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elfy-elf-imagines · 5 months

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Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy.

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left.

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect.

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention.

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone.

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize.

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp.

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable.

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair.

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance.

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years.

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found.

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you.

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care.

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough.

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.”

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own.

“I thought it looked nice.”

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash.

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror.

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser.

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?”

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit.

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.”

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding.

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #middle earth imagines #lotr #tolkien #lord of the rings #lord of the rings oneshot #mirkwood elves #lord of the rings fanfic #king thranduil

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thewulf · 3 months

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Only You || Legolas

Summary: Request: Can you do a elf reader x Legolas where he's finally home in mirkwood after the quest? Maybe Gimli is with him and he's like 'i see why you always talked about the lassie.' or something funny that exposes Legolas for how much he really likes her. He then confeses and asks to court her or something sweet pleaseee?? My fav fluff writer! Thank u!

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words and sweet as heck request. Really love this one. I didn't edit it too heavily so please be wary of general writing mistakes! Hope you all enjoy my fav elf imagine :)

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.9k +

TW: Pure fluff? No LOTR triggers

You had finally gotten a free evening to yourself after training for the better part of every evening for the last year with your father, Girdirion. He had been training you relentlessly after Legolas had left of the quest his father, King Thranduil, had sent him off on. That was over a year ago. You hadn’t heard much other than they had made it to Minas Tirith a few months ago.

Your father suddenly saw you as defenseless without your longtime friend at your side. Being the kings most trusted advisor, he had been trained for centuries and was a formidable fighter. It wasn’t until after Legolas had left that you had realized how serious the threat to middle earth was. Your father must had realized it too as he worked you to the bone, training you at every chance he could.

It was only after King Thranduil received word that the ring had been destroyed and his son was heading home did things begin to change. Your father still made you train but it wasn’t at every waking moment any longer. Tonight, was one of those nights that he had given you off as he had meetings to attend to with the king.

Time felt too slow as you waited for Legolas to return. He promised he would. You knew he would. He was all the way across middle earth, but you just couldn’t seem to wait any longer. You longed for you best friend, who meant much more to you than just a best friend, to come home.

As soon as you settled on your bed to begin reading the novel you had been meaning to finish there was a quick knock at your door. Who could that be? You weren’t expecting anybody at this hour after dinner. Begrudgingly, you set the book down just as you had gotten comfortable and made your way over to the door.

When you opened the door you scrunched your face in confusion, “Father? What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting with the king?”

He nodded, “I was. Then we got interrupted. There is somebody here I think you may want to see.” His smile let you know exactly what you were thinking. Legolas was home. He was back in Mirkwood after nearly a year and a half away. Sure, it wasn’t that long of a time for you in the scheme of your lifetime but it did feel like the longest year of your nearly two thousand years in middle earth.

“Legolas?” You tore out of your room not waiting for his response as you made your way to the throne room. You heard your fathers deep laughter behind you before he jogged to catch up with your lighter than air pace.

Once he caught up to you he had that knowing smile on his face. He had watched the two of you dance around the obvious feelings each other had. You never thought you were good enough to be with the kings son. He never thought you were interested in that way. But to everybody on the outside looking in it was rather obvious the two of you were destined to be together. Even if it was taking longer than expected. A thousand years longer than expected. See, King Thranduil and your father had agreed they would bless the union between the two of you should it come naturally. But neither had the heart to force it. He and your father knew as good as anybody these things had to find their way on their own, naturally. Even if it drove the two elder Ellon’s mad.

“Indeed, your elf has made it home.” He spoke as the two of you walked, much faster than normal, towards the kings room.

Before you opened the massive wood doors you turned to him with a sly smile and a hint of a blush dotting the apples of your cheeks, “My elf?”

Your father raised his eyebrows at you, “Go on then.” He pushed you forward ignoring your question.

When you pushed open the doors you couldn’t find the familiar blonde hair of your best friend. Even as you walked closer to the throne you looked all around the hall and only spotted King Thranduil who was giving you the same smirk your father just did. What were they up to? Where was Legolas? And why was the king looking at you like he knows something you didn’t?

“I apologize my king.” You bowed unsure of what else to do. When you turned to see if your father had followed you in you were left biting your lip seeing the door closed without him in the room. What was he up to? “My father said…”

Thranduil put his hand up pausing you right in your tracks, “Legolas is out in the gardens with a dwarf. A dwarf!” He sounded more frustrated than excited to his son after the time away.

But you cracked a smile instead. That was so him. He was anything and everything his father was not. The two of them could not have more different personalities. Your best friend was the one to push boundaries no elves would or could do seeing that his father was the king, “A dwarf you say? That sounds like him.”

Thranduil studied your happier than he’s seen you in an entire year expression full well knowing it was because Legolas was back from his grand quest. Thranduil rose from his throne before walking down to you. Having to look up to him because he was so tall all you could do was wait on his word.

He pointed his hand towards the entrance to the kings private gardens, “Go, you audience is rather impatiently waiting on you.” He gave you a knowing smile before retreating towards the door you had originally come in, likely to go find your father. Not wasting anymore time you made a beeline towards the doors that led to the private gardens you so rarely got to enjoy. He must have deemed it enough of a special occasion to grant access to not only you, but a dwarf as well. You knew Legolas was behind that as well. He was the only one to get the king to agree to something he might not want to do.

For the second time in a few moments, you threw open the heavy wooden doors leading out to the gardens. It did not take you long to hear the pair before you saw them. You paused hoping to catch just a brief moment between the two of them before you made your presence completely known. As you suspected the dwarf had Legolas distracted from hearing you walk out.

“Look at ya lad. Pacin’ like a horse.” The unfamiliar voice chuckled. You had a feeling the dwarf poked fun at the ellon more often than not.

You just knew he was rolling his eyes, the beautiful blonde prince he was, “I am not Gimli.”

But the dwarf just kept laughing, “Ya’ weren’t even this nervous when we rode up to the Black Gate.”

“Would you quiet down dwarf. She will be out momentarily.” That sounded just like the elf that had left a year and a half prior. It was almost too easy to get him worked up and the dwarf called Gimli certainly enjoyed playing into it.

“The little lassie has you this nervous huh?” You? You made him nervous?

Legolas let out a huff, “Gimli!” And you knew that was your queue to help spare the ellon from his friend who seemed relentless. You already liked Gimli from the sounds of it. You shut the door behind you louder than necessary to signal your arrival.

Taking a deep breath, you walked forward suddenly terribly nervous after those comments. What was Gimli playing on? Why would he be nervous to see you? You didn’t want to get your hopes up on feelings as you buried those away centuries ago. Your crush for the ellon grew slowly the first thousand or so years you knew him. Truly organic in the best way possible. Childhood friends to training partners to friends then best friends after it all. Once your training to become a healer had completed you had a sneaking suspicion all his injuries in the field were so he could come see you after some time away. He would only request you. Straight refusing the other healers help when offered. He would wait for you.

But then it just stayed like that. You thought it could grow into something more, but it dawned on you over the next few centuries his father had a say in who he courts and marries. Why would King Thranduil allow his son to court you of all elves? Sure, your father was his most trusted advisor, but you were no political gain in marriage. So you did what you did best, buried the feelings deep and bottled it all up.

The two of them quieted quickly hearing the door close. When you turned the corner you finally spotted your prince after far too long apart paired with an adorably red-headed dwarf who was staring right at you. You however were staring straight at Legolas as your small smile turned into a massive one. There he was, as handsome as ever, standing right there in front of you after too long. The longest either have you had spent apart from each other.

“Legolas.” You grinned before pulling him into a tight hug. It was when he gave you a big squeeze back that you simply just melted into the ellon completely forgetting you had an audience yourselves.

“Aye lad! You left out the detail of your Y/N being quite the beauty.” Gimli spoke up from beside you breaking the trance the two of you seemed to be under. You giggled once you pulled away from him seeing the look of horror cross his face at his friends comments.

You turned to the dwarf feeling the nerves wash away. You had the advantage here as Gimli seemed to want to torture your friend, “Hello. It is lovely to meet you. I am Y/N. Daughter of Girdirion, King Thranduil’s advisor.”

He pointed at you before narrowing his eyes at you, “Do you hate dwarves as much as his father does?”

You shook your head, “Hardly. You are actually the first dwarf I am meeting. I do not get away often.” You knelt down making yourself level with him, “You are much cuter than made out to be.” That earned a few stumbling words and a rather mighty blush to the warrior who seemed to have nothing but words. You managed to render him speechless.

This earned a snicker from your favorite ellon, “Elf got your tongue there Gimli?”

That comment must have meant war between the two of them. The dwarf cocked his eyes up to his friend, shook his head then turned back to you who was now back to standing instead of crouching, “Lady Y/N. It is lovely to finally meet you too. I feel as though I already know ya lassie.” He grinned knowing exactly what he was about to do.

You looked at Legolas with curiosity framing your face before returning your attention back to Gimli, “Do you?”

“Aye.” He nodded, “Legolas here would never shut up about ye. Y/N this. Y/N that. Y/N would love this. Y/N would hate that.”

You knew your cheeks were surely aflame with embarrassment just as Legolas’ were, “We have spent quite some time together over the years.”

But Gimli wouldn’t have that, “I think it has something to do with you lassie. The way you look. The way you dress. The way you seem to occupy his every thought.”

“That is enough.” Legolas finally chimed in giving his friend a hard stare telling him to get the hell out. But that only egged the red head on further. Your eyes bounced back and forth between the two of them before Gimli relented.

He bowed his head, “My lady.”

Echoing his actions you responded, “Gimli.” Before turning your attention back to the prince. Your eyes finally were able to scan his features. Not a hair seemed out of place. He was exactly as you remembered.

“Welcome home.” You gave him your biggest smile feeling like you could finally relax after seeing him alive and well.

He wasted no more time before pulling you into a second bone crushing hug. He had never been so forward causing you to let out a slight stutter in surprise of his actions. It was the last thing you had expected from him. But then again, who knew what he went through out there. Legolas was a strong warrior, but you knew how deeply this could impact anybody who had to go through it.

“I have missed you.” He whispered into your ear not letting his arms go from around you. He had no clue how his words were affecting you in that moment. Suddenly you felt that stupid little crush, that was surely love at this point, bubbling up from the depths of your heart that you had long since locked away.

When he pulled away after a few moments he took the time to look you over just as you had moments prior. He didn’t drop his hands from around your waist though, simply holding you loosely in his embrace. You had never felt his eyes or his hands on you heavily before or that you had noticed in the past, “I have missed you beyond words Legolas. I have spent a year and a half filled with the dread of the thought you may never come home. Seeing you here is the greatest gift Eru Ilúvatar could have bequeathed.”

It was then that Legolas knew just how deep your feelings ran for him just as they had run for you. He too had spent the better part of a thousand years being absolutely in love with you, his favorite elf, but making no indication of it. For he thought you may have eyes for someone else. He could not risk losing you in the event you said ‘no’ to his request to court you. But by the way you were looking at him he knew that was wrong. Your love laced eyes could not break away from his gorgeous blue ones.

He knew he needed to take the next step with you. Gimli was right. His dwarf friend spent the better part of the journey home convincing him he needed to ask the question he had been dying to ask you. He wanted to court you. Spend the rest of his middle earth life and the next one with you. He had never been so sure of that. The thought of courting another elleth felt wrong. It was you. It was always going to be you.

“Gimli was not lying, my lady.” Even though it came out as a whisper your ears could pick it up with no problem.

That shocked you. Was he admitting the same thing that you were? Did he have feelings for you too? “Pardon?”

He grinned seeing your dumb struck face, “You do in fact occupy my every thought. You are the reason I am here now. I fought for middle earth, yes. But for you more. Thinking of your smile pulled me out of the darkest of times

Your lips parted in utter shock at his admission, “Legolas, I…” You were at a loss for words as you processed his confession to you. Your heart was giving you away completely though as it beat faster than it ever had before.

He continued seeing as you were rendered speechless, “It was only ever you. It was only every going to be you, my love. You are my very best friend Y/N. I would never want to continue this life with somebody who was not you. It is only you. It will only ever be you.” He paused finding the courage to say what had been on the tip of his tongue for centuries, “I love you.”

Your jaw might have been on the floor at this point, “You love me?”

He nodded with a nervous expression, “More than you will ever know.”

That was all you needed before you walked forward, butting yourself right against his chest, “That is a relief my prince. As I love you too. More than you will ever know.”

Euphoria. The truest form of euphoria pulsed through your body as you too admitted what had always been so hard to admit.

His expression melted to that of pure elation. Gently he placed his hands under your chin, cupping your face so carefully, “May I begin to court you, my love?”

“I would be so honored Legolas.” Your head was turned up as you looked into his eyes for likely the millionth time. It was different this time. Charged with love and lust. Like you were looking at a new Legolas. One that you could get to know at a much deeper level.

