#galion the butler

[soralinklokidottirofmirkwood]

Napping siblings: Thranduil x baby reader x Legolas.

Age: 6 months. Thranduil is looking for his young son and infant daughter until he found them in his daughter’s room fast asleep and the next morning he, Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir found them asleep again.

Thranduil had just gotten out of a meeting with his butler Galion and a few of his guards.

As they walked down the palace corridor Thranduil noticed that it was quite, to quite for his liking! Because his 8 year old son Legolas and 6 month old infant daughter Y/N are usually causing mayhem and panic in these halls, but his two little children were nowhere in the halls making him panic and ask around the palace as he knew there was trouble when things were to quiet until he was in front of the guards guarding the throne room “do you two know where my children are?” He asked the guards feeling his heart beating so fast as if he was running from orcs “Last I heard they were playing in the princess’s room.” One of the guards answered making Thranduil dash there feeling his parental instincts kicking.

When the king was in front of his daughters nursery he slowly opened the door and peaked his head in to see that the room was empty aside from some toys on the ground but he saw a body in the crib, thinking it was his little girl he slowly walked up to it to check on her but what he saw made his heart almost burst from his chest, there was his son and daughter fast asleep in the crib.

Legolas had an arm over Y/N’s tiny frame protectively with Y/N’s tiny hands clutching to his tunic, smiling Thranduil let out a tiny chuckle “You two almost gave me a heart attack this afternoon.” he whispered gently until his son let out a yawn and stretched until his hands and head hit the board of the crib then he looked up at his father “Oh good afternoon Ada.” The young prince said until he realized where he was making him blush “How much did you see?” He asked making his father smirk “only a lot of it.” The king said until Y/N’s eyes opened while she let out a gentle squeak then it turn into a happy squeal when she saw her father “Did you enjoyed your nap princess?” Thranduil asked picking up the 6 month old elfling while Legolas managed to get out of the crib by himself “How did you get in there anyways little leaf?” Thranduil asked “I just climbed in.” Legolas answered still recovering from his embarrassment as he stretched a bit to get some feeling back in his sleeping limps.

The next day:

Thranduil was up at 6:00 so he could greet lord Elrond and his sons.

When he and some guards walked out of the palace he saw that the bridge was wet “It did rain last night! And it was thundering a lot too.” The king said to a guard until he saw the lord of Rivendell with his twin son’s walking up the bridge with some guards “greetings Elrond.” Thranduil greeted Elrond who smiled “Hello Thranduil.” Elrond greeted back to his old friend who is the cousin of his Father-in-law “Where are Y/N and Legolas?” Elladan asked not seeing the two elflings “They are probably still asleep.” Thranduil said walking them in “I’ll get Legolas.” The king said as they made their way to the sleeping quarters “Legolas time to wake up.” Thranduil said knocking on the door but he didn’t get an answer “Legolas?” He asked but he still didn’t get an answer so the king slowly peeked his head in but he didn’t see his son “He must be up already.” He said walking to his sons bathing chambers “Legolas! Elladan and Elrohir are here.” He said knocking on the door but didn’t hear a reply “Legolas?” He asked slowly opening the door to see the bathing chamber empty with the clothes Legolas worn yesterday being in the laundry basket “I know exactly where he is.” Thranduil said exiting Legolas’s room with the Rivendell family towards Y/N’s room, he puts a finger to his lips telling them to be quiet as he slowly opens the door.

As they walked in and towards the even younger elflings crib Thranduil has his hands on his hips and lightly chuckles, Elrond is smiling at the sight before him and the twins couldn’t help but snicker at the sight because Legolas was asleep in the crib with Y/N in the same positions as yesterday only they were now in their Pajamas.

Upon hearing the snickering Legolas opens his eyes to see his father with Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir all with amused faces “Um, it was thundering last night and Y/N was crying.” He said as Elladan took him out of the crib while Thranduil took Y/N who had just woken up.

After getting ready for the day and breakfast Legolas went with the twins to train but Y/N had to stay with their father and Elrond in their father’s study since she’s way to young to train.

At the study Thranduil was telling Elrond on what he saw yesterday “Legolas is a great big brother.” Elrond said patting Y/N’s head while She sat on her father’s lap eating a cookie “We… Wegowas.” Said a tiny voice making the ancient elves freeze “What?” Thranduil asked lifting Y/N up “Weg Go Was. Wegowas!” The infant elf spoke making the two adult elves eyes spark “She said her first word! Even though it’s not Ada, but it’s her first word.” Thranduil said tossing his daughter up making her squeal “Ada.” She said making Thranduil tear up “Oh I bet your mother is howling with laughter in her grave.” Thranduil said rubbing noses with his daughter who was giggling up a storm as he tickled her tummyt making Elrond smile and shake his head remembering his own daughter who is still in Rivendell with her mother.

#platonic #the hobbit #thranduil #mirkwood elves #middle earth #legolas #lord of the rings #elrond #elrohir #elladan #baby reader #middle earth x reader

[agathne]

CHAPTER FIVE | THERE'S MILLIONS OF ME DARLING

Description: Thranduil and Legolas are transported to the past - where the late Elvenqueen was still alive - minor hiccup, she doesn't know who they are.

series masterlist | chapter four

"Where are you going, naneth?" the young elfling asked while attempting to bury his head on your skirt. "Off to war, my darling." you reply, kneeling down to his length. Oh, there were millions of things that an elfling was supposed to do with his mother - watching her go to war wasn't one of them.

"And will you return?" he inquired, playing with the silver necklace on his neck. You reach for his chin, lifting his face with a false smile. "The question my elfling is; will you?" you whisper - placing a kiss to his forehead. "I am always here, do not worry." you add, while rising to your full height. "This isn't goodbye, my leaf." you remind with the wave of a hand.

