself the same thing. “So how did it happen? Did he get caught?” The hobbit asked. “No, Sam,” Aragorn replied, “not exactly caught. Although his father must have figured it out somehow. At that point, I still had little idea about what had actually happened at the exam, but I asked Legolas’ roommate Gimli to distract him so I could sneak in and take a look at the graded exam.”

Aragorn took a dramatically long sip of his energy drink before continuing with his account. “All of Legolas’ stolen answers were correct, except for the last one. A question about Ecthelion’s ‘Annals of Gondolin’ that must have been particularly tough.” “But if Legolas got everything else right, why did he fail?” Frodo interrupted impatiently, eager to get back to studying. “Well, Legolas wrote ‘goheno nin ada, ni neth ogol’ as his answer.” “Wait, wouldn’t it have to be ‘ion’?” Frodo was confused. Why would Legolas write ‘Sorry Daddy, I’ve been a bad girl’ when confessing to his father that he had not studied for the exam? “Frodo.” Aragorn looked at the hobbit intensely. “I told you that Legolas copied every single answer.” “But that still makes no sense, Thranduil is not Arwen’s fath- OH ERU ILÚVATAR!”

The silence was deafening as the hobbits processed the information Aragorn had just given them. “I still don’t get it,” Pippin confessed. Merry leaned over and whispered something in his ear. “They WHAT?” he exclaimed in shock, “I mean, personally, I get it, Legolas’ dad is super hot and all, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting this at all, I mean she seems like such a nun.” Aragorn was visibly upset. It was funny enough that Legolas failed his exam, but having to recount how Arwen, the love of his life, was with another elf instead of with him, continued to break his heart every time he thought about it.

The four hobbits left Aragorn alone, reassuring him that they would not tell anyone and that Arwen would ultimately come to her senses. “Don’t worry, she probably only wants an easy way to pass,” Merry told Aragorn sympathetically. It did not reassure him whatsoever. When Frodo and Sam arrived back in their room, Frodo sighed deeply and sat down at his desk, desperately trying to remember how differential equations and algebraic structures worked. Those damned rings were ruining his life, he hated them so much. Sam went to bed early, urging Frodo to do the same. But the anxious hobbit stayed up studying all night, resulting in him being a shaky mess when Sam woke up again the next morning.

Sam, Merry and Pippin were gathered in Sam and Frodo’s dorm, anxiously waiting for Frodo to return from the dreaded exam with Saruman. When he did, he looked more triumphant than they had anticipated. “I knew you could do it, Mr. Frodo!” Sam exclaimed excitedly, happy that his friend was in high spirits again. Frodo shook his head. “Saruman was sick! He has some sort of eye infection, so Gandalf took over for him. He was already high as a kite when the exam started so he did not notice that half the class was cheating and when I tried to ask him a question he told me he had no idea what I was talking about and just handed me the sheet with the solutions!” The four hobbits laughed heartily. There could not have been a better outcome to that exam.

[the day before, in the office of Saruman and Gandalf] “Gandalf, my friend, do you have to smoke your longbottom leaf in here?” Saruman complained, rubbing his eyes.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment <3

Everything-taglist: @fenharel-enaste @shirebarbie @sanfranciscocablecar @nevermcre @enaelyork <3

You can join my taglist here <3

#lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #fanfiction #lady of imladris fics #college AU #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr college au #lord of the rings college au #lotr au #lord of the rings au #crack fic

25 notes · View notes

jumbled-messy-confused · 1 month

Text

Fanart "Lord of the Rings" - Aragorn

#(fan)art #(fan)art... kind of #jumbled-messy-confused #be kind #fantasy #hurt/comfort #whump #h/c #Aragorn #Estel #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings AU #feel free to use this for fancfiction but please contact me cos i wanna read it :D

7 notes · View notes

its-actually-minicika · 1 year

Text

Your Life in Middle Earth

Part 1 (not proof-read)

Description: A series of one-shots(?) on how the HotD characters would transpire and adapt to the rattling life of Middle Earth; Of course, one can't elude the sprinkle of romance that comes with it

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Warnings: Angst (this fic sucks so much I apologise in advance)

Your love story could never happen. Not when he was a highborn silvan elf, and you, a mere human.