He brushed his thumb over your lips sending shivers racking throughout your body, “Only you. Only ever you.”

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iheartlegolas · 1 year

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𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ pairing: legolas x fem!reader

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ warnings: alcohol consumption, smut (MDNI pls), very light breathplay/choking

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ word count: 2.9k

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ synopsis: there's no better place to be than in the bedchambers of the elven prince, as he eagerly yearns to give you a night you'll ask him to relive

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫note: it's time ! my first smut to ever be written & shared, thank u all for ur patience, please accept my apologies for posting the preview and then dipping without a trace…lol i largely underestimated my ability to write smut so i truly hope that you enjoy (and that it’s readable) ok ily bye enjoy!

The chill of the autumnal night establishes itself upon your skin, its reluctant air depriving you of warmth as you stifle a shiver that forces its way to your spine. You stand, leaning onto a tree carved into a grand pillar, concealed from the crowd's gaze with a clear view of the crisp sky in front of you. Your head turns to the elves glittering about in the grand hall, their hands holding glasses filled with wine. Elven wine. A sheepish smile finds you, the gilded rim of the glasses delivering memories of your first time of having made the soon to be realised mistake; the consumption of the potent liquid.

Your head snaps back to the stars as recollection inches closer, taste buds reminded of its lightness and sweet taste of berries which proved to be a mere facade. Ignoring the gentle warnings Legolas whispered to you as you were handed a drink, playfully brushing them off as you welcomed the wine into your mouth. The faces of bewilderment and suppressed laughs as you drunkenly clung to the Prince all evening, plastering his neck and face with kisses, speaking incoherent nonsense into his ear, his arms catching you every time with an all too familiar ease as you tripped on air over and over again.

Your eyes are struck by the face of the moon, feeling a shudder come over you. The moon being the only other witness to the night that followed as the Prince ended your attendance to the party prematurely—the moment you began tugging at his tunic, your whispers becoming coherent and too indiscreet for any ear not belonging to him to hear. His hands claimed you once your eager pleas were out of the average Elf's range of sight and sound, his mouth beckoning you to be quiet with his kiss. The warmth of the summer air and its moonlight draping your nude form as you laid atop his discarded tunic, a makeshift bed on the forest floor.

You tighten the grip on your chalice filled with non alcoholic drink, the aching heat in your core daring to consume you as you recall the way his head dipped in between your thighs, his tongue softer than the moss you clutched. You sigh at his absence, pulling away from the moon's trance as an unavoidable wave of longing claims you, staring into the liquid of your drink. You bring it to your mouth, the brim of the chalice is cool on your lips as you force a swallow and your insides cringe at its lack of something stronger. Then, drinking more as your attempts to not think of him fail, your mind on the tips of his fingers grazing across your back, his eyes resting as his arms held you against his chest, his calmed heartbeat lulling you to sleep. You swallow the final sip, setting the chalice down. Thirst crawls its way back to your mouth.

The overwhelming sensation of sobriety prods at you with the sharpness of a blade.

Your memory becomes clouded with interruption as a gentle pair of arms envelop you from behind. A smile eases onto your lips as his chin rests on your shoulder, smelling traces of wine in his breath. Your shoulders relax as they lean into his embrace, "At last, the Prince has graced me with his presence." You speak with words drenched in playful sarcasm, drawing out a deep chuckle.

"I have been searching for you."

You turn to face him, your eyes failing to resist the temptation to become distracted by the moonlight that comfortably rests upon his porcelain skin. Seconds pass and you finally allow yourself to blink, your lips pursing with accusation, "And it appears you got lost in a wine cellar."

His forehead inches to rest against yours, dwindling your yearning into a distant memory as he hums in response. "I've missed you." He breathes, sliding his hand from your waist to the side of your neck. You lean into his touch, his hand feeling irresistibly soft despite lifetimes of yielding his bow.

"I must insist that you disobey the King's orders the next time he dares to pull you away from me for longer than a fortnight." You brush your lips against his, exchanging breaths. Silence fills the air, freeing you of the sounds of the King's autumnal celebration, harps echoing away from your ears. Your lips meet his—the kiss you’ve been waiting for, warm, soft. An urge strikes you and you depart from him before he grasps the opportunity to light the kiss ablaze, "Unless you'd like me to beg."

A hand slips into the back of your neck, bringing you back to his mouth. You taste berries on his tongue as it enters your mouth. You moan into him, hands flying to grip his shoulders for strength against your weakening knees.

The noise of the guests pull him away, his vision scanning for a pair of eyes lurking, a wandering ear to hear your desires meant only for him. A stream of cheers and refills invades the invisible shield you created for the both of you, proving to be ineffective. You tug at the thick, velvet-like material of his tunic, feeling spoiled as his face turns to yours with concern, albeit realising as he catches your parting lips, sensing your want.

His hand reaches for yours, leading you into the dimly lit forest on a path most familiar. You trail behind him, his quickening pace and strong grip failing to pay any notice to the fallen leaves that stick to the silken material of your dress, the thorns from the bushes tearing almost too easily into the delicate cloth. The path brightens as you near a reentrance to the Elven King's halls, the forest pathway discreetly allowing the quickest way to your destination. Footfalls become more hurried as you smile with glee, a fistful of your dress clenches in your hand to prevent a fall into the moistened ground. You yelp above a tree vein with a mission to bring you to the earth's floor, "Legolas!" You laugh, eyes dashing to him as he falters. His frame towers over you, blending in with the surrounded oaks.

His hand softens into yours as he halts, placing his other onto the side of your neck, a thumb strokes your warmed cheek, "Forgive my eagerness, my starlight."

Your mouth opens in response, only allowing for a gasp to escape as his arms lift you from the ground, carrying on with haste until you are brought to his bedchambers at last. A sharp inhale penetrates you as his lips collide with yours, the shutting of the door reverberating through the room as you allow his hands to untie the cords of your dress, pulling you closer to him as it loosens against your skin. He releases himself from your lips, his kiss drifting to your ear.

His hands move to the sides of your face, "My little star," He whispers, his lips brushing against yours as you shiver, "Will you grant me my desire to please you tonight?"

His hardened length dares to distract you from his words, "Yes," you say, before your breath bids your lungs farewell as the simple act of breathing becomes a foreign concept. Your dress inches off of your shoulders under the command of his careful fingers, an eager gaze following his every move. Goosebumps rise as more of your skin is revealed to him, impatience stirring within your dampening core as he stops to plant kisses along your collarbone. "You cannot rush me into your chambers and undress me so slowly. It is torture." You whine. A deep chuckle vibrates against your neck before his hands grip your dress, pulling. The fine fabric you once adored turns to an unshapely mess as it hits the floor, and a sigh of relief waiting to be freed withdraws from your mouth. Strong arms hoist you up with the haste you crave, his mouth back on yours as he plants you onto the soft covers of the bed. Your hips raise to meet his cock, resulting in a groan and his tongue enters your mouth. His palm grips your thigh, and you watch with half lidded eyes as his mouth leaves yours to venture to your chest. His tongue caresses your breast, a gentle massage that sends your hand flying to his tresses and disturbs the neatness, moaning as his tongue swirls around your hardened nipple. His head rises, a lustful gaze searching for your eyes as they open, fondling your breast with his hand. He flashes you a smile and leaves a hot kiss on your neck, rising from his position above you to sit against the head of the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him, unsure of why he stopped, mouth opening in question.

"Come."

You lift to your hands and knees, your gaze falling to the outline of his cock as you crawl. His hand grabs your wrist before it reaches and he turns you away from him, your back sinking into his chest. His hand is on your neck as you settle onto him. Your breath becomes uneven, watching his free hand slide down to your core and reach the hem of your undergarment. You help him remove the final piece, entirely exposed as your bare body warms against his attire.

"Tell me, my little star," He whispers into your ear as his fingers find your clit, sliding his tongue across the tip of your ear while you melt deeper into him, "Did you touch yourself while I was away?"

You shudder, feeling his fingers glide across the wetness that gathered in your core, whimpers escaping from your lips as his slickened fingers begin to circle your clit, hips lightly jolting to swallow his touches. You moan, throwing your head back into his chest. His grip tightens around your neck, fingers pressing gently to the sides to coax an answer.

You whimper, the sounds of your wetness brought to your ears, "Yes." You moan, gasping as his pace quickens.

You feel a smile against your skin, writhing against his strong hold, arching as the incomings of an orgasm begins to burn within you—then he stops. Your hand falls to the sheets, a whine forming in your throat.

“Show me.” Legolas says, his voice low, fingers rising from your cunt to rest upon your breast, “Touch yourself.”

You hum softly, turning to face him with a look of question, your cheeks burning with heat at his command. He’s serious—lips curled into a subtle smirk, his eyes exploring the expanse of your shivering body—all while his hand remains wrapped around your neck. Your hand rises, fingers grazing your abdomen, lowering slowly to your aching cunt. A deep inhale enters you as your eyes close, leaning your head back into him as you start to pleasure yourself. Heat overtakes your entire body as it burns against his, soft moans slipping out of your mouth as his words of encouragement—“good girl” “just like that, little dove” “show me how good it feels”—spill into your ear, prompting you to hasten your touches. His hand travels down to your clit in favour of replacing yours, which you gladly retract as it flies to grip the sheets, surrendering under his fingers. A wave of pleasure washes over you, gasping as an orgasm arrives. The Prince is intent on driving you mad with pleasure as he continues circling your delicate pearl, but your trembling hand seizes his wrist, whimpering with a weak effort to bring a pause to his pace, "Legolas."

His fingers settle down into a leisure pace while your heartbeat struggles to calm itself in its enclosure. "Were you not eager for me to pleasure you?" He toys in a deep tone.

"I want you inside of me." You breathe, your grip loosens on his wrist as your muscles remember how to function, the tenseness possessing your body finding relief as his fingers stop. You shift, turning to face him, cheeks heating at the sight of his face. You resist the urge to grind against his lap as you work on removing his attire, straddling him with a timidness that he finds irresistibly adorable. You avoid the wolfish smile tugging at his lips, your mouth watering as his tunic comes undone, unsteady hands reaching to explore his toned chest.

"After all the moments we shared," He inches closer, fingers raising your chin. Your eyes meet his, weakening under his gaze, "You still remain coy as though it was the first time."

Vision blurs from his face to the ceiling as he flips your body to lay against the soft covers of the bed. He rises and stands at the foot of the bed, gaze towering above your splayed form with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. You engage in the act of watching him as he takes the role of undressing himself, staring in awe while your insides flutter as your hand awaits restlessly to feel his cock. His return to you is quick, gratefulness erupting within when his mouth devours you with a fervent kiss. A tongue caresses yours before interruption strikes him with a moan, a sensual stroke of your hand treading dangerously along the length of him. Your fingers curl around him, raising your hips to tease his cock with the wetness of your dripping pussy—but he stops you, restraint apparent on his clenched jaw as he resists the desire to sink his cock into you, dragging his lips to the expanse of your chest, then lowering as his hands stroke your thighs, parting them. You watch as he presses kisses to your inner thighs, reaching to grab hold of his hair. His mouth moves to your core, his warm breath fanning over your cunt. You throw your head back and moan as his tongue licks along your heat, tasting the remnants of your orgasm then trailing up to suckle on your clit. His hand slides up to your breast as he slips two fingers inside of you, curling in upward motions and sending you into bliss. His name releases from your mouth through soft whines, his tongue bringing trembles trickling into your thighs. Your hips roll into his mouth with delicate force, clutching the covers as you moan through the orgasm he brings you. You loosen, laying slack as you take deep breaths, the wondrous exhaustion of being sent to heaven a second time has caught hold of you. He kisses your thigh with tender touches of his hands, then rises to meet you. Your arms wrap around him in embrace, pulling him into a kiss while his cock prods at your thigh. He reaches down to align himself with your core, saturating his length with your wetness. You rock your hips against him as it slides along your slit, whimpering in desperation for him to fill you whole. The head of his cock pushes into your cunt, and a moan leaves his mouth as he buries himself into you, reaching for your hand and enclosing his fingers with yours as he pins it above you. You moan with him as his thrusts grow deeper, pulling him close. A cry escapes your lips and your walls clench around him, raking your nails across his back with quivering lips. You love the familiarity of it all—how he knows every delicate spot to drive into over and over again, the control over your body that he masterfully possesses. His thumb trails across your lower lip as his eyes drink in the sight of you beneath him, your writhing body and nipples brushing against his chest, clinging onto him with your arms while you fill the room with sounds of your pleasure as he pumps in and out of you.

Moments like this are dragged to a wish for eternity as his palm cradles your cheek, his thrusts slowing in an attempt to prolong your bliss—and all you can do is stare into those captivating hues as your vision blurs before your eyes shut. Your mouth parts, soundless save for the shaking of your breaths, a trembling hand reaches for the back of his neck as you shudder into your climax, the walls of your heat convulsing around his girth. "Fill me." A beg cries from your tongue, “Please.” You whimper, cheeks burning.