Legolas plays with the same necklace - inching the pendant in between his fingers while the pressure relieved his palms of the itch. He couldn't believe that he was in Lindon - he couldn't believe that he felt alive at the smell of real flowers.

"A silver coin for your thoughts? Legolas." you lean on the pillar beside him - watching as a smile stains his lips.

"I was thinking of my mother," he admitted - refusing to stare at your features, as they were too familiar. "I'm sure that she longs for your return," you comfort - looking up at the balcony above you - seeing the shadow of your Adar and his newfound friend.

"She was taken by war," he informs, feeling his heart drop to the floor. "- I was an elfling then. I wouldn't stop crying for her." he bites the inner corners of his lips. Legolas knew that he was nothing compared to the thousands of children that the war orphaned - nor was he anything out of the ordinary - but his grief was far too strong. He longed for a mother that he knew in the earlier stages of his life.

You place a hand on his shoulder - a silent gesture of comfort. "She waits for you in the shores of Valinor, I'm certain." you comfort again, feeling his posture soften at your words. "I can only hope," he breathed - eyes interlocking with yours. You always told him that he had the same hues as his father's - it was his first time in a thousand years to gaze upon your eyes once more.

"I- this may seem strange," he began - throat threatening to release bile. "What is it mellon?" you frown and he takes another breath. "Can I request your embrace?" he pleaded, and you open your arms - wide and welcoming him.

He has forgotten this feeling.

Thranduil swears to all his subjects that he has no memory of you - that he cannot remember the sound of your voice. He lies to his subjects. At night - he is forced to relive the memory of everything - forced to stare into your eyes, to hear your voice, to see your smile. He often wondered if the memory serves to give him bliss - or the darkest of agonies.

"You do not understand, Galion." he clawed at his chest, unbuttoning his robe. "I-I cannot remain in Arda - the sea calls for me." he breathed - not understanding why he longed for the Shores of Valinor. "She calls for me." he added. His entire room was in disarray - entire shelves taken down, and paper scattered everywhere. It resembled a pigsty more than the King's bedroom.

"She does not, sire." Galion answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What you feel is longing and grief - but the Queen does not desire to see you this soon." Galion replies - taking another step forward. "She would want you to take care of Prince Legolas - to rebuild the Kingdom that the darkness has destroyed. She wouldn't want you to join her - because she knows that there is a greater destiny for you here." the butler explained, squatting down.

"Adar Elrond can raise my son - he does not deserve a father like me. An ada who allowed his mother to die at the hands of -" Thranduil ranted, unable to utter the name of Sauron. "Thranduil," Galion refers to the King in his elven name - void of any titles. Thranduil. The name he bore when his father was yet to be king.

"Ada!" Legolas yells with tears running down his eyes. The King's door was ajar, leaving enough room for the elfling to enter. "Legolas," he whispered opening his arms to provide his son a deep embrace. "Naneth," he cried while burying his face deep in his father's chest.

Galion and Thranduil exchange a meaningful stare.

"Do not cry, my leaf." he pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead.

Galion was right, he couldn't leave.

Thranduil opened his eyes again, mind floating back to reality. "You used to be older than me," he began with a chuckle - fingers playing with the stem of his goblet. "- and now I am older than you, yet my wisdom does not allow me to grapple the calamity of the situation." he adds, taking another sip of his wine.

"I need to return, Ad-Lord Elrond - we know nothing of what my return has brought. What lesson it stands for." he added - tongue leaking with wisdom of old age. He stands up while dusting his robes.

"If you will excuse me - I wish to pray to the Valar."

next chapter>>

@murder0fcr0ws @cheyxfu @8hgel

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x oc #legolas' mother #thranduil's wife #thranduil x elrond's daughter #thranduil x elrond daughter

[tamurilofrivendell]

Beauty and the Beast | Chapter 23

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Beauty and the Beast inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking and a human reader from a nearby village Taglist: @captainchrisstan​, @rebleforkicks​, @yjrevolution​, @majahu​, @honey-wine, @accio-boys​, @achromaticerebus​, @solomonssimp​, @tired-ass-show-girl​, @dreamlessnight​, @daddy-long-legolas​, @sleepyamygdala​, @coopsgirl​

Three days passed in a fairly similar, comfortable way. You divided your time between the library, your room, exploring the halls or the gardens, and enjoying the company of those around you. Your main connections were Thranduil, Myleth and Legolas. Elros, Tauriel and Galion were often not too far behind, though Galion was often so busy with the king, being his personal butler. He had a lot to keep him busy even when he was not personally attending to the king himself. Indeed, with the upcoming festival you had found out about, it seemed most everybody was suddenly very busy. The whole kingdom seemed to buzz with activity and excitement.

You found yourself intrigued as you learned what you could about this elven festival. You had learned some of the customs of the elves during your time here and found yourself increasingly curious with each passing moment. Elves were nothing like what the people of your village had always assumed, the horror stories that had been passed down through the generations. The Mirkwood elves being the only ones that your village had come close to in all its years of existence, which was still not very, imagination had easily run wild.

The truth, you had discovered, was far lovelier. You’d found yourself thinking about how you could not wait to tell everyone just how wrong they had been but, of course, it had then hit you that you would never get the chance. You were not leaving these halls. Still, you wondered if perhaps you could bring up the idea of writing your father a letter eventually. You couldn’t see why Thranduil would deny you the joy of letting your father know you were safe and happy. Happy? The word had caught you off guard but you were quick to dismiss it, distracting your mind with a book of Elvish, which you were currently attempting to learn.

You woke one morning and readied yourself for the day ahead. You had been taking most, if not all, of your meals with Thranduil and Legolas now. However many times you found Legolas suspiciously absent, though whenever you would bring it up with him, he would wave it off as having been busy with his princely duties. You accepted it but you were not entirely sure if you believed him. Still, why should he bend the truth with you? You could see no reason, especially about something so trivial.