It was a great sorrow - how he couldn't help falling in love with you. Even more so, how every elf who laid their eye on him pitied him to no end's meet.

Who would have thought that Aemond Targaryen, heir to the Woodland Realm, could ever be so taken with you? A simple, mortal girl, who would have been so easy to kill.

There were nights when he laid awake, cursing his weakness for you, cursing his inability to turn from you and your company when you first crossed his lands.

With his arrow between your eyes, you faced his stare bravely, and presented yourself as (Y/N) (L/N), a human girl from the far away Minas Anor.

You were part of a dwarf company - if 13 of them could count for that - and had told him you meant to cross their forest, in order to reach the Lonely Mountain, and the lost City of Erebor;

A rare and fond smile spreads across his lips. He remembers the day as if it was yesterday.

When the orcs came after you, neither human nor dwarfs shyed away from the good brawl - although less skilled with the sword and shield, you threw yourself at the heinous monster who almost killed him that day, slaying it courageously (admittedly, with a little help);

He pledged his bow to you, and vowed to see you safe out of their sickly forest. At first, his devotion stamped from the debt he felt he had to pay: no son of Viserys the Peaceful would go without beckoning a promise.

Soon on the road, the elf discovered he enjoyed your company. His feelings blossomed into love during one bright eve, when you gave a famished stag the only remainder of your picked apples.

"Whose duty is it, if not ours, to look after the suffering of those who are lesser than us?"

Foolish, the dwarves have called you.

Compassionate, came his reply.

Aemond's plan was to return back home shortly thereafter. Take back his seat near his father and mother, honour them with pliabiliy.

That wouldn't happen, and his sister had told him as much.

"Both the human and the martyr - though one may stray away; none cannot live without the other."

The Gods above long threaded a new path for him to follow.

He would never tell you that he loved you. Of that much, he was certain.

What he would do, was stay devotedly by your side, until your last breath in this cursed world. The same world that did not allow for the two of you to be together.

A hundred years felt like seconds to an elf's long life - and often during the night, Aemond wouldn't dare to close his eye, afraid that when he will open it, you wouldn't be there anymore.

He resigned to quell his thirst for you by watching you intensely. Vowing to forever remember you by how you were in that present tense.

He would take no wife, and father no children. Not after you.

"Hey, stranger." Your soft voice gently tapped his very being, leaving a strong vibratto down his back in it's wake.

The fire illuminated his furrowed brows and the gentle upcurv of his lips. His eye slowly travelled from your face down to your extended hand, holding a bowl of stew.

"Lothron i ambar rae lyën cin." He exhaled slowly, offering you half a smile.

Aemond relished in your tiny mumbles, and keen eyes over his face. You sat down next to him, still trying to dechiper what he said.

"Ambar was 'world'. And cin is 'you'."

He hummed in approval as you scooted closer to the fire. Resting your own bowl of food on your lap, you kept going, fiddling with the spoon.

"And... 'rae'... is 'to laugh'."

"To smile." He corrected gently.

"Smile." You repeated after him, rolling the vowels tentatively. "The world is smiling at me?" You raised him with the query.

"Very close. That was very good." Aemond mused, before closing his eyes to ponder. "It's an old greeting from the Late Period - it's meant to say 'may the world smile upon you'."

A small groan left your lips, and you plopped your head onto your hands to rest. "Why is the elvish tongue so hard?"

"I don't understand what you mean." He sighed, finally lowering his lips to the awaiting spoon. "You've only been learning for a short while and are already making progress."

"It's only cause I've got a good istonor." Your sheepish smile turned to a devious smirk, "Do you think by the time we get back I'll be able to speak to your kin in sindarin?"

Aemond scoffed, piercing you with his gaze. "Be careful with that pride - I said you are making progress. Not that you're nearing a native." Despite his harsh tone, his eye held no malice.

For a second, you even thought he looked at you with some sort of unspoken want.

But that must have been the shadows of the fire, playing tricks on your mind yet again.

"Oy, lovebirds!" Kili's voice rang through the cave, as he approached them with impressively big steps. "After you finish eating, you can both go rest. Fili and I have taken to tonight's watch."