Your words bring a groan to his lips as his composure crumbles. His cock twitches inside of you, spilling his seed into you, dipping his head down to meet your lips for a kiss—messy, with broken breaths in between, pressing his forehead against yours.

The subtle tremble of your thighs remains as he finally pulls out after a tender moment with his head rested in the crook of your neck. He pulls the covers to your bodies, reaching to bring you closer. You nestle into him and sigh with contentment, cheeks stamped with heat that has finally begun to cool. His fingers graze the expanse of your back under the covers, lips pressing light kisses into your neck. Your eyes close, heavy with sleep, releasing calming breaths that mingle with his as he gazes upon the sight of your face, “Gi melin.” He says and kisses your forehead, resting his chin above your head as sleep claims you.

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ translations

elvish - english

gi melin - i love you

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ taglist: @actualnymph @celestialuna13 @silversword7000 @starbirdfinch @summerannabelle @quackquackmfs @legolaswhore @iaur @straysugzhpe @idk-whatamidoinglmao @desert-fern @suddenlyperson @zealousfartsandwich

(some usernames aren’t able to be tagged so if you joined the taglist and didn’t get tagged pls lmk)

──⠀۪ ♡ ۫ did u enjoy?

♡ pls leave a like, comment, or reblog ! ↷　

#legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf #legolas smut #legolas x you #legolas x y/n #legolas #legolas fanfiction #lord of the rings #lotr x reader #the hobbit x reader #legolas thranduilion #legolas oneshot #legolas imagine

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runesandramblings · 1 year

Text

I Just Want You

Word Count: 1400

Pairings: Fili x reader

Warnings: None

Description: Royal wedding plans begin to take their toll, but there's only one thing you require to make the day perfect.

Requested by anon so I don't have a way to tag you I'm sorry! But I hope you enjoy. 😇

“What do you think, nâtha? The lilies or the orchids?”

You buried your face in your hands. The pounding against your temples, something that had become a familiar sensation as of late, began to worsen as you tried to piece together any coherent sentence. There were only three words that came to mind, the same three words you’d uttered countless times over the past several weeks.

“I don’t know.”

The joy of yours and Fili’s engagement had subsided the moment you’d broken the news to your families. With FIli being the crown prince and heir, there was no way Dis and your mother would let it be a simple affair. Invitations had already been sent out to every corner of Middle Earth, and you’d been occupied from sunup to sundown every day with planning. The dress, the flowers, the food…

You were from a simple merchant family. The pomp and ceremony of royalty made no sense to you. Where you’d grown up, weddings were a simple affair. Most couples in your small village chose to elope rather than go through the bother of an elaborate ceremony. You’d have been more than happy to do the same. However, your mother and future mother in law had both been quick to dismiss the idea.

“It’s no matter, dear. We have time to decide.” Your mother pulled several small scraps of fabric, ranging from the purest snow white to the creamier shades of ivory. She laid them out against the table and gestured to each. “Which color do you think for the dress? We’ve got to begin sewing soon if it will be ready in time.”

Before you had the chance to respond, Dis laid out several different styles of gold and silver fabric beside the scraps your mother had laid down.

“And what of the trim? You’ve got to decide if you prefer gold accents or silver. But I do suppose that would have an effect on the choice of flowers…” She trailed off, lost in her own world of thought.

You could feel your pulse radiating against your temples as the migraine that had been forming worsened. This was the issue exactly. It wasn’t just selecting a dress. It was selecting a type of fabric, a trim, lace… And that had to coordinate with the flowers or else…

Or else what, exactly? Would the world cease to exist if the flowers and trim didn’t go together? Would Mahal himself descend from the sky if the food and the wine didn’t pair perfectly?

You looked from where you sat at the head of the long, carved wood table to the opposite end. Fili sat on his own, silently working through a stack of parchments Thorin had given him. He hadn’t been overly involved in the plans, as your mothers had taken over almost immediately. But you’d expressed to him how stressful the process had been, and he’d decided to come sit with you for moral support. He met your gaze and gave you a gentle smile. It sent butterflies through your stomach, as it always did. He was all you needed, truly. You could get married in the same, tattered old dress he’d met you in carrying a bouquet of wildflowers for all you cared. As long as he was there, it was all you required.

“(Y/N)?”

Your mother’s voice brought you back to the less desirable reality. She and Dis were both staring at you expectantly, the colored swatches of cloth still spread out across the table in front of you.

“Silver or gold-”

“First, she has to decide on a shade of white. Which shade do you prefer, (Y/N)?”

“Well it might help to decide on the accent first, then she can pick a white that goes with that.”

As Dis and your mother began speaking over each other you buried your face in your hands once again. The pounding against your temples became rhythmic, a steady thump that seemed to grow louder and louder as their voices overlapped. You felt as though you might go mad if the pounding and the questions didn't stop soon.

“(Y/N)-” Dis started.

“I don’t know!” You cried again, finally raising your head to look at the two of them. “I don’t know, okay? And I don’t care. Just pick a color. Whatever you both want.”

You flung yourself back in the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. It was unlike you to have such an outburst, but you were exhausted. There were too many questions, too many decisions. You’d be more than happy for them to make the choices and just tell you when and where to show up on the day of.

“And what do you want, amrâlimê?”

The three of you turned your attention to the end of the table as Fili piped up. He’d laid his parchments to the side. His eyes were not on either of your mothers, but on you. You could see the genuine concern etched in the lines that furrowed between his brows. He knew the planning had begun to take a toll, and now he was able to see the full amount of stress that you were under.

You felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes.

“I just want you.” You said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your mothers exchanged shameful glances across the table, finally seeming to realize just how much they’d piled on you at once. FIli’s expression softened as he continued to look at you, his eyes never breaking away to look at anyone else in the room.

“Could you leave us for a moment?” He asked.

Dis and your mother stood silently, collecting the fabric and other wedding items they’d strewn across the table. You felt Dis place a hand apologetically on your shoulder as she followed your mother from the room.

Once they’d gone Fili’s smile widened. He extended his hand to you, gesturing for you to come join him at the end of the table. You stood and quickly walked around to where he sat. Once you were within his arm’s reach he grabbed you, pulling you down by your waist and plopping you into his lap. As soon as your legs touched his he stretched his face up to your neck, peppering light kisses up and down your collarbones. You giggled as his mustache braids tickled the exposed skin of your neck, his lips working their way up to plant kisses along your cheeks. He finally found your mouth and pressed his delicately against yours, making it the gentlest and sweetest kiss of them all.

You felt a contented sigh escape your lips as he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. You rested your chin on top of his head as your fingers began to slowly brush through his hair, careful as always not to disturb his perfectly placed braids. The feeling of his arms wrapped snugly around your waist had already alleviated the nervous pit in your stomach, and you wondered how it could have only been moments ago that you were stressed to the point of breaking down in tears. He was your safe place, your calm within the storm.

“We don’t have to make it into a spectacle, you know.” He murmured into the collar of your dress. “It can just be the two of us, whenever and wherever you want.”

“We can’t.” You said, wistfully. If only it were that simple.

“And who says so?”

“You’re the prince-”

“To hell with that.” He said, pulling back just enough to look up at you. “Thorin’s already given his blessing for us to skip the whole affair.”

“But our mothers-”

“To hell with them too.” His expression quickly changed from confidence to one of fear as he looked over his shoulder. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

You giggled again, pulling him closer to you as he nuzzled his face into your neck once more.

“Amrâlimê, I will go get Balin right now and have him perform the ceremony in this very room.” He continued. “I don’t need the flowers or the food or the party. I just want you, too.”

You pulled back again, just enough to look down into his eyes. He was smiling up at you, his eyes sparkling with the same joy as they had the first day you met. He was all you needed, now and forever.

“I think that sounds absolutely perfect.” You said, brushing back a few loosened strands of his golden hair. “On one condition.”

He looked at you expectantly as you continued.

“You have to tell our mothers.”

nâtha - daughter

amrâlimê - my love

#fili imagine #fili durin #fili x reader #fili #fili and kili #kili and fili #fili oneshot #Fili Durin imagine #Fili Durin oneshot #Fili Durin x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit #the hobbit movies #the hobbit trilogy #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings oneshot

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entishramblings · 10 months

Text

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

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socialist-aemond · 1 month

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“Er, hello? Are these the Halls of Mahal?” Thousands of disbelieving eyes stuck to Bilbo as he stepped forward cautiously, already quite fed up with the rudeness of dwarves. Who puts an anvil there? Nobody answered. “I’m looking for dwarves. Thirteen of them-- not anyone, mind you, but thirteen very specific dwarves.”

From the crowd, thirteen voices start yelling at the same time.

Based on a Tumblr post made by @wheeloffortune-design because I couldn't resist myself

#the hobbit #bagginshield #thorin x bilbo #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #lord of the rings

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h4rrypotterf4n · 3 months

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Confession

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Wordcount: 320 Words

Warnings: none (tell me if I am wrong)

Summary: You confess your feelings to Legolas

You walked up beside him, admiring the beauty of the landscape. "It's so peaceful here," you said softly.

Legolas turned to you with a smile. "Yes, it is. And it's even more peaceful when I'm with you."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. Legolas had always been kind and attentive to you, but there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart race.

"Legolas," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've always admired you, but lately I've been feeling something more. Something deeper."

Legolas's eyes narrowed as he looked into yours. "I've felt it too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've felt it since the moment I met you. It's a feeling I can't ignore, no matter how hard I try."

You reached out and took his hand, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. "Then don't try," you said softly. "Let's embrace this feeling, no matter what the future holds."

Legolas looked down at your hand in his, then back up at you. "I will," he said, his voice full of emotion. "I will embrace this feeling with all my heart."

You leaned in closer to him, your lips inches away from his. "Then show me," you whispered.

Legolas wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling a wave of heat and desire wash over you.

As the sun set and the stars came out, you and Legolas sat on the grassy hill, watching the night sky, and feeling the love between you grow stronger with each passing moment.

#legolas x reader #legolas fanfiction #legolas oneshot #legolas imagine #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings #legolas greenleaf #legolas fluff #legolas thranduilion

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v1olentdelights · 11 months

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Too Late For Tea?

Company x reader, bilbo x reader, kind of a little bit fili x reader. Female reader

TW: nothing? Let me know if there is, though!

Summary: Hopefully, being 5 minutes late qualifies as just on time for the group of ruffians.

a/n: Hopefully, this is written well! I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to request anything! Also, I'm pretty sure the song is from HTTYD? I can't really remember

Knock, knock, knock

Bilbo had just gotten comfortable for his afternoon tea. It was 3:05

"I swear if it’s that Brandyfoot again…" Much to his surprise, it was not ‘that Brandyfoot’ but an old friend. The look of utter shock that crosses his face is almost hysterical.

"Y/N? What -" he lets out a scuff of disbelief."What are you doing here?" It had been many months since their trek to Erebor. You had been brought along as a healer. You had minor magical abilities, being able to mend gashes and such or help one hold on a bit longer when close to death. It also helped that you had been training and experimenting in natural healing processes.

It was a miracle that Gandalf had decided to bring you, seeing as you had saved the King and the Princes. Bilbo had practically jumped at you after Thorin began to breathe again. They all had been singing your praise, but Bilbo was the loudest of all. You had saved part of his newfound family.

Though they say they could never truly repay you, they did invite you to work in Erebor under the best conditions. To be the royals personal healer while providing you with the proper supplies and protection when you left to study new plants for antidotes.

It was in those early days that Bilbo and y/n would write to each other often, but soon 6 days between letters became weeks, which became months. And without contact for many a month, could it be possible that…

No, no, he couldn’t have. Right? Was Bilbo forgetting them?

"Well, you said tea time was at 3, and we were always invited. I hope the offer still stands and that we aren't too late." A timid smile crossed your face as you waited for Bilbo's response.

"Of course! I cannot believe we have lost contact, you must-" the realization crossed his face "we?"

"Surprise!" 13 other voices joined, causing the hobbit to step back a bit in surprise. Everyone pushed into the hobbit hole, hugging or patting his shoulder. Bilbo was stunned at the affection. He had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by the lively group. You stood back watching all the men, for some reason it almost brought tears to your eyes, their little found family was back together.

A few of the dwarves - Bofur, Dwalin, Nori, and Gloin - stepped out to tug in a few large bags.

"We thought we would bring the feast to you this time.” Balin smiled as everyone began unpacking in the kitchen.

—- — —- —-

You all had gathered around the hobbits table, every plate full to the brim, ale (and tea) filled the cups. The loud laughter and conversations brought you back to that fateful night, though this time Bilbo was engaged and was actually laughing.

“So then we went to the forges, and there was this lass just standing there at my station!” Nori shouted with a hearty laugh. “And I was beginning to worry she was lost. But when I asked her for a name, she said ‘Dana, Dana Buffer.’ She is the best smith in Moria!”