After dressing, you turned and left your room, trailing down the corridor in the direction of the royal chambers. When you reached the door to the dining room, you slipped inside and were surprised to find nobody there. By now, Thranduil was usually already up and sitting at the table waiting. In fact, usually breakfast was sitting on the table already but today there was nothing. You lingered for a moment, listening, but there seemed to be no noise or movement coming from anywhere. Turning, you left the room again and retreated back down the corridor.

As you walked you spotted Tauriel about to turn a corner ahead of you, looking mildly concerned, and you hurried towards her. “Tauriel!”

She turned at the sound of her name and offered you a smile. “Oh, good morning.” Tauriel said, continuing on. “I am afraid I cannot stop and talk.” She seemed a little scattered.

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay, I was just... wondering if you knew where Thranduil was.” It was out of the ordinary and off schedule so you were, admittedly, a little thrown.

Tauriel’s footsteps faltered then, which you found a little strange because nobody seemed to bat an eye anymore when you referred to the king by name, and she turned to look at you. “Oh. I am afraid I cannot say, My Lady.”

Frowning, you tilted your head and regarded her curiously. “What do you mean?” Surely, as the king, Thranduil’s whereabouts would be rather well known. “Do you mean he has left the halls? Did he slip past the guards? Is he in the forest alone?” You were beginning to feel a slight panic starting to take hold of you as all sorts of scenarios filled your mind. Though you knew Thranduil was a skilled fighter, you could not help your worry.

Tauriel gave you a confused look before she caught your meaning and shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. There is no need for concern, he is quite safe. I mean I simply cannot say.”

Your frown deepened as you blinked back at her. “You cannot?”

She shook her head, turning to start walking once again, eager to get where she was heading. “I am sorry. It is the King’s orders.”

You stopped walking and watched Tauriel’s retreat as she turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Did Thranduil not want to see you? Had you done something wrong? Still frowning, you trailed away down to the dining hall, moving inside and hoping to catch sight of somebody you knew. Myleth immediately saw you from the table she sat at and waved you over. “Oh! I should have come to fetch you, how silly of me.” She shook her head as though she had made some sort of mistake and tapped her fingers against her forehead. “No matter, you are here now. Are you hungry?”

You shook your head at her. You had lost your appetite but you were also confused by what she had said. “But... you know I usually eat with Thranduil, why should you come and fetch me?”

Myleth looked at you. “Oh, dearie, did the King not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” You were beginning to get frustrated as the answers you sought continued to linger beyond your grasp.

“That he would not be able to break his fast with you today.” Myleth continued, unperturbed by your irritation. “I am sorry, I assumed he would have informed you and I suppose he probably assumed I would have come to your chamber before you left it. Miscommunications all around.”

You were still confused as Myleth turned to pour herself some tea from the pot on the table. “But... why is he unable to dine with me this morning?” You couldn’t help but ask, needing to know if something was wrong.

“He is unable to dine with you all day, My Lady.” Galion stated as he took his seat across the table, glancing at Myleth only briefly but you caught a secret sort of look pass between them that only frustrated you further.

“Will somebody please tell me exactly what they mean and stop talking in riddles.” You sighed heavily, looking from one to the other. “Have I done something to upset him? Is that it?”

“No!” Myleth was quick to jump in, hastily shaking her head. She had absolutely no desire to let you sit with the idea of the king being upset with you, especially not now she had witnessed just how much the two of you seemed to bring out this light in each other where before only darkness had lingered between you both. “Of course not, no. Oh, dear, do not worry. It is only today. Now, come on, let’s discuss the festival. I think I have found you the perfect dre--”

“Then why?” You cut her off, unable to just let it go. You felt like something was being kept from you and you wanted to know what it was. You glanced at Galion, noticing the warning look he shot Myleth when she turned to him for help.

“Come on.” You said, firmer this time. “Somebody better start talking.”

Myleth sighed and turned to look at you, ignoring Galion’s sound of disapproval. “My dear... it is a difficult day for the King... and for his son.” She murmured and you realised that you had not seen Legolas yet that morning either and it was quite a bit later now.

“In what way?” You asked carefully, looking at Galion who was engrossed in a teacup in front of him, acting like it was the most interesting thing in the world despite the slight scowl that had appeared on his face.

There was a long silence and then Myleth spoke again. “Well, it... it is the Queen’s begetting day, my dear.”

From what you could understand, a begetting day was the day on which someone was conceived which was what the elves tended to celebrate as opposed to actual birthdays. You hadn’t really understood why that would be important until Myleth had vaguely explained the conception and birth rates of the elves and it had started to form a fuller picture.

However, elves lived for so long that they often did not tend to celebrate at all, or at least not every year. However, with the queen... gone... the king had taken to truly taking this day to remember her. Or, more aptly, truly drown in his grief. He would shut himself away in the West Wing and Legolas would go into the forest with his bow, unable to stay in the palace when his father was like this.

The reason for Thranduil’s sudden disappearance on this day was only ever officially known by a select few staff members, who were under orders not to further discuss it, or his whereabouts, with others. Though, of course, rumours would have flown over the years, especially with everybody knowing that the queen was so off limits.

Your footsteps carried you in the direction of the library, intending to shut yourself away for the day as well, but your gaze fell upon that red curtain that concealed the staircase up to the West Wing and before you knew it, you had slipped behind the heavy material and were climbing the stairs.

Your last two visits to these chambers flashed through your mind. One horrible, one not so horrible. You weren’t sure which this would be but you felt as though it didn’t really matter. You were set on this course already and no amount of fighting with your own mind would get you to turn back.

You passed the portrait of the queen once more, looking up at the destroyed image of her as you did. She was so beautiful. She had such kind eyes, you thought. It was a shame that she seemed to have suffered such a horrible fate that nobody could even speak of it. Your curiosity was sky high but you turned your focus towards finding Thranduil, peeking into rooms as you passed. Moving into what was clearly a bedroom, you found an opened drawer of items had been upended, the jewellery and beautiful, intricate headwear all scattered across the floor. Images of Thranduil losing his temper to his grief and sending his wife’s jewels flying across the room in a rage flickered into your mind.