You merely shook your head at him, beaming widely. Though not another word was shared between you and Aemond, you both got up at the same time, making your way to your laid out bedding spots.

Always near the other, never once apart.

"Good night, Aemond." You had whispered to him in the dead of night.

"Good night, vanima tinu."

Your ears caught fire - he had called you his beautiful star.

You almost lost the battle. You almost lost him.

Your eyes had searched the battlefield frantically for his silver locks of hair, and breathed a sigh of relief when his tall frame appeared in view.

Although you didn't intend for it to happen, the adrenaline of the fight, along with the way he clung to you in the scorching hug, gave you the courage you needed to proclaim your confession to him.

"Im mel cin."

Aemond's eye widened, and a shocked and pained expression adorned his handsome face. Without a word, he let go of you, as if your touch had burned him, as if your presence hurt him.

"I don't know what that means." He'd spat bitterly.

"I think you do." You murmured defiantly, and a second too long without an answer passed. "You do know what it means." You insisted, taking a step closer to him.

"You delude yourself, human." He wranged in a coarse tone, his expression now illegible. "I could never know what it means. Not with you, or anyone else."

Despite not having raised his tone at you, his words struck you across the face.

His soft words, aimed at you; his soft stare; his soft touch and the soft kiss he had planted on the corner of your mouth when the battle had begun.

Had they all meant nothing to him? Did he hold your hand through the night, did he teach you the sindarin tongue... all for naught?

To decieve you?

You wanted to lay these questions at his feet, confront him on the reason of his cruelty - though no words escaped your mouth.

Your eyes must have asked enough a question. Aemond swallowed thickly, placing his bloodied hands behind his back.

"You were a distraction. A pretty one at that - but nothing more."

His next words rang into your deafening ears.

"An elf could never love a human. How did you bring yourself to believe that?"

Had he made you love him to make fun of you? Humiliate you on your harboured feelings.

Before the first sob could break through your body, Aemond had turned around. He turned around so fast, as to not let you see the tears that were beginning to leave his lonely eye.

"No. You know this isn't true. We both do, Aemond!" You yelled after his fleeting form, until your voice turned hoarse.

That night, so familiar to all the others - you waited for him. Near the fire.

But he never showed.

In the end, you weren't worth a singular goodbye. Not one last farewell.

Aemond Targaryen had given you everything - and completely broke you when he took it all away. You would cry yourself to sleep that night, and every night after that for many moons to come; completely unaware of the pain that he too shared.

Yet life moves on, and it goes on without you. The world has a funny way of showing that.

With time, your open wounds closed and healed. With time, you met your future husband and settled down in the Kingdom of Arnor. You forgave, but never forgot of Aemond. You would sing the ancient lullaby he taught you to your tired children, you would live a full and rich life.

At the age of 95, you gave the world your last breath, your children and grandchildren all there, to accompany you to the Gates of Valinor, the blessed lands of Asgard.

The world moved on. Your grandchildren had grandchildren of their own, and their grandchildren followed suit.

Your face remained forgotten. Your name appeared in old folk tales, under the legacy of the daring human girl, who battled fiercely against the Dark Lord's forces.

"Nya mel, nányë allen nányë vaina."

The smooth voice of the silver haired man echoed throughout the peril graveyard of Arnor.

Translations:

"Istonor" = teacher/bringer of knowledge;

"Vanima tinu" = beautiful star;

"Im mel cin" = I love you;

"Nya mel, nányë allen nányë vaina" = My love, I'm sorry I'm late;

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon aemond #angst #aemond fic #prince aemond #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings au

101 notes · View notes

essenceofarda · 9 months

Text

A Dance at the Palantiri: Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1 on Ao3!

Summary: It's the 1920s in Middle Earth, and Éowyn just wants to get away. Just for a week, to be able to truly be herself, not just an esteemed Princess of the Riddermark. When she escapes under the disguise of a man named Dernhelm to Osgiliath, by fate she crosses paths with Lord Faramir, an infamous playboy and partygoer, who manages to rope her into becoming a bartender at his equally, if not more, infamous club and bar, The Palantiri. The Palantiri is more than meets the eye, same as its owner, however. Éowyn quickly realizes that the club is not just for people to lose themselves, but to lose their secrets too. There's more than meets the eye of Faramir, too, she finds. Suddenly, Éowyn finds herself neck deep in a years old secret operation in the war effort, and must do so while keeping up the guise of a man.