All of the dwarves were catching up with one another and catching Bilbo up. It seemed as though nothing had changed. Then there was a sudden knock on the door, for a moment everyone stilled before Bilbo rose to answer it.

“To think I wasn’t even invited to the reunion of our dear group.” Gandalf the Grey had arrived fashionably late, just like always. He quickly took a seat next to Thorin, who was next to Bilbo, and tuned into all the conversations.

"So, Gandalf, where have you been off to? Learning yet another fashionable way to exhale your friend Old Toby?" Fili had joked.

"Why yes, and I was accompanied by a friend." He replied sincerely

"Friend? I thought we were your friends, Gandalf." Kili said, to an outsider it would seem he was truly hurt. Though you knew better, you all did.

"All have you know, I have many friends. Ones who are much kinder and wiser than the lot of you combined!"

Of course, the old man was joking, though you did wonder who exactly had kept his company after the battle.

The festivities carried into the late evening, which was then filled with songs, Fili and Kili on the fiddles, Nori and Ori on the flutes, and the rest filling the room with their voices.

"For the darling y/n," Bifur winked at you. The lot of them began a small jig, given the space of the living room (even with all the furniture moved).

My dearest one, my darling dear

Your mighty words astound me

But I've no need for mighty deeds

When I feel your arms around me

But I would bring you rings of gold

I'd even sing you poetry (oh, would you?)

And I would keep you from all harm

If you would stay beside me

And before you knew it, you were up singing and dancing alongside them. Linking arms while swirling around.

I have no use for rings of gold

I care not for your poetry

I only want your hand to hold

I only want you near me

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

For the dancing and the dreaming

Through all life's sorrows

And delights

To many of the company, you had become like a sibling. You couldn't help but laugh at the meaning behind the song you had helped craft for them to impress some dwarrowdams.Though your one saw you as something more, the both of you sneaking many glances throughout your dance.

I'll keep your laugh inside me

I'll swim and sail a savage seas

With never a fear of drowning

I'd gladly ride the waves so white

And you will marry me!

As the song ended you found yourself plopping on the ground, panting from the exertion of energy. Bilbo had been watching and humming along, though he noticed the stares between you and Fili. However before he could question you, the dwarves began another song.

----

By the end of the night, it was just you and Bilbo left in the living room. Gandalf had excused himself quite a bit ago, saying he had some business to attend to. The rest of the company had either fallen asleep or had simply drifted to their own rooms in a little guest hobbit hole Bilbo had made.

"Come y/n, I have something I want to show you." He gently grabbed your hand before leading you out the door and around the little hill in which his house was built. Nearby, far enough to not damage his hobbit hole, but close enough to enjoy was a tree. It had not fully grown yet, though it was still fairly mature.

"What is this?" You asked as you marveled at the beautiful leaves.

"It's the acorn. Or I guess from the acorn. It grew slowly and healthily. Now it is something beautiful." He had a knowing smile on his face.

"Well, I'm sure it took quite a bit of work and time to make sure it grew properly."

"That it did. Here I have a seat." He pulled you to sit next to him on a little bench next to the trunk of the tree. "Tell me." He said.

"Well, you knew about the feelings harboring about halfway through the journey." He simply nodded his head in acknowledgment."It was just that for a long time after… just feelings. But I knew it was more, I knew that he was my One after I felt the life leaving his body." You felt a shiver run down your spine at the mere thought of losing him. "After the battle, I found the courage to tell him." With that Bilbo’s face lit up.

You and the hobbit had formed a special bond due to you being outsiders to the company. There was no doubt in your mind that you both would be good friends even after the mission was complete. Therefore, you confided in him about these conflicting feelings. He continually urged you to tell the dwarf of your affection, but you held it in. You could never forgive yourself if it had ended up distracting him or, even worse, destroyed the friendship you had begun to make.

“And?” It was funny, Bilbo seemed almost more invested in your love life than you did.

“Well…” you reached up into your hair and pulled it aside to show off your courting braid. Then, the most surprising yet most wonderful thing happened. Bilbo giggled and clapped his hands before crushing you in a hug.

“You did it! I am so proud of you!” Your heart felt full. Bilbo rose and jumped a tiny bit with joy “We must make something to celebrate this!”

“NO!” The yell was a surprise to you. “I mean- we haven’t told the others yet. You can’t say anything.” You reached out to grab his hand, “Please.”

“Very well, but you know they are going to find out sooner than later, right?"

"Yes, yes, we know. Kili already knows, and I'm sure half them suspect it. Did you see the show they put on this evening?" You laughed.

"You make a fine couple. Both complement each other well. I'm happy for you." It was a simple statement, but since you hadn't exactly gone public with the whole thing, such a simple comment went a long way. He smiled at you warmly before patting your leg and standing up.

"Well, we best be getting to bed. And what a sad day it is that I happen to be short a bed for you, looks as though you must have to share with someone." Before you could comment he had skipped inside.

Oh, how you missed your family, and oh, how happy you were to be reunited.

#grace writes #lotr x reader #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit #fili x reader #fili and kili #the company x reader #lotr fandom #lotr imagine #fili durin #fili durin x reader #bilbo baggins x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine

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coraoropherion · 11 months

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Alive [Thranduil x Reader]

A.N: This is my first fanfiction, I hope that you enjoy! Please let me know if there is anything that I can improve on or if you have any requests. I will be taking requests for any LOTR/TH characters or Harry Potter characters. More options to come! (Gif originally posted by blackheart-beauty)

Request: n/a

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Summary: Y/N, Thranduil’s second wife, is assumed to be dead after The Battle of the Five Armies, causing Thranduil to begin to fade.

Word Count: 633

Warnings: Mention of major character death, heavy angst, fluff

——————————————————————————————

The Battle of the Five Armies had left the Woodland Realm in a state of somber mourning. Although the battle was won, there was no celebration, only the whisper of an elven lament for the dead. Thranduil, the Elvenking, stood alone in his chambers, his heart heavy with grief. The news had reached him, an agonizing blow that shattered his world—you, his beloved wife, was lost, presumed dead, amidst the violence and destruction. He had tried to search for you after the fighting was over, but it was to no avail.

The weight of grief settled heavily upon Thranduil's heart, consuming his every waking moment. After his first wife, Calathiel, passed on from the mortal realm, it was a miracle of the Valar that he survived, and his spirit did not fade away. You became the new and only reason for him to live, other than his realm. After all, Legolas had left for his own adventures in the North.

Days turned into weeks, and Thranduil's grief consumed him. His regal façade waned, replaced by a mere shell of the once-proud, brazen Elvenking. His subjects watched in sorrow as their ruler, burdened by loss, began to wither. The light in his eyes dimmed with each passing moment, mirroring the slow decay that befalls all elves who lose their life’s purpose.

Within the confines of his chamber, Thranduil allowed his tears to flow freely, his sobs echoing through the empty halls. He clutched onto memories of your love, your laughter, and the warmth of your embrace, but they provided no solace in the void left by your absence. Tears stained his fair cheeks, and his blue eyes glistened– his voice choked with anguish as he whispered your name into the emptiness of the night.

It was then, when all seemed lost, that you returned—a week after the battle—bathed in the radiant light of the Valar. The wounds that had once threatened your life were now healed, and you stood before Thranduil. Alive.

His eyes bore into your own with an unbelievable emptiness. It was as if he was staring past or right through you. Suddenly, his crystal vision widened with disbelief, his voice a mere whisper. "Y/N, meleth nín... Is it truly you?"

Your arms enveloped him, holding him close, as tears streamed down his face. His cries were mournful, an outpouring of the anguish that had consumed him in your absence.

"Oh, my love," you whispered, your voice a gentle melody. "I am here. I am alive. Let me share in your sorrow and mend your wounded heart." Thranduil collapsed into your embrace, his sobs wracking his entire body as he struggled to breathe.

"I thought I had lost you," Your husband's voice cracked with desperation. You caressed his long golden hair, your fingers weaving through the strands with tenderness.

"You will never lose me Thranduil. Our love is stronger than the darkest of shadows. I have returned to you. Your heartache has been my own. But together, we shall find solace. Your love has given me the strength to return, and my love will guide you through this darkness."

Thranduil buried his face into the crook of your neck, his heartbreaking whimpers of relief intermingling with the beating of your hearts. You held him, pouring your love and strength into his wounded soul. With each passing moment in your embrace, Thranduil's spirit revived. Alive. The color returned to his cheeks, his eyes regained their vibrant gleam. The darkness that had threatened to consume him was chased away by the light of your presence. Slowly, Thranduil's sobs subsided, his grip on you loosening as he pulled back slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours before whispering,

“Gi melin, Ilmarë nin.” (I love you, my starlight.)

“And I love you. Always.”

. . . . . . .

Meleth nin = my love

#thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit x reader #thranduil x you #angst #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil hurt #legolas #thranduil oneshot #thranduil imagine #thranduil one shot

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velaryqns · 2 years

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my jealous, jealous elf

REQUEST: My talented and hottie friend, can I request a fluffy imagine with Legolas where the reader is part of the fellowship and he's all jelly of Aragorn because the reader and he were close? This sounds so cringe but I swear it sounded better in my head 💀.

REQUESTED BY: @augustwithquills

PAIRINGS: legolas x reader, aragorn x reader (platonic)

SONG: not applicable

WARNINGS: fluff, jealous legolas

“I can hear your loathing from over here,” Gimli sounded unimpressed as he spoke, grabbing the elf’s attention and causing his eyes to dance toward him. Gimli was looking toward where Legolas had been staring, but then brought his gaze to him, “Jealous?”

Legolas guffawed, turning his attention to what was in his hands, a little wood carving. He had heard of it, and you had taught him during the journey. Being in the Fellowship, you had learned and taught plenty from and to the group. Legolas had brought his gaze from the small wooden animal in his hands, back up to you.

You were sitting beside Aragorn, laughing and talking while you tied your hair into a braid. Legolas had discovered that you and Aragorn had grown rather close over your time in the Fellowship, and it caused a deep hatred toward the Dunedain. Maybe it was because you both were Dunedain, you’d traveled with him. Legolas still felt resentment.

“If you’d speak with them-” Gimili was interrupted by Legolas’ cool glare, and he clamped his mouth and returned his attention to whatever his previous task had been, as long as it was leaving Legolas at peace.

His eyes darted to you once more, witnessing Aragorn remove his cloak and drape it over your shivering body while he rose to his feet and walked away. You and Aragorn had gone on a small adventure today, mostly to hunt, which led to the pair of you stuck at a bank. You returned soaking wet, leading the Fellowship to ensure you stayed warm for the rest of the day. Gimli had made his remarks about the situation, which entertained you long enough for his liking.

Legolas rose to his feet, watching Aragorn’s retreating back before walking around the flame to see you. You smiled up at him, pulling Aragorn’s cloak tighter around your body and pulling a hand out to pat at the empty spot beside you. Legolas smiled and took the spot, joining you on the log and turning toward you.

He was enamored by you. Your eyes, your smile, the swift ways you took to fighting, how you carried yourself, and how much you would willingly sacrifice for the people you considered your friends. Legolas studied you for a moment, a few beats of complete silence surrounding you before you spoke.

“If you’re going to scold me about the water...” you trailed off with a sigh, sad eyes shifting toward the fire dancing before you.

“Not everyone can be as swift and careful as I,” he cracked. You gave a little laugh and turned to face him once more. He grinned, happy to know he could make you laugh just as easy as the other man you seemed so fond of, “Truly, I just need to make sure you’re feeling much better after what happened?”

“Much,” you nodded your head and glanced back to where Aragorn had disappeared to, “so much warmer, and dry as well.”

Legolas chuckled, nodding, “Very good.”

There was that smile again, the one that had drawn him to you when you first met. Before he could speak again, Aragorn had returned. He carried your cloak draped over his arm and a satisfied smile on his face, “All dry, y/n/n.”

y/n/n? Were you really that close with Aragorn? Legolas wanted to scoff and walk away right then and there, but your presence and voice kept him grounded as you thanked the dark haired man and returned his cloak. You turned to face Legolas, putting your cloak around you shoulders.

“Walk with me?” The sound of your voice caused Legolas to beam, nodding his head. He rose to his full height and held his hand out to you, of which you accepted gratefully. Legolas led you away from the fire, and your arm looped through his. The elf was taken aback, glancing over as you rested your head against his upper arm.

“Is that comfortable?” He breathed a little laugh and you nodded against Legolas, pulling away before angling your face to look up at him. Your smile made him grin like a fool, and he looked to the ground that you were walking over, “I’m glad.”

“It’s an awfully beautiful night,” you hummed, glancing up toward the moonlit sky above the both of you, watching the stars, “but I think it’s that way every night.”

Legolas watched you fondly, a small smile resting on his face. You turned to look at him, “Do you need something?”

“You’re just beautiful tonight,” Legolas gestured up to the sky with his free arm, “much like the night sky.”