You felt sad.

Turning, you moved to the doors that led out to the balcony. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a blackened rose in the middle of a glass case. Moving over, you ghosted your fingers across the glass with a frown. As you turned your head towards the window, finally catching sight of Thranduil down in the garden, you realised this dead rose was one of the Starfire Roses. More specifically, the one your father had plucked and killed. The one that seemed to have started all of this in the first place. Thranduil had kept it, giving it something of its own little memorial display case.

The sight hurt your heart.

Carefully, you moved towards the doors and pulled them open, slipping out onto the balcony. Thranduil didn’t look up, he simply continued to caress the roses. You could see them moving. Even they seemed sad today.

Biting your lip, you turned and moved carefully down the stairs and began to cross the grass. Your heart was practically in your throat as doubt began to creep in and you started to think that this may not have been a good idea after all. Would Thranduil just be angry with you? Perhaps your coming here uninvited, sticking your nose in where it did not belong, would set the two of you back after coming this far.

“This had better be important.” Thranduil’s tone was cold and he didn’t move, not so much as turning his head at your approach. His attention remained upon the roses. “I was very clear that I wish not to be disturbed.”

You stopped walking, your heart sinking into your toes. “Oh, I... sorry.” A soft frown crossed your features and you turned to make yourself scarce once more.

Thranduil turned around then. “Wait.” He called, looking at you with a frown of his own. His voice was softer now and you turned to face him again. “I thought you were somebody else.” He admitted, having assumed Galion had come to bother him with something. He looked at you for a quiet beat before he held up his hand and gestured for you to join him.

Tentatively, you moved across the garden and took a seat beside him on the little bench that stood beside the Starfire Roses. You glanced down and reached out towards one, watching as it turned its attention to you. Smiling softly, you turned your gaze to Thranduil. He was watching the flowers again. Your smile faded away as he glanced up and met your gaze, attempting to offer you a smile of his own but it fell short and he simply looked... sad. It was the only word you kept coming back to, to describe this entire situation.

“Myleth forgot to tell me you would not be at breakfast...” You told him quietly, not sure what else to say. You didn’t want to overstep and make him feel worse.

Thranduil closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head in a way that made it look like he was feeling guilt or regret. “I am sorry.” He sighed, opening his eyes. “I must admit, it did not cross my mind to tell you.”

“There’s no need for apologies.” You assured him quickly. You understood, how could you not? “I really didn’t mean to bother you, I just... wanted to see if you were alright.”

Thranduil blinked at you for a moment, finding that it surprised him... the fact that you had thought about how he would be doing. That you would want to seek him out, especially considering the way he had acted in the past. He knew that you had both become closer, that you had even gone so far as to call him a friend a few days ago, but he still found himself surprised by it. By the changes that had occured during your time here. By the way you seemed to... care... for someone such as him.

It touched him and Thranduil found himself reaching out for your hand. “Thank you. I...” He turned back to the roses with a sigh, watching them curl towards each other. “I will admit, I find this day to be... especially difficult.”

The two of you lapsed into silence for a few moments. You did your best to ignore the butterflies that the touch of his hand gave you, swallowing down the annoyingly present feelings that you simply could not seem to shake.

“Tell me about her?” You ventured, glancing up at him. You were quick enough to see the brief flicker of surprise flash in his eyes as he turned to look at you again. He covered it fast enough, however, his face becoming the marble mask you had become so accustomed to.

Thranduil was quiet, scanning your face as if he were trying to ascertain whether or not you were being serious. When he found no insincerity in your eyes, his gaze softened slightly.

“Her name was Caleniel...”

Legolas returned from the forest early that evening and set his bow back in its place, moving towards his chamber so that he could bathe and change. He was exhausted, but it was mostly due to the emotional whirlwind his mind had been in for the entire day.

It happened every year and it never got any better. He would wake frustrated and retire in the evening the same way.

This day was always such a dark one in the kingdom, it had been for centuries. Which was saying something when he thought about how generally dark a lot of things in this kingdom had become over these years. Despite every single shred of his mother being removed and forgotten and forbidden to even be discussed, the heavy shadow of her was ever present. Legolas barely remembered her but he remembered his father’s grief. It had been a constant for practically his entire life.

He trudged through the hallways towards the royal chambers. He just wished for this day to finally be over once and for all. It would come again the next year far too quickly. One year was such a drop in the ocean to an elf, it always felt as if no time had passed at all.

Legolas was surprised to find himself waylaid in the corridor by Tauriel. She looked normal at first glance but Legolas could see a slight flush to her cheeks and she looked a little more wide eyed than she usually did. “You have to see this.” She told him, fingers clutching his arm as she pulled him back down the hallway.

Legolas allowed her to lead him but his feet stilled as they came to the staircase up to the West Wing. He shook his head. “Tauriel, I cannot, my father...”

Tauriel shook her head, practically dragging him up the stairs. “Come on.” She urged and his feet allowed him to follow. “He always retires to his own chamber after dinner, you know this... but he did not come and Galion was concerned.” Tauriel pulled him down the corridor in the direction of the large bedroom. “So he came up here to look for him, to see if he needed anything...” Huddled at the window were Galion and Myleth, both turning to look at Tauriel and Legolas with expressions he could not decipher. Legolas was frowning now, too drained for games, just wanting to retire. He could not understand what the fuss was about. If his father wanted to stay up here all night moping then he could do just that.

He came to a stop at the window, taking in the sight of you and his father down in his mother’s garden.

“She went missing during breakfast.” Myleth said to Legolas, watching him for a moment before she glanced back outside to you and the King. Thranduil was talking and you were solemnly hanging off his every word. “She was nowhere to be found but I did not imagine that would have come back up here...”