I decided to post the first chapter (even though i'm suddenly kinda super nervous to (lol))

1920's Farawyn AU tag

#1920's Farawyn AU #Farawyn #lotr au #lotr fic #lord of the rings #lotr #Faramir x Eowyn #Eowyn x Faramir #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings au #my writing #don't worry... Faramir is actually a stand up guy (spoilers) he's just acting this way bc of the overall operation ;) (in case anyone was #like 'he's ooc!' like... YES he is that's the point haha

21 notes · View notes

freydis-shieldmaiden-of-rohan · 1 year

Text

My Au where Boromir barely survives after the Uruk attack and getting a boat burial, later getting found by Eomer who realizes there was poison on the arrows that put Boromir into a sort of death state. He brings him back to Rohan and Eowyn and Eomer heal him. Etc. Just another wishful thinking Au where Boromir lives and becomes great friends with Eowyn and Eomer...

#the lord of the rings #boromir #lotr #eowyn #the fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings au #eomer #eomer eadig #the return of the king

35 notes · View notes

cakeandchaos · 11 months

Text

Lord Essek, the Evenstar ✨

#critical role art #critical role fanart #critical role #essek thelyss #lord of the rings au #lord of the rings #lotr

656 notes · View notes

carriehillart · 1 year

Text

Just look at these lads! They’re ready for an epic three-part trilogy! On a Minecraft server!

Philza: I really hope I don’t lead my adopted hobbit children to their deaths.

Tommy: LET’S KICK SAURON’S ASS

Wilbur: I’m glad one of us is having fun.

Sam and Quackity: *bonding despite culture gap*

SapNap: Golly gee, I hope I’m not the bad guy.

Tubbo: It’ll be fine!

Ranboo: Nothing about this is fine.

Techno: I see some zombie slaying in our future, and I’m here for it.

Carl: *is a horse*

(I have so many ideas for this au, y’all have no idea, lol. Time will tell if they ever see the light of day.)

#illustration #character design #cartoon #digital art #colored art #dream smp au #dream smp #lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings au #mcyt fandom #mcyt art

22 notes · View notes

slytherincursebreaker · 8 months

Text

hearing the news that his father died.

I don't regret it, also Boromir had a son it be Osferth also because they're both were in the world on fire why not lord of the rings. Boromir was good to Merry and Pippin as if he was a father to his children.

No regrets

#osferth #ewan mitchell #the last kingdom #tlk #baby monk #boromir #lord of the rings au

56 notes · View notes

popjunkie42 · 4 months

Text

Blossoming in Winter Chapter 3

@witchlingsandwyverns I bring you the new year chapter! Chapter 3 just wouldn't quit. I tried very hard to bring you some lovely gardens and wilderness in this chapter, I hope I succeeded!

Blossoming in Winter (read on AO3)

Chapter 3: Endure with Patience the Hours of Waiting

(snippet below!)

Summary: Prince Rhysand accompanies Feyre on a mission among the rooftop gardens of the Dawn Palace. While Feyre hunts for absolution, the armies of Prythian and the Continent get ever closer to Hybern.

A first war ACOTAR AU inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn. For @acotargiftexchange 2023!

A million thank-yous to @witch-and-her-witcher, @temperedink and @wilde-knight for the beta reads and helping to keep me sane!!

Snippet:

Rhysand’s eyes were on her again as they slipped through arched vines of jasmine, hanging so low they trailed down her hair. She turned to warn him about a loose stone in front of her and when she saw him, she thought the blossoms that snagged free in his raven hair looked like a crown of stars. Feyre stopped at the sight as he smiled at her and batted away the last vine on his face.

The smell of oils and mineral spirits wafted through her mind as she imagined the swaths of grey and blue and black she would layer on canvas with a knife to capture him. She watched as he raised a hand to her hair, plucking a white blossom gently between two fingers.

“You’ve got flowers all through your braid, darling,” he said with a softness in his eyes that made her stomach jump, made her yield half a step to him.

He regarded her with curiosity. “Have the healers and nurses been able to look at your wound?” he asked quietly.