A look of amusement is what he received, and he instantly regretted his word choice, “Don’t worry, I know of you and Aragorn.”

“Me and Aragorn?” You questioned, you laughed at shook your head, “He and I are simply close because we’ve known each other since we were young. We’re friends, much like you and Gimli.”

Legolas scoffed at the mention of his friend, one of the people he was closest to from the Fellowship, “I wouldn’t say it’s like that-“

“But it is,” you chuckled and looked in front of you, coming to a stop and turning to face Legolas. Your hand trailed down his arm before sliding into his hand. Legolas stopped in front of you, “Aragorn is like my brother. But you Legolas, I feel a different connection with you.”

Your hand felt warm in his own, and he looked down to ensure he wasn’t imagining. You grinned, “And Gimli has told me. Are you truly jealous of how close I am with Aragorn?”

“No- I…” Legolas fell silent, knowing he had been caught when you tilted your head with a doubtful smile.

Your other hand went to the back of his neck, tangling with his long hair, and you rose to your tiptoes. You pulled Legolas down to you, lips gently pressing together. His hand cupping your cheek caused you to smile into the action as you both deepened the kiss.

After a while, you pulled away. You and Legolas stood with your faces only a few inches apart, eyes locked as you studied his elegant features.

“It is much better when you’re not looking at me after having a bout of jealousy,”

#fanfic #fanfiction writer #oneshots #legolas #legolas x y/n #legolas x reader #aragorn #aragorn x reader #gimli #lord of the rings

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elfy-elf-imagines · 6 months

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— Elven Instinct | Legolas Greenleaf *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~2.1k

▹ Summary: When you know, you know. There's no other way to explain it.

▹ Note: I listened to Margaret by Lana on repeat while writing this, 10/10 recommend. Also, unedited because it's 2am and I want to SLEEP.

You’d met Legolas early spring when the winds were still bitter and the frost was beginning to melt.

The moon was high and the chatter was mellow, the defeat of Sauron still fresh in everyone's memory. He’d been wearing his ceremonial armor and you a white dress. The jewels you wore shimmered like stars and your eyes shone like moonlit water. A human woman from a minor noble house, you never expected catching the eye of the elven prince that helped save the realm.

Legolas’ eyes followed you intently, entranced by your sweet voice and the slight creases around your eyes when you smiled. It had been three times your eyes had met and after the third time, Legolas found the courage to approach, downing his glass and leaving it behind. His hands trembled and a lump formed in his throat, but he’d kick himself later if he didn’t try. The pathway to you seemed miles long, the rest of the crowd blind to Legolas; it was as if a single light was guiding his way to you. His blood rushed and his heart raced; tingles lit his body up.

It was no shock when Legolas was a few feet away. You noticed him approaching, of course, you were entirely too aware of him and his lingering eyes. Liquid courage was found in a glass of wine that was sweet and tarte all at once. The alcohol caused your cheeks to flush but you knew the prince's presence would make them flush brighter. The alcohol would be a good excuse for the blush you’d soon have.

The noise in your mind grew hush once the elven prince stood before you. He smelled warm and fresh, well groomed and oiled with a hint of a woodsy scent. The smoothness of his features were nearly off putting, but the shy grin on his face was anything but unnerving. The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fabric of your dress and Legolas’ hands were clasped in front of him. Nervous and awkward, neither of you were sure how to proceed.

It was silent for a moment, replaced by the fumbling of the two of you speaking over each other. With the realization, the words were cut short and silence fell over the air. Your eyes fell to the floor and your teeth worried your lips while Legolas’ cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.

“Apologies, my prince--”

“I insist my lady, you first--”

Another bout of silence. Neither of you could remember how casual conversation worked. You peeked at him through your lashes, a small giggle slipping past your lips. It made Legolas ease his stiff posture, melting into the sound of your voice.

“May I have your name, my lady.” He couldn’t recall being so shy when speaking with a woman. All the confidence age and skill brought was drained from his body; he was an elfling fumbling over his own feet.

“It is Y/N. I would ask for yours, but I believe that question is redundant.”

“Am I so well known?”

Your grin widened in a way that would make your mother grimace.

“One of the heroes who saved Middle Earth and the son of the King of the Woodlands?” There was a hint of teasing in your tone, lips curled into a slight smirk. “I perhaps heard your name a time or two.”

Legolas laughed, eyes shut and head slightly tossed back. A stray ray of light hit his head, illuminating him with a halo above his head. “I suppose my reputation does precede me, but I feel like we’re standing on uneven ground. You know more of me than I do of you.”

Some of the nerves that made you feel fluttery and sick began to disappear. His easy and smile and comforting aura felt as same as the childhood nativity you clung to. He put stars in your eyes in a way no one else ever had.

“I’m afraid my life is dull in comparison to the other attendees of this party.”

The half smile on Legolas’ face contorted into a much softer appearance. Eye bright and voice low, it sent shivers down your spine.

“I dare say you are more so memorable.”

Your lashes fluttered and your breath got caught in your throat. Subtly, you pinched the side of your thigh, sending a prayer of gratitude to whatever god led you to this moment. A shy giggle bubbled from behind your closed lips. Emboldened from the haze the wine created, you leave a feather light touch over Legolas’ shoulder.

“A bold statement considering you’ve hardly known me a day.”

Legolas smiled at your quick retort, leaning towards your body, his head tilted down to see you better.

“They say an elves' instincts are never wrong.”

You raised a single brow in response, a coy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. All thoughts of formality and proprietary thrown out.

“And your instincts say I’m memorable?”

Legolas paused for a moment before continuing.

“Well when you know, you know.”

Unsure of how to react, a small bout of laughter left your mouth. The rest of the night was spent with Legolas at your side. Even as nobles singing his praises and vying for the favor of an elven prince, Legolas never strayed too far. With a polite smile and nod of the head, he would quickly dismiss the well-wishers in favor of returning his attention to you.

The night passed far too quickly, and with the blink of an eye you found yourself in the isolation of your room with your blankets pulled to your chin. Behind your closed eyes, your thoughts and dreams were nothing but Legolas and a life you were certain was too far from your grasp.

---

The crisp spring air was traded for balmy, long summer nights. The world began to return to normal, all that Mordor and Sauraman destroyed slowly being rebuilt. The coronation of the king was approaching, the heroes of Middle Earth lingering in Gondor, including Legolas.

You hadn’t spoken since your first meeting, but he was everywhere you looked. Walks through the city, visits to the Keep, or wandering through the gardens; it didn’t matter where you were, he was everywhere. To his credit, he made it seem as if he was a subject of fate and not the mastermind setting the chess board.

And the board was currently being reset in a small nook overlooking the city. The queen sat in front of a stone table with a book while the king lingered around the edges, unsure of how to approach.

“I began to think you were a ghost I’d imagined.” You spoke quietly and wet the tip of your finger. Flick. Your eyes began to scan the new page of your book.

From the corner of your eye you saw Legolas take the free chair directly across from you. His hands rested on the table, fingers intertwined.

“Why’s that?”

A slight smirk appeared on your lips, barely visible over your book. Finishing the sentence you were reading, you shut the book and set it on the table. Eye to eye, you took in Legolas’ appearance. His casual leathers had been traded in for formal attire, a delicate silver circlet resting above his brow. Gods did he look beautiful.

“You seem to be everywhere I am, yet this is the first time you’ve approached.”

Legolas stared at you a moment; a slight furrow of his brow in response to the tilt of your head and sly grin. “I approached you at the celebration.”

“The first and only time, if we don’t take this moment into consideration.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, a grin pulling on his puzzled expression.

“You seem perfectly capable of starting a conversation and entirely aware of when we were in a room together.” The implication of his words weren’t lost on you, a slight flush betraying your embarrassment. You were entirely too aware of him.

“And how improper would that be?” You feigned a scandalized appearance, lightly swatting Legolas’ hand. “A minor noble woman approaching an elven prince? My mother would die from the embarrassment that scandal would cause.”

Legolas laughed; a short and sweet one that made his eyes turn to crescents. There was a flutter in your stomach and a misbeat of your heart. For a moment your eyes glazed over, not aware what Legolas was saying if he was speaking to begin with. He looked entirely too beautiful, his eyes too blue to be natural. Elves were supposed to be supernaturally beautiful, but none of the other elves wandering the keep were as beautiful as him.

“Ahh.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, the sound pulling you from the spell he cast. “How foolish of me to overlook that detail. In the future I will be sure to start all conversations, lest the public get the wrong idea.”

“A relief to hear you have agreed to stop silently stalking me. And they claim chivalry to be a dying behavior.” You rolled your eyes, the grin on your face dulling any snark in your words.

Your eyes returned to Legolas, the easy silence hanging over the two of you. The air was calm, sans a nervous fog over Legolas’ eyes. What was there to be worried over? The war was over, Sauron was defeated. You tried to remember what could be a cause of worry, but your mind came up empty. Even the remaining orcs were being hunted down and slain.

“But I’m sure that reassurance isn’t why you’re here.” You broke the silence, Legolas’ attention snapping back towards you. “What worried you?”

“I am to return home soon.”

Your mouth was parted, unable to hide the disappointment on your face.

“Oh.” The word was uttered so quietly you weren’t certain it was actually said. Of course he would go home, he’s a prince with duties to his people. It’s not as if there would be anything to keep him here after the King’s coronation next week.

“I wish you a safe journey.”

The tips of your fingers tapped against the smooth stone.

“You mistake me. It is expected of me to return home shortly after Aragorn’s coronation, but I am unsure if it is what I want to do.”

A slight furrow of your brows betrayed your confusion, but before you could open your mouth, Legolas continued to speak.

“We have not spoken nearly as much as I would’ve liked during my stay here, a predicament I understand to be a making of my own, but I--” He cut himself off, eyes lowering to the ground as he shook his head.

Oh.

The realization came with a bright red hue painting your cheeks. All this time, you never once considered the elven prince had affections for you. Each time you’d been in the same room, same hall, or same street, it never occurred to you he was building the courage to speak with you again. Had your first meeting had such an effect on him? Could he possibly get as fluttery and nervous as you do?

“I would like the chance to get to know you, Lady Y/N, and in time perhaps court you.”

Like a starstruck idiot, you stared at Legolas with wide eyes and parted lips. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears and in the distance there were birds singing, or maybe you’d just imagined that.

Legolas began to drum his fingers against the table, nervous eyes unable to meet yours. You’d been silent for too long, you realized. He may be getting the wrong idea. To assuage whatever fears were building within his head, you reached your hand out and placed it over him. It brought his attention back to you; wide eyed and flushed face he looked ages younger than he really was.

“I would love for the chance to get to know you beyond the surface level.”

Like dawn brightening the landscape, Legolas’ face lit up. Any petty fears or worries were banished from his expression. He brought his free hand to rest it atop your other free hand. He squeezed your hand three times before pulling them away. After a moment you hear the soft pad of footsteps on the ground.

A chair skids across the ground as Legolas stood from his seat, outstretching a hand towards you. “Perhaps the lady would grant me a walk through the halls?”

Gently, you stood from your seat, placing your hand in the crook of his arm.

“Lead the way my prince.”

#legolas imagine #legolas x reader #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #legolas #legolas oneshot #legolas greenleaf #tolkien #lotr #middle earth imagines #lotr movies #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings #legolas fluff #mirkwood elves #lotr fanfic #lotr elves

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thewulf · 19 days

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Starlit Promises || Legolas

Summary: Request - Heyy I really like how you write Legolas and also your writing in general so I thought I'd request a Legolas x reader where in reader saves him from an orc attack and got hurt in the process. Hehe that's all have a good day!

A/N: Ahhh I really like this one. Ty Anon for the amazing request as always.

Pairing: Legolas x Elf Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2k +

TW: Orcs, attack, shot with an arrow, poison, angst, sad Legolas

Growing up in the lush, enigmatic depths of Mirkwood had shaped you into the warrior you are today. Side by side with Legolas you had spent countless hours under the tutelage of the same masters learning the arts of combat and stealth. Though your paths within the kingdom's defense forces eventually diverged with Legolas rising to accompany his father on diplomatic missions and you embedding deeper into the scout units you never lost the connection forged in those formative years.

Your friendship with Legolas was based on a foundation of deep respect and a shared love for the vast, mysterious woodland that was your home. Over the years, King Thranduil himself had come to hold you in high regard as he appreciated how you continually challenged and supported his son. Making sure to keep him grounded and focused.

After many seasons apart, duty finally brought you back together. It was a reunion marked by warm smiles and a quick rekindling of your lifelong friendship. Eager to make the most of this reunion you both decided to embark on a patrol through some of the darker much less traveled parts of Mirkwood. These regions were where the trees grew dense, and the shadows lingered. They were known for being unpredictable, yet they offered a serene beauty that was unmatched elsewhere in the kingdom.