“Since breakfast?” Legolas could not hide the shock that coloured his tone as he turned his gaze on Myleth. He glanced from her to Galion, who nodded, and then looked back outside. He watched his father talking and you listening. He wondered what you were discussing and probably would have paid a troll’s body weight in gold just to be able to listen in on one single moment.

For all these years, his father had been a black hole of grief and anger. Not one soul had been allowed up here. Not one soul had been allowed to utter his mother’s name or talk about her tragic demise. Not one soul had managed to get his father to simply spare them but one moment on this day.

Until you came.

Now, here his father sat. Talking with you in his mother’s private garden, on this very difficult day, beside her beloved Starfire Roses. He did not look angry. He looked a little sorrowful but the weight that always sat so heavily and obviously on his shoulders this day almost looked, to Legolas, a little lighter than it usually did. He could hardly believe what he was looking at but the scene made his heart soar.

“Come... we should leave.” He said softly, ushering the others out of the room and back down the stairs. As big a turning point as he had just witnessed, Legolas was still fairly sure that his father would not take kindly to all of them lingering at the window like spies this time around.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #hobbit fanfic #hobbit x reader #beauty and the beast

[sotwk]

Thranduil's love of wine

If you’ve watched The Hobbit films enough times (or simply engaged regularly with Thranduil posts on Tumblr), you will surely have noticed that in multiple scenes, the Elvenking is seen with a wine goblet in his hands. In the book, a good amount is written about the Elvenking’s wine cellar, the inventory management process for his wines, and from where his favorite vintage is sourced. His “wine manager”, the butler Galion, is named in the book, whereas the name Thranduil does not appear even once.

It is likely Thranduil’s Wine was given a prominent role in The Hobbit mostly as a plot device to give Bilbo and the dwarves a means of escape. However, I don’t believe Tolkien made characterization choices randomly, so I would like to propose a few headcanons that link Thranduil’s seeming obsession with wine with certain aspects of his history.

What is the deal with Thranduil and wine? Does he have a drinking problem? Is he truly a wine snob? Does he have an iron liver?

Why does King Thranduil value wine so greatly?

Wine was used in his healing and recovery process after the War of Wrath. That unspeakably terrible war was a mass casualty event (to say the least), and Thranduil was among the young elves to suffer horrific injuries. The Hobbit movies depict him sustaining deadly burns from dragonfire, and although it failed to kill him, the burns would have required advanced Elvish healing and many years of painful recovery. Now consider this: if warriors from Valinor came to fight in the decades-long war, it would make sense that healers accompanied them as well. That would include some of the Maiar.

A Maia undertook the task of saving Thranduil’s life, likely one who served under Estë (healer of hurts), under whom Queen Melian also once served, which makes a neat little Doriathian connection. That unnamed Maia used their powers to heal Thranduil’s battle injuries--flesh burns, poisoning, damage to muscle and organs--and succeeded in eliminating nearly all physical signs of damage. But what did they use for anesthesia and pain management? A potent liquid akin to very, very strong wine. Thranduil consumed that wine while under the Maia’s care, and for a period afterward to aid in his recovery. It gave him strength and comfort during an extremely traumatic time in his life, and he never forgot its taste.

Thranduil has craved that same “wine” ever since. Sadly, since it was a product of Valinor, it is nowhere to be found on Middle-earth. His yearning for the taste of that specific libation has led him to search all the lands for any drink that could come close to matching it. He does not seek it obsessively as an addict would, but as one might ache for a fond but elusive memory from one’s childhood. His quest for the “Maia’s wine” and distaste for liquors that don’t live up to it, has led people to see him as a “wine snob”.

The Dorwinion wine is the closest he has gotten to tasting that special drink again. Early in the Third Age, Thranduil discovered the strong wine from this region and immediately initiated trade with Dorwinion to guarantee a regular supply of it. It became known as the Elvenking’s “special wine”, because it is reserved primarily for his consumption, and is offered only to special guests (e.g. Bard). On occasions of feasting, he orders enough wine to share with his people, but it is often too strong for other elves to drink much of.

Thranduil has had a very high tolerance for alcohol since he was young (likely as a result of consuming that drink from Valinor), and has almost never gotten drunk. He drinks the Dorwinion wine recreationally and on a daily basis, but noticeably consumes more of it in times of stress. The alcohol helps calm and comfort him to a degree, but does not impact his mental state.

Finally, on a less complicated and more light-hearted note, another simple reason why Thranduil loves wine is because he has a history of being a “party prince”. He has always enjoyed hosting and attending dinners and feasts, and values good food and drink in the company of friends. (This dialed back considerably after the death of his wife, but in the years before that, he was known for being a sought-after party guest.) He has a natural fondness for wines of all varieties, and not just the Dorwinion. To him, sharing a cup of wine with someone is a simple but genuine gesture of friendship.

#thranduil oropherion #king of mirkwood #king thranduil #the elvenking #mirkwood #the hobbit #thranduil headcanons #thranduil fanfiction #lotr elves

[lady-of-imladris]

King of my Heart

QUICK TAGLIST ANNOUNCEMENT: I'm sorry if you did not get tagged in chapter 3 of The Great War. I posted it a few weeks ago, but it seems the taglist was malfunctioning. I hope it works this time!

This was written for the prompt "A kiss to shut up." Sent in by @fenharel-enaste for Thranduil and my OC Anarríma. This is a oneshot set in the same universe as my WIP "The Great War", which tells the story of Thranduil and his wife.

This oneshot is kinda sandwiched between two scenes in the next chapter (I'm still working on that) but can be read independently. And apart from the kiss (obviously lol) is SFW.