Her skin burned with cold. Last night it had begun shooting jolts of pain down the muscles of her back. “I’m fine.”

“Are these all the answers I’m to get today?”

“What would you like to know, my lord?”

He sighed. “Everything.”

He released her from his gaze and she finally took a full breath, turned away from him to stalk down the path, the prince still close on her heels.

“Are you so used to that boor in Spring that conversation seems unnatural? I’d fault you but I’ve met the male, and he is admittedly better with a sword than he is with his tongue,” he said behind her.

Feyre bristled at every implication. “Maybe I simply do not speak unless I can improve the silence.”

He grinned. “Good thing I’m such a tolerable conversationalist, then.”

Feyre continued walking, taking her bearings by the sun and paths and hoping she was not leading them astray. Rhysand’s eyes were upon her with an amused twinkle.

“What?” she asked, annoyed. She tried to set a fast pace to keep his breathing too fast for words, but the prince excelled at conversation all the same.

“I’m simply trying to work out your attraction to that horned brute. I can certainly attest you are not the type to be impressed by a title alone.” Feyre snorted at him. “So tell me, how do we compare? You prefer your High Lord’s sons thick in body and in the head? Tamlin is quite dashing, but I must say he’s a bit lacking when it comes to the verbal arts. Or did he turn into that golden beast and win over your wild side?” He smiled as she walked faster, turning her head away from his gaze with a snap. “Oh, no one could blame you. All that muscle and fur - he’s quite a spectacle. Even I’ve cast an eye his way when he’s wrapped in all that natural glory.”

“You forget our bargain yet again, Prince.” she said with steel in her voice. “We aren’t speaking of Lord Tamlin.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue. “I’m speaking of you, darling. Tell me,” he asked, “How did the Prince woo a creature such as you? Somehow I doubt he plied you with jewels and dresses. Did he make flowers spring up wherever your feet fell? Did he recite love poems in your ear? Did Tamlin play that ridiculous fiddle of his and waltz into your heart?”

Maybe it was the bargain she had already accepted, maybe she was angry and tired, but Feyre felt her stubborn quietness waiver as her annoyance grew. He was gallingly good at chipping away at her defenses, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of winning this game, of sulking back to her stifling room and the worrying nurses.

She had dealt with one High Lord’s son. How bad could another one be?

She barely paused as she spoke, throwing her words over her shoulder. “You seem awfully focused on the subject,” she said. “One might be excused for thinking you jealous.”

As the path rounded and they breached more wild hedges, it split again into two diverging trails. Feyre stopped short, assessing the options.

When she turned back around she gasped to find the Prince so close to her. In another half a step he stood chest to chest with her, her words about their journey lost on her lips. Her nose filled with his scent, citrus and the sea, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of his face.

“Jealous?” he asked, his voice quiet in the garden. “I told you, Feyre, that you’re finally getting closer to it.”

Feyre felt a flush on her chest that had nothing to do with exertion. “I know what you’re doing,” she said with a whisper.

“Do you? And what is that?”

His look was challenging, amused. “Throwing me off my guard. Disarming me. Probably fishing for information.”

He smiled. “Did you ever consider that perhaps I just enjoy watching you squirm?”

Perhaps the most insulting answer, if she was just a plaything and without any relevant information to pry from her mind. Her anger grew, especially considering the trust she was putting in him this afternoon. “You’re a shameless flirt. Was it your plan to wait until you had me in the middle of the gardens to show your worst side?” The birds sang around them, oblivious to her rising anger.

Rhysand flashed an arrogant grin. “Am I such a villain in your mind? Your sister, obviously wise, insisted on a chaperone. Consider me an applicant for the position.”

Feyre snorted. “On what qualifications?”

“I’m a High Lord’s son, honor and chivalry are woven into my very bones.” Her eyebrows were skyward. “Haven’t I been a complete gentleman, seeing to your needs, joining you on…what is it we’re looking for, again?” Rhysand looked around the gardens.

“I’ll know when I find it.”

Read on AO3

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre #acotar fanfiction #acotar gift exchange 2023 #acotarfanfic #lord of the rings au #faramir and eowyn #feysand fic

26 notes · View notes