As you walked alongside Legolas, your steps silent and your senses alert, you found comfort in the familiar presence of your friend. The air was filled with the sounds of distant waterfalls and the occasional call of a wood pigeon. Conversation flowed easily between you. It was filled with stories of past exploits and shared adventures. It was as if no time had passed at all, and you were just two young elves exploring the woods as you had all those hundreds of years ago.

Yet, the peace of the forest was deceptive and as seasoned warriors both of you remained vigilant. It was a routine patrol on the surface but in Mirkwood with the darkness ever growing one could never be too careful. Little did you know the shadows held more than just the whispers of ancient trees that day.

In the shadow-drenched depths of Mirkwood where the dense canopy stifled even the slightest beam of sunlight you and Legolas moved with the silent grace of seasoned warriors. The forest's deceptive calm should have been your first warning, but you were so engrossed in his presence you didn’t think too much of it. It was a heavy stillness that shrouded the advance of danger. It was in this eerie silence that the ambush was sprung as a large band of orcs burst from their hidden positions among the twisted undergrowth.

In the midst of the intense and chaotic battle with the clash of metal resounding through the ancient trees of Mirkwood a sudden, jarring sound made your heart skip a beat. It was the distinct twang of a bowstring. A sound you’d recognize anywhere amidst the close-quarters combat that it sent a ripple of alarm through you.

You and Legolas were back-to-back and fighting in seamless coordination Legolas's breath hitched audibly, a rare sign of his alarm. His voice was urgent and tinged with a touch of panic as it reached your ears over the din of battle.

"Y/N, the leader, he's aiming for—"

Before he could finish you saw the movement. A shadowy figure at a distance with a notched arrow gleaming with a sinister sheen that could only mean poison. Time seemed to slow as you realized the target was none other than Legolas himself.

With a surge of adrenaline, you acted on pure instinct. "Legolas, down!" you shouted pushing him towards the ground even as you leaped to intercept the flight path of the arrow.

Legolas who was forced down by your push hit the forest floor hard. He turned just in time to see your actions. "No, Y/N!" His voice was laced with horror and desperation as he realized what you were about to do.

The arrow struck and the sound of your grunt of pain was drowned out by Legolas's anguished yell. He scrambled to his feet eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury. "Why would you do this?" he bellowed. His voice cracking with a mix of horror and desperation. His eyes were wide with shock and nearing tears. They searched yours for an answer he could not find in the chaos of his own emotions.

As you staggered from the impact the world began to blur at the edges as the poison was already coursing through your veins. With what strength you had left you managed to whisper, trying to reassure him despite the growing darkness clouding your vision. "Had to... save you. Watch out... he has more..."

Legolas was now beside himself with worry and rage. He turned his attention back to the orc leader with a fierce glare. His usual calm demeanor was shattered by the sight of you injured because of him. He drew his own arrow with a swift, deadly precision that was uncharacteristic but fueled by his tumultuous emotions. "No one harms you and escapes unscathed," he murmured almost to himself as he prepared to return the favor with lethal intent.

What followed was a blur of motion and violence. Legolas moved like a tempest. His arrows finding their marks with lethal precision. Each strike was a blow against his own anguish, a defiance of the fate that had struck you down. The orcs fell one by one. They were no match for the wrath of a prince fighting for the life of a friend he so dearly loved.

As the last of the orcs crumpled to the forest floor, silenced forever, Legolas turned back to where you lay, your face pale and your breaths shallow. He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he gently lifted you into his arms. The forest seemed to hold its breath. The usual whispers of the leaves stilled by the gravity of the moment.

Legolas's steps were swift and sure as he began the urgent journey back to the healers. Each step was a race against the relentless creep of the poison within you. As he moved with his arms secure around you he began to whisper. His voice a soft contrast to the earlier fury that had consumed him.

"Stay with me," he murmured. His words tinged with a desperation he had never known. "You must stay with me." His voice broke as the reality of the situation pressed upon him. The weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm his stoic facade.

The forest blurred past as Legolas with you cradled securely in his arms. He pushed through the undergrowth with an urgency born of sheer desperation. The poison from the orc’s arrow was relentless and with each labored breath you took his heart clenched tighter.

As he hurried his voice was a steady stream of encouragement meant to fortify both your spirits and his own resolve. “You’re so strong. You can fight this,” he urged quietly. His tone gentle yet firm. The dense foliage seemed to part before his determination. The shadows of Mirkwood bending to his will.

“You have to hold on. I need you to hold on,” he continued. His voice only for you. A personal warmth amidst the encroaching darkness of your pain. His words were a lifeline thrown in the hope that your spirit would grasp it and cling to life.

Within his mind a storm of thoughts raged. As he looked down at your face contorted with the effort to stay conscious he was struck by a revelation so profound it rooted itself deep within his soul. I love her, he realized with startling clarity. The thought was both a balm and a torment emerging amidst the terror of possibly losing you. Why did it take the brink of losing her to see how vital she is to me? His heart ached with the weight of his newfound understanding. An understanding that came at such a cruel cost.

Meanwhile, you, despite the searing pain, felt the urgency in his voice and it gave you a focus. A point to anchor your fading strength. You tried to respond. To give him some sign that you heard him. That you were fighting not just for your own life, but for him, for the future you hadn't yet considered might be possible together. Your lips moved slightly as a whisper of sound that was more an exhale of pain than coherent words.

Legolas felt the faint stir of your attempt to speak and it spurred him on. His strides growing even more determined. “Just a little farther,” he promised you, and perhaps himself. “We’re almost there. Stay with me.”

His mind continued to race with thoughts of love and loss, but he kept these revelations locked within choosing instead to flood you with hopeful, encouraging words. Every step was a silent vow. Every heartbeat a silent plea to whatever fates watched over the elves of Mirkwood.

As the gates of the palace finally came into sighta surge of tentative relief washed over him. The guards recognized the dire nature of your condition and rushed to meet him calling for the healers swiftly. Legolas’s arms relinquished you with a reluctance that was palpable. His hands lingering until the last possible moment as he handed you over to their care.

Watching the guards swiftly carry you away Legolas could only stand there for a moment, alone and suddenly bereft. The depth of his emotions swirling chaotically within. Hold on, please hold on, he thought. His heart echoing each word of encouragement he had given you. Now a silent mantra for the both of you.

In the somber halls of the Mirkwood palace, Thranduil arrived, drawn by the urgent whispers of his guards about an incident involving his son and one of his most valued elves. As he entered his eyes found Legolas who stood alone. His posture betraying a mix of shock and despair rarely seen on the prince.

Approaching quietly Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder, his presence immediately steadying. "Legolas, tell me what has happened," he urged. His voice firm yet lined with concern.

Legolas's response was choked. A surge of emotions breaking through his usually composed demeanor. Turning to face his father, tears welled in his eye. It was a terribly rare sight that shook Thranduil to his core. "She... she saved me," Legolas stammered. The words laced with pain and guilt. "An orc aimed a poisoned arrow at me, and she stepped in front. She took the hit herself. It should have been me, Father."

The king's eyes widened in horror as he processed the gravity of the situation. His mind racing with the implications of your selfless act. "Legolas," Thranduil said softly as he guided his son to sit beside him on a nearby bench, an effort to offer comfort amidst the cold stone surroundings. "You must not blame yourself for her bravery. She acted out of loyalty and courage. These are qualities that are to be honored, not lamented."

Legolas wiped at his eyes, struggling to compose himself. "But I love her, Father. And now, I might lose her because I could not protect her," he confessed. The words tumbling out amidst sobs. The admission of his feelings which were spoken aloud for the first time seemed to both relieve and burden him further.

Thranduil was taken aback by the depth of his son’s emotions. He reached out, his own composure tinged with empathy. "My son, love is both a strength and a vulnerability. You must hold onto the hope that she will recover. And should she wake, it is your duty—and your right—to tell her of your feelings."

The king stood, resolute. "I will speak with the healers to ensure that everything possible is being done," he promised. Returning his attention to Legolas, he added, "Stay strong, Legolas. She fought to save you. Now you must be strong for her."

Thranduil placed a reassuring hand on Legolas's shoulder. His gaze intense and commanding. "There is something you can do, Legolas. Go to her," he instructed firmly. "The healers say that even in unconsciousness the presence of someone familiar may be felt. Your presence could provide the strength she needs to fight this poison."

Legolas looked at his father. The determination in Thranduil's voice sparking a flicker of hope within him. "Talk to her, hold her hand, let her feel your presence. Keep her grounded to this world. Your voice, your touch… it may reach her when our medicine cannot."

Rising from the bench with renewed purpose Legolas nodded solemnly. "I will not leave her side," he vowed. The resolve in his voice masking the tremor of his underlying fear.

Thranduil watched as his son strode towards the healers quarters. His posture that of a prince, yet driven by the raw, powerful emotions of an elf in love. "She saved you for a reason, Legolas. Now, give her a reason to return," Thranduil murmured to himself as he watched Legolas disappear behind the delicate curtains that shrouded the healing chambers.

Inside, Legolas approached your side with his heart pounding as he took in your serene yet pained expression. Gingerly, he took your hand in his. The coolness of your skin against his warm palm stirring a mix of emotions within him. Sitting beside you he began to speak his voice soft but clear threading through the quiet hum of the healing ward.

"I'm here just like you've always been there for me. Remember the storms we weathered together? The quiet moments we shared under the stars of our beautiful Mirkwood? Hold onto those memories now as I hold onto your hand. You must come back to us, to me," Legolas whispered. His words a tender plea laced with strength and love.

As he continued to speak he recounted tales of their past adventures and shared dreams. Legolas's presence became a silent, steadfast hope, anchoring you in the fight against the darkness that threatened to claim you.

"Remember the time we chased the fireflies at dusk?" Legolas continued. His voice a soft murmur meant only for you. "We wandered so far that night we almost missed the evening banquet. Your laughter echoed through the woods, brighter even than the lights we chased. I think that was the moment I realized how dear you were to me though I never had the courage to say it. I wish I said it."

He paused. His thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, each memory a pull trying to guide you back. "And then there was the storm. The one that caught us off guard near the northern border. We took shelter under that old oak. The one that's stood for a thousand years. You were so calm, so brave, even as the thunder roared around us. It was more than bravery. It was a peace within you that even the storm couldn't disturb. I truly fell in love with you then."

His voice grew softer, each word laden with emotion. "I've always admired that about you—your strength, your serenity. It's been a constant source of comfort to me, more often than you know." A sigh escaped him, a mixture of admiration and deep-seated fear. "I need that strength now, more than ever. You have to fight through this. I... I can't envision a world without you in it mellon vaer nîn, meleth nîn." He whispered to you.

Legolas's gaze lingered on your face. His eyes tracing the familiar features as if trying to imprint them deeper into his memory. "There are so many things I still want to share with you. The sunrise over the Silverlode. Quiet mornings in the glades. So many adventures yet to be had. I need you to come back to me."

As he continued to speak recalling tales of their past his voice became your lifeline, tethered to the hope of your recovery. With each story he tried to weave you back to consciousness. To draw you away from the shadows that clung too closely.

Hours passed, a silent vigil marked only by the rhythm of his voice and the faint but steady beat of your heart. It was during one such tale as Legolas recounted a particularly daring escapade from their youth that he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but to Legolas, it was as profound as the sun breaking through a week of rain.

His heart leapt and his words faltered for a moment. "Are you there? Can you hear me?" he asked. His voice a blend of hope and urgency. When there was no further response he settled back with a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. "I'll keep talking… just keep listening. You're not alone." Legolas's resolve hardened, bolstered by the faint sign of your fighting spirit. He continued to talk. Each word a pledge of his presence and protection. His stories a bridge carrying you back from the brink.

The healing ward was bathed in the soft, ethereal light of dawn filtering through the high windows. Legolas sat steadfast by your side with his hand still holding yours as a silent anchor in the hushed space. He continued to speak with his voice a soft, continuous presence in the hushed space continuously recounting tales, and shared dreams. He was weaving a tapestry of memories meant to guide you back.

As he recounted a particularly fond memory of a midsummer festival where you both had danced under the stars until the world seemed nothing more than a swirl of lights and laughter your eyelids began to flutter. It was a slight movement but enough to pause the flow of his words.

Your eyes slowly opened as they adjusted to the dim light of the room, focusing with effort on the figure who had not left your side. Legolas watched you carefully. His breath held in a mixture of hope and anxiety. Seeing your eyes finally meet his, a wave of relief and joy washed over him, though he tempered his reaction. The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you.

"You're awake," he said softly. His voice a mix of wonder and warmth, his grip on your hand tightening gently.

You managed a weak smile. Your voice barely a whisper but filled with gratitude and warmth. "Legolas..." you breathed, your eyes locking onto his conveying everything you felt but couldn't yet say.

He leaned closer with his forehead nearly touching yours. His eyes were bright with emotion. "You are home," he whispered as his voice trembled slightly. "You're here with me. That is all that matters."