Word count: 1.7k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption

Angst and Fluff below the cut <3

The left side of the bed was cold when Thranduil woke up. The sun was not even up yet and Anarríma was not with him. He sat up and stretched his back before jumping out of bed and starting the search for his betrothed. It unsettled the King that she just left. Anarríma hated getting up early, usually it was him who woke up with the sun. Depending on how busy his day was, he would either stay in bed and read until it was late enough to wake his lady up, or he would get up, work for a couple of hours, sneak into the kitchen and then wake Anarríma up with breakfast.

Anarríma preferred the second option. It gave her many more hours of uninterrupted sleep and then a tasty breakfast. Thranduil, however, usually opted for staying in bed. He waited as long as he could bear before rolling over and wrapping Anarríma in his arms, kissing her neck and shoulders until she woke up, grumbling about how early it was and complaining about Thranduil’s hair in her face.

Not many were awake at this hour, but many of those who were were so perplexed by seeing their shirtless king roam the halls that they forgot to bow to him. Thranduil did not notice, he was too focused on finding his lady. He stumbled across Galion after a few minutes, his butler clearly still drunk. Galion tried to bow but failed miserably and found himself being caught by the King moments before hitting the floor. Thranduil had to choke back his laughter.

“Goheno nin," Galion slurred, “bit of a crazy night.” “I can see that mellon nin," Thranduil chuckled. “Have you seen Ana?” he asked. Galion nodded a few times and giggled. “I saw the lady a little while ago, she joined us for some drinks and I think she went for a little stroll in the forest afterwards.” “Alone!?” Galion massaged his temples with his hands. Thranduil’s reaction had rapidly sobered him up and he was not looking forward to that hangover. “I sent some guards after her," he assured the king. Thranduil finally let go of Galion’s shoulders and sent him to bed. The king approached the nearest guard and confiscated his sword and cloak before stalking off into the forest. He knew where Anarríma would be.

He nodded to the two guards he spotted between the trees. Ana did not appreciate being followed around by guards all the time, so they just pretended not to be there and she pretended not to see them. It was exhausting. Thranduil needed to help her get used to this part of her life sooner rather than later. They had been engaged for a while now, but every time Thranduil wanted to talk to Anarríma about their wedding, she would change the topic or distract him until he forgot what he wanted to talk about.

He saw Anarríma sitting on a rock, looking out at the small lake, watching the sunrise. As he approached, Thranduil noticed that she was wearing one of his robes. That’s why he couldn’t find it earlier. “Did I snore too loudly, my beloved?” Thranduil announced his presence, making Ana jump slightly. She was too deep in thought and did not notice his presence. She pulled his robe tighter around her body. “I could not sleep," she admitted quietly, not turning around to face him. Thranduil gently lowered himself down next to her. “I gathered that much. But why? Tell me what is bothering you.”

Anarríma sighed, “send them away." Thranduil told his guards to return to the palace and took the half-empty bottle of wine out of Anarríma’s hand. “Sampling wines for our wedding already?” he joked. Ana flinched at his words. Thranduil cocked an eyebrow. “That bad?” He was worried about her. “No, it is quite good actually," she replied, still refusing to look at him. “Ana," Thranduil sighed, “not the wine. Our wedding.” She straightened up. “Why would that be bad?” she asked innocently, grabbing the bottle out of his hand and sipping on the wine. Thranduil found his worry being replaced by confusion and anger. Why would she not talk to him? Why would she not even look at him?

He took the bottle and tasted the wine. She was right, it was quite good. He corked the bottle and set it down next to him, out of her reach. Thranduil reached out to her, gently grabbing her chin and tilting her face towards him. Her eyes were closed and Thranduil could see remnants of the red wine around her lips, staining them a deep purple. “If you are looking forward to our wedding, then look into my eyes and set a date.” Anarríma did not react. Thranduil was helpless. What had he done? Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched her fiddle with her engagement ring.

He let go of her face and took her hand in his, slowly slipping the ring off her finger. She finally looked at him, confused. “Do you wish to end our engagement?” he asked, the hurt clear in his voice. A second chance for Anarríma to choose. But she did not want to. “You are being ridiculous. I love you!” she exclaimed. “Well I thought you did,” Thranduil stated, “but I am not so sure of that anymore. If you love me, why accept my proposal and then refuse to marry me?” “I want to marry you," Ana replied, desperately fighting against the tears. “There is nothing in this life I want more than to marry you.”

Relief washed over Thranduil. “Then what have I done to hurt you so?” “Nothing.” “And yet there is something you are not telling me.” Thranduil still held her ring in his hand, slowly rotating it between his fingers. Ana sighed and let her head fall against Thranduil’s shoulder, finally letting herself relax. “I can’t just marry you," she mumbled. “What do you mean?” “I want to marry you Thranduil. But I can’t. I am marrying the King of Lasgalen. I will have to stand before all those people and vow to rule them. How can I do that when just a couple of decades ago, Ada did not even let me lead our armies? How can I stand there and tell them that everything will be alright when every single night I am plagued by memories of what I have done to survive.”

Thranduil wished to say something, to tell her that she would be alright, but now that he had finally gotten her to speak to him, she did not stop. “I want nothing in this life more than to marry you, but sometimes I just wish you weren’t a king. Sometimes I wish you were just Thranduil and I could just remain Ana and we could be happy together and our biggest problem would be that my parents don’t approve of you and what we would name our children and-” His lips crashed against hers. Anarríma’s body froze up. She found herself unable to move, unable to pull away from Thranduil.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him. The feeling of his strong warm chest brought Ana back to her senses and she reciprocated the kiss, letting Thranduil take control fully, as she relaxed into his embrace. She felt his tongue move against her lips. Thranduil could discern at least five different wines. Their kiss was desperate. Slow. Passionate. Too short. Ana gently pushed her hands against his chest, signalling him to stop. Thranduil chuckled. “Goheno nin, I had to shut you up somehow and your lips just looked too good to resist.”