You nodded weakly, your smile widening just a bit. "Home," you agreed softly, the word holding so much more than its simple meaning. It was a promise, a recognition of the bond that had brought you back from the brink.

Legolas brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His touch ever so gentle and reverent. "I was so afraid of losing you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your bravery, your sacrifice... I cannot bear the thought of a world without you in it."

Your hand squeezed his lightly. A small gesture but one that conveyed strength and reassurance. "I'm here," you whispered back, the effort taxing but necessary. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"We have so much more to see together. So many more memories to share," Legolas continued with a smile playing on his lips. "I promise from now on every moment will be a testament to the life you fought so hard to return to."

Your smile widened a bit more, your energy still faint but growing with every moment of connection. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world," you replied. Your voice was stronger this time, filled with the promise of many tomorrows.

In that quiet evening with the last light painting the world in hues of pink and gold, Legolas and you shared a moment of profound gratitude and love. A bond deepened by trials and now unbreakable by anything that the future might hold.

As your strength slowly returned Legolas took you to a secluded glade one evening. A hidden sanctuary where the world's concerns seemed to dissolve under the brilliance of the starlit sky. The air was cool and carried the sweet scent of blooming night flowers. You both settled on a soft blanket surrounded by the tranquil whisper of the forest.

Looking up at the stars Legolas turned toward you, his blue eyes reflecting the celestial light. He took a deep breath as if preparing to share something significant, and then began to speak. His voice soft yet clear. "I've spent many nights under these stars," he said, "but none felt as profound as tonight, being here with you." He paused giving you a moment to absorb the words. "When you were hurt, when I thought I might lose you, I realized something vital. Just how much you mean to me, how deeply I care about you."

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of surprise and joy. The sincerity in his voice and the earnest look in his eyes it was all you had ever hoped for yet never dared to expect. "Legolas, I...," you started your emotions thickening your voice. "I've felt the same way for a long time. But I never thought—"

"That we might have a future together?" Legolas interjected gently. "I know. I've been a fool, letting time pass without speaking my heart. But I don't want to hide my feelings anymore. I love you. More than I can say."

Tears welled in your eyes but not from sadness but from a profound relief and happiness. "I love you too," you replied. Your voice a soft echo of his own declaration. "I always have."

Legolas reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentle touch. "Then let us make a promise tonight," he suggested. His gaze locked with yours, "to never hold back our feelings. To cherish each moment, we have together and to face whatever comes with unity and strength."

You nodded, feeling the weight and warmth of his hand in yours. "I promise," you said. "To all of that."

The night deepened around you, but in the glade, illuminated by starlight, a new chapter of your life together began. It was a promise made not just in words but in the shared glances, the gentle touches, and the quiet commitment to face life's complexities together. With Legolas by your side the future seemed not just a path to walk but a journey to cherish.

The next morning, with the promise of the previous night still fresh and luminous like the dawn Legolas sought his father in the tranquil palace gardens. Dappled sunlight filtered through the ancient trees casting golden patterns on the mossy floor.

"Father," Legolas began with his voice carrying a newfound confidence mixed with joy, "last night under the stars, Y/N and I made a promise. I wish to ask her to let me court her with the intention of marriage."

Thranduil paused with his gaze piercing as he turned to face his son. For a moment his expression was unreadable. Then, a wide, genuine smile transformed his face. "Finally," he exclaimed with a rare chuckle. "You have truly found your path, my son. It is about time."

Legolas smiled, a weight lifting from his shoulders with his father's blessing. Bolstered by this support he planned a special moment to formally begin the courtship. He chose a small, exquisite pendant shaped like a star. An echo of the night that had sealed your shared destiny.

Later that day as you stood in the lush Mirkwood gardens Legolas approached you. The late afternoon sun lit the clearing casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. In his hand he held the delicate star-shaped pendant which sparkled as it caught the light.

"Y/N," he said gently, drawing your attention. His hand extended offering the pendant to you. "Last night, under the starlight, we promised to face whatever comes together. With all my heart, I ask you now, will you let me court you with the hope and intention that one day you will be my wife?"

The moment was overwhelming. More tears sprang to your eyes as the magnitude of what this meant filled you. You had loved Legolas for so long, sometimes fearing your affection was a solitary flame. Now hearing his heartfelt words, confirming that he felt the same, was a relief so profound that sobs of joy escaped you.

"Yes, Legolas," you managed to say between gentle sobs. Your voice thick with emotion as you reached out to take the pendant. "Yes, of course I will."

Legolas stepped closer. His eyes shining with the same emotion. He took the pendant and carefully clasped it around your neck. He cupped your face in his hands wiping away your tears with his thumbs.

"This is just the beginning meleth nîn," he whispered. His voice as tender as the touch of the evening breeze. "A promise of a lifetime together, filled with love and understanding."

In that enchanted moment with the beauty of Mirkwood surrounding you and the promise of a future together everything felt utterly perfect. The garden seemed to hold its breath, the leaves whispering in the wind, as if nature itself was acknowledging the depth of your bond. The journey ahead would indeed have challenges but with the strength of your love you knew you could face them with him.

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asgardianhobbit98 · 4 months

Text

Four for Valentine: Week 4 "Sugar"

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Fili / female OC (Kalâtha)

Important Tags: Fluff, romance, start of a relationship, Dwarven Culture HC

Summary: Put on cooking duty by Thorin, Fili and Kalâtha have a heart to heart about why Fili has been acting so distracted lately. The reason? Dwarves only love once.

Words: 2163

Written for my "Four for Valentine" event 🩷

Tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane

if you want to be removed or added to my tag list, please let me know 🩷

Dwarves only loved once.

That thought kept distracting Fili during a quest that was sure to become historically known to his kin. And it was embarrassing.

Fili should be focusing on the quest at hand. He should be focusing on keeping his brother protected. And he should be focusing on showing Thorin how far he’d come; that his uncle could be proud to call him crown prince soon. Yet… here he was. Doing the opposite of focusing.

Such an important quest… and all he could think about was her.

Whether the others were aware of what was distracting Fili, he wasn’t sure of. Either way, his uncle had suddenly begun to task him and Kalâtha to do chores together when camping for the night, leaving Kili to work with Ori. Which was odd because his uncle never separated the two brothers. Especially considering the deal Thorin had made with Dis to make sure both her sons stayed close to keep an eye on each other.

So perhaps at least his uncle knew?

It had begun as a childhood crush. Which then stuck with him into his teenage years. He’d thought it would be nothing more but that. But… then in his young adult years Fili felt the crush only grow stronger and grasp onto his heart.

Even when Kalâtha left the Blue Mountains to pursue a path of self discovery, Fili had not felt his feelings dissipate in the slightest. No matter the week long flings he’d had with others, Kalâtha was always the one on his mind in the late hours of the nights, even when not alone in his own bed.

And now…?

Now as they had picked her up from her new life among the humans in Bree (of all forsaken places) and found her just the same, just with a tad more confidence, Fili felt his feelings… blossom. As if he had just fallen down from the cliff he had been hanging from all this time, down into a vast ocean of warmth and uncertainty with the waves of both these feelings crashing into him painfully, anxiously, lovingly… lustfully.

And he was stuck. Because…

Dwarves only loved once.

Did Kalâtha feel the same? Did she look at him differently? Did she even view him this way?

If she didn’t…

“Fili?”

“Huh?” he blurted out a little louder than he should have.

“Are you even listening to me?” she asked, with little malice in her voice. Instead, she was smiling, close to laughing at him… He would be fine if she laughed at him. She could be cruel and vicious to him too if she wanted. It didn’t matter… He was far gone in his love for her and any attention was like a high to him. But she could never be cruel. She was too good for that. Luckily. Because he truly would have let himself be tossed around by her if she so desired.

“Fili?”

She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. He’d gotten lost in her again.

Now, though, she looked worried. “What is up with you? You’ve been acting strange this entire journey. Are you ill?”

Fili shook his head, his braided moustache hitting the sides of his cheeks with the urgency of his gesture. “No, not ill.”

“Then what?”

The two of them were sitting crouched in front of the campfire, waiting for Bofur to get it started. Their task was to cook dinner. Which… Fili had to admit wasn’t his strongest side. Kalâtha ended up doing most of the work.

“What indeed,” Bofur teased with a little look to Fili.

Okay, so the entire company did know what was up with Fili.

Somehow that didn’t comfort Fili in the slightest. It only gave him more anxiety because how could he show his uncle he could lead a people some day when he dropped his daggers or tripped over nothing whenever Kalâtha glanced his way?

“Uh… Well, I’m not quite confident in my cooking abilities,” Fili lied.

Kalâtha giggled. That gorgeous divine giggle that she had. She flipped her beard braids to the side a bit in a cocky gesture at which Fili smirked: “Don’t worry, I know how to make an amazing stew.”

“Good,” Fili responded. “I’d expect nothing less from you.” That had meant to come out as praise because he truthfully thought everything she did was amazing, and perhaps it had because Kalâtha hadn’t originally reacted... But in his stupid state, Fili panicked: “Oh uh… Not because you’re a woman. I simply meant-“

“Fili,” Kalâtha interrupted with a laugh. “You’ve not changed a bit, have you?”

“No… I suppose I haven’t.”

He glared at Bofur as he snickered at the exchange. Great… Another moment where he’d made a fool of himself.

…

During the duration of their chore, Fili did mainly some chopping… and the rest was staring. At Kalâtha.

She was busy, determined to teach Fili the recipe of her stew. But she wasn’t aware of the fact that the only details Fili was taking in were the details of her face, her beard, her hair, her ears, her nose…

He was closer to her now than he was usually when he found himself able to freely watch her. So he saw all these new little details that he adored. Like how she wrinkled her nose a bit when opening the lid of the pot and steam touched her face. Or how her lips moved when she said his name. How sometimes she bit her lower lip when focusing on a task like stirring the stew. Or perhaps it was mild anxiety that made her do so as she was a perfectionist. She was most certainly worrying about this not tasting the way it should, even if that only meant there being a little bit too much or too little salt.

“Fili?”

He blinked out of the stare, quickly pretending that he had, indeed, been listening.

“More salt.”

Fili reached back, not wanting to stop watching her, and grabbed the bag he thought to be salt, handing it to her. Trusting him, she didn’t double check the contents of the bag and simply put the required amount of salt into the stew.

“There. And then, you let it simmer for a few minutes before tasting, so the spices have time to melt into the vegetables and meat.” Kalâtha turned her head to Fili, catching his eye. Or, rather, his stare.

A smile spread over her lips.

He smiled back.

“Did you listen to a single thing I just said?”

Fili eagerly nodded his head. “We have to let it simmer for a bit.”

“And before that?” she tasked him with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh… Basilica makes a good replacement for oregano?”

He hadn’t gotten it right. That was obvious. Because Kalâtha stared at him in disbelief for a moment before shaking her head. “Okay so… are we going to talk about it?”

“What?” Fili asked panicked.

“About what’s up with you? Come on, Fili. You’re my closest friend. At least, you were before I left. You can still talk to me.” She reached out, surprisingly hesitant for the confident woman that she was, and grasped his hand in hers. “Fili?”

“I.. uh…” he stuttered out, the nerve endings in his fingers exploding under her touch and sending shockwaves of literal alarm to his brain, shortcutting everything, it seemed. “Uh…”

And then she looked… sad. Grieved by his seeming hesitance to talk to her.

And all of a sudden any panic, any hesitance, disappeared in an instance because underneath all that fluster and the nerves was the core of his love for her, which burned brighter than any nervousness he might have: and that core was made up of his love language, which was protection.

From everything.

Even little moments of hurt feelings.

And this was one of those.

He squeezed her fingers tightly and stopped stuttering as he reassured her with a determined look: “You’re right. I have been acting strange. A fool, some might say. But that is not because I view you any different. Or… It is, but it is in no way a negative view.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

The bustle of the Dwarves around them doing their assigned chores meant a strange bubble of privacy was created. Only the two of them were listening to each other, others too busy. And it felt more intimate than any other private moment they’d shared before when it was just the two of them in one room.

It helped give Fili the boost of confidence he needed.

“I mean I think you’re… amazing. I have thought so since the first time your parents brought you over during that dinner… Dis and your mother were speaking the entire night, and you were so shy. I didn’t know how to approach you.”

“Kili ended up talking my ear off,” Kalâtha reminisced, smiling wonderfully at what Fili was saying. She seemed a little hesitant… no, nervous? But her confidence, her calmness, was infectious. Despite what Fili was about to admit to her, he felt secure and safe with her. As if no matter what her answer was, he was in good hands. “Then he brought you over and you talked my ear off.”

“That’s – Well, yes, I suppose I did.” She giggled. He smiled. “I didn’t know why I was so nervous approaching you then. Only years later did I realise you made me nervous. But not in a bad way. A good way.”

Kalâtha grew quiet now, watching Fili intently. Or was that… hopeful?

“And then those sort of…”

“Butterflies?” she clarified, as if knowing.