Ana wrapped her arms around Thranduil’s waist as she leaned against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. He rested his head atop hers, finally at peace now that he had her back. “Why are you wearing a guard’s cloak?” she asked suddenly. Thranduil tugged playfully at the belt of the robe she was wearing. “My robe was nowhere to be found.” They both giggled. “Did you at least have fun with Galion and the others?” he asked. Ana laughed as she remembered the events of the night. “I think I’ve been invited to a birthday party and at least two baby parties.” Thranduil smiled. “I knew they would love you.”

He could feel that Anarríma’s mind was about to start spiralling again. “I want you to listen to me, my darling," he spoke softly and ran his hands up and down her back. “You, Anarríma, will marry me, Thranduil. And you will marry the King and become Queen. I would tell you that there is no difference between Thranduil and the Elvenking, but there is. And one day, you will understand. You will learn how to be the Queen and I will be with you, every step of the way.” He gently ran his hands through her hair as he felt that she was crying softly.

“Your father will walk you down the aisle, and I will be there, waiting for you, vowing to love you forever. And you will vow to love me. Then, you will kneel before me and swear your oath to this kingdom and I will set the crown atop your head. It’s okay if you get scared. If you do, I just want you to think of this night. The people love you. They have loved you from the moment I brought you home, based merely on how happy you make me. And if you are still scared, I want you to remember that I am there with you. And I am just as scared as you are.”

Ana looked up at him in disbelief. Thranduil started laughing. “You didn’t know?” She shook her head in confusion. “Then I am indeed better at masking it than I thought.” They stayed like that for a long time until Thranduil decided it was time. Anarríma complained that it was too soon as he got up and pulled her to her feet. “One last thing," he whispered and got down on one knee. He held out his hand and she took it. “Will you marry me? Become my Queen and we live happily ever after?” Anarríma did not hesitate this time. There was no voice in her head, telling her to run from him, to save herself. She had made her decision a long time ago. Anarríma had accepted her fate.

“Yes.”

Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging <3

Writing this made my day so much better, I hope you like it.

Taglist: @fenharel-enaste, @shirebarbie, @nevermcre, @queenmeriadoc, @spnbandwagon1019, @somebirdortheother, @some--morphine, @hc-geralt-23, @legendary-maddie, @vellichormybeloved, @bookflowersnerd

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#lady-of-imladris fics #fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil #thranduil x oc

[sixtyfourk]

Hey! I created the writing asks so I'll send you a couple, any OC you feel like:

pen, marker, crayon, copics, charcoal, tortillon, and eraser please!

Hi, thank you so much for asking and for making such a cool ask list!! I took a long time to answer haha. I wound up shuffling the names of my main adult OCs and answering these for whoever's name came up first!

Pen: what's one minor moment your character regrets? A small mistake, but something they "can't erase"?

Johann: I guess there’s no particular moment but a lot of small moments for this… but Johann regrets not picking up on his brother Laarni’s suicidal/depressive tendencies sooner. Johann had previously never suspected a thing--for good reason, since Laarni hides it from his brothers very well. After one close call when things get too tough for Laarni and Johann witnesses it, Johann becomes extremely vigilant, checking up on Laarni whenever he can--although subtly, since Laarni hates to think that his younger brothers are worrying about him.

Marker: what's one thing your character would never tattoo on their body, even if they were paid a million dollars for it?

Johann: Honestly if it was to get money for his family to help take care of them, Johann would do absolutely anything, no matter what it was. Even if he hated the tattoo, he’d do it for them.

Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud?  Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age?

CJ: CJ was extremely spoiled and bratty as a little child, and wouldn’t hesitate to scream and cry if things didn’t go her way. Outside of her temper tantrums though, she was extremely quiet. Even her dad was surprised if he heard her voice aside from screaming, and strangers would definitely never hear her speak.

Copics: what is this character's most expensive habit or hobby? Do they ever feel guilty about the money they spend on it?

Gareth: Gareth has no hobbies (usually). He devotes his entire life and work to trying to outdo his love-hate idol Clive’s past feats. Instead of using mechanical means the way Clive did, Gareth uses computers. Since my Gareth story happens in the 1980s, a computer hobby would be extremely expensive, especially for the powerful virtual reality-type machines Gareth is trying to build.  Gareth eventually does try out more hobbies thanks to his mom-crush Flora’s urging, particularly gardening. Rather than feeling guilty about the money aspect of it though, he more feels guilty or frustrated about spending any time on anything other than his plans to outdo Clive. He would never do it if it weren’t for Flora convincing him.

Charcoal: share any unique physical features about this character that are not scars or tattoos.

Pearl: I guess the main thing for Pearl is that she’s very tall (six feet) and looks enough like her brother that they can be mistaken for each other from a distance, although they aren’t twins and are several years apart from each other. She and her brother sometimes called themselves “the Caine brothers” in their early years establishing their robotics company, and the name was rarely questioned.

Tortillon: does your OC "blend in" with the people around them? Physically? Metaphorically?

Glynrie: Glynrie doesn’t physically blend in at all. He’s the only elf and acts quite archaically in a modern city filled with humans. Because of this, as well as because of being a butler, Glynrie tries to stay in the background as much as he can, devoting himself to serving the Khora company and watching out for another servant of the family, Walidah, who is also a homebody. If Glynrie ever left the Khora mansion, he’d definitely stand out, but he blends in well with the Khora family.

Eraser: what's one way this character has changed over time? Either over the course of their story, or over the course of designing them as an author.

Glynrie: Glynrie is an expy of an elf butler named Galion from The Hobbit. Galion doesn’t get to do much in the book, but I really loved him and wrote a ton of fanfics about him, developing him so much that he felt like my own character. I really wanted to keep using Galion even outside of the Tolkien world, so I created Glynrie, who is still an elf butler, but has a much different backstory and different relationships with people around him. Glynrie still has the borderline(?) OCD that I gave to Galion, but now also has a very big protective streak that the old character didn’t really have, as he takes care of his friend and fellow servant Walidah and also works to help his boss Ms Shinzou with anything she needs. I also canonized Glynrie being aroace now; Galion had been “coded” that way even if I didn’t know what that was when I was a kid writing him, but it’s official now.