Now Fili grew hopeful too. “Yes…” he breathed out. “Yes, just like butterflies. They stayed. Throughout my entire youth. I thought maybe… it was just…”

“A crush. But then it didn’t go away,” Kalâtha finished for him. As he watched her, dumbfounded by her means to finish his thoughts, she smiled sweetly at him. “My dear, did you think you were the only one?”

“I did, actually.” Fili’s honest response made her the dumbfounded one. “I thought there was no way you could feel this way for me. Especially not since I’ve been acting a fool this entire journey.”

Kalâtha giggled. Then she chuckled and slowly her chuckles turned into a snorting laughter. “Oh,” she managed to get out, “is that why…?”

“Yes.” Fili blushed, his brows furrowing into a pleading look upon which Kalâtha calmed herself down and squeezed their still intertwined fingers to reassure him. “I never thought…”

“Dwarves only love once,” Kalâtha repeated the words Fili had been worrying about this entire time. “I was scared that I’d lost my chance at love to someone who could never even think about liking me back. So I never mentioned it.”

“I… That’s exactly why I never did!”

Then the two shared a bout of laughter together, inching closer to each other in a gesture that was… new but welcome.

But before any more words could be said, or before any other loving gestures could be made – Bofur appeared again.

“How’s food coming along?”

Letting go of each other’s hands, Fili watched as Kalâtha opened the lid of the pot once more and showed the food to Bofur.

He sniffed the aromas happily, either completely unaware of what he had just interrupted, or finding some amusement in interrupting it… Either way, he looked very pleased with himself.

And he also had an extra bag of coins at his side.

“Smells heavenly. A little sweet too, what’s in it?” Bofur asked.

“Sweet?” Kalâtha asked in confusion. “No, it shouldn’t be sweet.” She grabbed a spoon to fill it up with some of the sauce, tasting it…

She pulled a face of surprise, then slight disgust.

She looked around at the spices they’d used, frantically searching for the culprit of whatever had made her stew taste strange enough for her to pull a face Fili hadn’t seen before.

Then she slowly lifted the salt bag. Her eyes shifted to Fili. Bofur glanced between the two of them. “What’s wrong?”

Fili wondered the same thing, raising an eyebrow at Kalâtha.

“Fili… You gave me sugar, not salt.” She looked amused. After their conversation, it was obvious why he’d been distracted enough not to notice this mistake. At least he wasn’t getting reprimanded.

“Well, I’m glad it amuses some of ya. Bombur’s not gonna be quite so happy,” Bofur pointed out.

Kalâtha sighed. “It’s alright. I can fix it. Just tell everyone it’s gonna take a few extra minutes before we eat.”

Bofur left with this message, and somewhere from camp Kalâtha and Fili could hear a distinct ‘aww…’ from Bombur at the disappointment of having to wait longer.

But Kalâtha and Fili didn’t mind in the slightest. Now actually capable of focusing, Fili sat with his arm around her waist, offering her the right ingredients whilst relishing in the feeling of her leaning against him…

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runesandramblings · 1 year

Text

The Heir

Word Count: 2200

Pairings: Thorin x reader

Warnings: None

Description: Your pregnancy creates questions over the line of succession.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen your toes.

As you waddled, quite literally, down the stone corridors of Erebor you realized you could not remember the last time you’d been able to see your feet. Sometime around the middle of your pregnancy it felt as though your stomach had doubled in size overnight, and you’d only grown since then. Dwarves were small, of course, but hobbits were even smaller and you supposed that was why your belly protruded far enough out that you felt it could tip you over at any moment.

“(Y/N), what might I ask are you doing out of bed?”

You turned slowly around, carefully as to not lose your balance, to find Bilbo standing behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest as he gave you a knowing, reprimanding look.

“You should be resting. Didn’t Oin order you to bed until the baby comes?”

Oh Bilbo, ever the worrier. Yes, Oin technically had asked you to remain in bed until you gave birth. Mostly due to your small size and the fact that you were now two days past his original estimation of your due date. But you’d grown restless. There was nothing to do, besides read, and you’d exhausted every book that Ori had been kind enough to bring you. There was also a big decision ahead to be made, and you couldn’t stop troubling yourself over it.

“Has he made an announcement?” You asked quietly.

Bilbo’s frown only deepened as he shook his head.

“No, I don’t believe he has.”

That did nothing to ease the anxious pit in your stomach. Your child could come any day now, and Thorin had still not announced what would become of the line of succession. You felt your heart torn in two directions as you thought of both Fili and your unborn son or daughter. Of course, you wanted your child to have a place in the line. But you also did not want to take away the birthright Fili had held since he himself was a baby. Thorin had never anticipated he would one day take back the mountain. He’d also never anticipated falling in love and finally marrying, after all these years. Fili had held the title of heir for over 80 years now, and it didn’t feel right to take that away.

“Ghivashel.”

You looked up to see Thorin strolling toward you, followed closely by Kili and Fili on either side. Both nodded, bowing their heads to you out of respect. Kili met your gaze with a smile as he lifted his head. You frowned as Fili forced a smile, but would not look you in the eye. The decision that lay ahead had forced a rift between the two of you. It pained you deeply. You’d grown incredibly close to Kili and Fili both on the journey to Erebor, and as your nephews by marriage your relationship had remained close in the years that followed. But the news of your pregnancy had raised the same question in Fili’s mind as it had the rest of the mountain: who would be the heir to the throne?

You couldn’t blame him for worrying. He was not upset with you, as he’d told you numerous times over your pregnancy. But the closer your due date grew, the more distant he became. You knew it was weighing heavily on his mind, as it was yours.

Both brothers excused themselves as they continued down the corridor, leaving you and Thorin to speak privately. Somewhat privately, that was, as you could still feel Bilbo lingering behind you. Ever your protector, as he had been for years.

“What are you doing out of bed? Shouldn’t you be resting?” Thorin placed his hand tenderly on your belly as he spoke.

You rested your hand on top of his as you also looked down at your bump. In spite of the questions, the doubts, and the decisions left to be made, you couldn’t wait to meet your little one. Watching Thorin prepare for the birth of your child had reminded you of all the reasons you fell in love. As crass and cold as he often came off to those who didn’t know him well, you knew there was a hidden soft side underneath. The caring, gentle man that you’d grown to know and love over the course of the journey to Erebor.

“I was just checking to see if you’d made a decision, yasthûn. It’s making me restless.”

He shook his head as he turned his gaze from your stomach to look into your eyes.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself over that, my love. You need your rest. I can’t have you going into labor in some obscure corner of the mountain.” He looked behind you to where Bilbo still stood. “Master Baggins, would you escort the queen back to our chambers?” He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “I will see you later this evening. Rest.” He said sternly, his serious expression cracking into a smile as he turned to follow in the direction Kili and Fili had gone.

You sighed in defeat as you accepted Bilbo’s outstretched arm. The two of you walked in silence for several minutes as he steered you back towards your rooms.

“Never thought we’d be here.” He said finally, breaking the silence.

“You mean with myself as a queen and you as a royal advisor to a king?” You asked as you waddled along beside him. You hadn’t either.

Bilbo had been your neighbor in Bag End. He had taken notice when you moved in as you were very young and lived alone, and he’d taken it upon himself to look after you. The pair of you had become close friends, often gardening together and exchanging stories over daily tea and cakes for years. On the fateful night of the dwarves' arrival to his home, you’d just so happened to be over for dinner. Gandalf had not anticipated getting two hobbits in the place of one, but he had willingly accepted your offer to join the party. During the journey something had sparked between you and Thorin, and although he was the holdout he eventually confessed his feelings after you’d defeated Smaug. The two of you had married shortly after the battle against Azog and his armies, and the rest was history.

You felt yourself growing tired as you neared your chamber door. It was amazing how such little effort wore you out nowadays. The baby could not come soon enough.

“Thank you, Bilbo.” You said, stopping before your door. “I’m always grateful for you.”

He smiled in return as held it open for you.

“Anything for you, dear friend.”

Your walk that afternoon seemed to have done the trick, and later that same evening you went into labor. Thorin had remained by your side through the entirety of your twelve hour labor, and you’d given birth to a baby girl. After a few days of debate over a name, Dis had actually been the one to help you decide.

“Rosina is such a beautiful name, (Y/N). How did you come up with it?”

Tauriel held your baby girl in her arms, rocking her gently. Oin had instructed you to have no visitors for the first two weeks, with the exception of Dis and Thorin. It was winter, and sickness often spread much more quickly in the cold months. After the ban on visitors had finally been lifted Tauriel had been the first to come and see your daughter, and she’d been spending every afternoon in your chambers since.

You smiled as you watched her with your newborn, wondering when she and Kili would have a little one of their own.

“Rosie is a popular name in Bag End, and I’ve always loved it. Dis altered it into Rosina, actually.”

“Well it’s a perfect fit for a little princess. I think she looks just like you.” She said, beaming down at your infant as she spoke.

The mention of the word princess instantly drew your thoughts back to Thorin, Fili, and the decision still at hand. It was nearing the three week mark since Rosina’s birth, and Thorin had still not made an announcement on his succession.

“I think she looks like Thorin.” You said, trying to turn your thoughts away from troubles that continued to plague you. “Especially when Dis holds her. You can really see the Durin resemblance.”

A gentle knock at the door interrupted your conversation, and after you called out that it was safe to enter Kili stepped into the room.

“My queen.” He greeted, nodding. His grin widened as he turned to Tauriel. “My love. (Y/N), are you feeling well enough to join us? Thorin has an announcement he’d like to make.”

You felt your pulse quicken as you quickly stood from your chair. This was it.

Tauriel offered a reassuring smile as she placed Rosina back in your outstretched arms. She knew as well as Kili did of the tension surrounding the impending decision.

Your heart continued to pound in your chest as you followed Kili down the endless corridors. The walk to Thorin’s meeting space had never felt so long. What had he decided? Would Fili resent you and your daughter forever? Would your child ever take the throne?

You entered the room to find Thorin sat at the head of the table. Fili sat on his right, followed by his wife. Bilbo, Dis, Balin, and a handful of other advisors sat around them, all watching you expectantly as you walked through the door. The seat on Thorin’s left was open, and as you made eye contact he smiled warmly and stood to greet you. You felt all eyes in the room follow you as you moved to stand beside your husband. As you approached he reached out and gently took the baby from you, holding her in one arm as he pulled your seat out with the other. He beamed proudly as he stood at the head of the table, holding her out just far enough for the others to see.

“First things first. Please meet the newest princess under the mountain, my beautiful daughter Rosina.”

The room was filled with happy murmurs and whispered congratulations as the faces around the table exchanged smiles and compliments toward your newborn. You saw Fili smile up at her as well from his seat next to Thorin, though you could see the hint of sadness behind his eyes. Another pang of guilt and worry shot through you.

“I know there have been many questions and concerns over the line of succession in the past months.” He began, rocking your daughter gently as he spoke. “I never expected I would marry, or become a father.

“However, there is no doubt in my mind that I made the right decision in naming Fili as my heir. He has remained my faithful right hand for many years. He’s learned and absorbed everything I’ve had to offer. It is not merely a name that makes a king, and whether or not he is my son by birth he is willing and capable of leading Erebor one day.”

You exchanged a glance across the table with Fili as Thorin continued.

“Therefore, the line of succession will continue as follows. Upon either my death or retirement, Fili will become king under the mountain. But in order to remain fair to my own children, upon Fili’s death or retirement, the line will revert back to my daughter, and any future children she may have.” He paused, looking around the table. “Does this please you all?”

There was a chorus of affirmations and nods from around the table. Thorin turned to his nephew.

“Fili?”

The worried lines that had furrowed his brow for many months now had dissipated. You could see the relief and surprise across the young dwarf’s face.

“I am more than pleased, Uncle.” He said. “You honor me.”

“Fili will make a wonderful king.” You spoke up, smiling across the table. The decision had not been one you’d even stopped to consider, and you were thrilled. Fili would not lose his position, and your daughter would not be snubbed. It was a win for everyone.

Fili beamed back at you in response.

“Rosina will make a wonderful queen one day as well.” As he spoke he gestured to your daughter in Thorin’s arms, indicating he’d like to hold her. As he cradled the baby against his chest you felt your heart swell. Seeing the two of them together filled your mind with so many visions of your future as a family. You could see it now: Fili taking his little cousin under his wing as she grew, he and Kili both teaching her to play pranks on Thorin as they had. Maybe even little ones of their own for her to play with in the future.

“The first queen under the mountain.” Fili continued, smiling from your daughter up to look at you. “She’s going to make history.”

Yasthûn - husband

Ghivashel - my treasure

#the hobbit #lord of the rings #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit trilogy #the hobbit movies #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit x reader #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin #thorin x you #Thorin Oakenshield x reader #Thorin Oakenshield x you #thorin x y/n #king thorin #thorin oneshot #Thorin imagine

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