#johann nimchuk #cj caine #pearl caine #gareth faulkner #glynrie everlove #ocs

[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐆����𝐒

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ dark!thranduil / reader / sauron

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ prologue

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ( summary )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤᵗʳᵃⁿˢˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ᶦⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ

“O stars that in the sunless year, 

with shining hand by her were sown,’’

Rays of shimmering aureate fall upon the palace, bathing it in glimmering pools of warmth and shine. 

“In windy fields now bright and clear

we see your silver blossom blown. . .’’ 

Yet such a brilliant gleam does little to breach through overhangs of leafy clusters, dense and dreary, bringing upon a murky gloom to the Woodland Realm.

“We still remember, we who dwell,

in this far land beneath the trees,’’

Despite twisting aches to the chest, soft eyes focus ahead, ignoring the lingering dread for but a moment, 

“Thy starlight on the Western Seas,’’ and set upon the horizon instead.

The land most of your kin dreamt of, yet only few dared to seek. A paradise, your true and intended home. If so, why not run away to those heavenly lands, the world promised to you from birth? T’was not as if an intangible force held you in place and rendered the journey unattainable. It was in arm’s reach, open to any who wished to dwell in the realm of the Ainur. 

But perhaps, not everyone sought out paradise. Perhaps, what brought meaning to life was the gloom beneath the trees and the mysteries of the world, much like whatever beings crept and mingled within the depths of Mirkwood’s vast forest, just below your line of vision. 

Drawing a sigh, your graze drops from the land beyond the horizon to the aforementioned canopy, below that of which remained a mystery. Once a flourishing haven of mighty beech and blooming blossoms of every colour imaginable — now withered or inked sappy black, similar to the trees that crippled over like hunched, elderly women. 

The forest of Greenwood the Great was before your time, that might be true; even so, your heart yearned to see the beauty of the past, now depicted in nothing but paintings and the storybooks of elflings. An endless pall now reigned over these lands that wood elves called home, it had become standard to them, to you. 

However, what was once accepted as normality slowly but surely wove threads of apprehension into your heart. A growing anxiety that festered and toiled over the past couple of months. 

Done unto you by the very one who promised serenity and comfort. 

“My lady,’’ saving you from the depths of your mind, a voice, soft and mild calls for your attention. “Galion?” You question with a glance over your shoulder, features softening in response to the butler. “Might I be of aid?” Turning completely, you allow arms adorned in lace to fall to your sides. “No, my lady. I am simply here to relay a message. The king calls for your presence,’’ he bows after bringing a hand to his chest. 

“He has requested that I escort you to the meeting room. For the -” 

“The meeting,’’ with a feigned gasp you push yourself from the balcony’s railing and advance forward. “It had completely slipped my mind.’’ Of course it didn’t, things like this rarely did. The butler seems to catch your act but chooses not to call on it and instead presents a knowing smile. “Come, m’lady. You know better than to keep him waiting.’’ 

You exhale with a curt nod. Yes, you did know better. The King of the Woodland Realm could either be abundant in patience or garner very little of it, as contradicting as that sounded. Which is why you would rather not risk catching him in one of his foul moods and allowed Galion the lead the way. 

Down the stone halls of Mirkwood’s Palace, intricate in designs upon pillars and ceiling, all the way to the pair of large, equally as engraved doors which led to the forenamed meeting room; he led you up until that point. Knocking briefly before opening, Galion backs away and allows your entrance. As per usual, all but the king stood in greeting to not the chief sorceress — but their future queen. 

“Your grace.’’ 

“Meleth nin.’’ 

You nod in return to the guards and staff before facing the elven lord, King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil Oropherion: your betrothed. 

It is only when they sit does he stand, leading you to the chair beside his at the end of an extensive timber table. “Forgive me for such tardiness, aran nin,’’ you apologise after taking your seat alongside him. “It had merely slipped my mind.’’ Biting your tongue, you pray he does not see past your lie — and nearly sigh outwards when he offers you those temperate eyes. A clear sign that all was forgiven and his mood was far from dire. 

Meetings such as this were never your forte, having only recently been involved with the royal duties of what it means to a ruler, you were still adjusting to your future role. However, the topic of discussion in this particular meeting is what led you to go as far as intentionally not arriving in hopes that it would carry on without you. Alas, you now sit here to the right of your soon-to-be husband, lips sealed as the matter is conferred. 

The topic of debate? 

Simple, the growing darkness within your realm and the creatures of the night which venture far beyond what one would deem comfortable. Within the span of a few months evil beings clustered around the woodlands, drawing nearer to the safe haven elves found refuge in. Enough to spark a panic in not only the foot soldiers or border guards, but even leak into the king’s guard and palace staff. Soon, it would reach the general population; so in order to keep such a fright from consuming the people of Mirkwood, a meeting was suggested to debate what the next plan of action is. After all, the current night hunts seemed to be doing little in lessening the numbers of these dreadful creatures. At the very least, they would need to be improved — or perhaps a game plan to be concocted. 

Certainly not something that a sorceress such as yourself would find a say in, but considering you were not just the chief spellcaster and rather, the future queen of the Woodland Realm, it was only necessary that your presence was required. Even so, you remained silent whilst the guards and Thranduil spoke over the matter at hand.

A few suggestions were made, some accepted and jotted down for further detailing or outright shot down. It appeared that the majority of ideas landed in the latter pile and ideas for improving the situation was next to none. 

Circles. That is what you were running in. 

Frustration gradually began to crane its ugly head as tensions arose within the chamber, from the guards and the king who debated back and forth on why some ideas would work whilst others were ridiculous. Throughout it all, you took notice of your lover’s uncharacteristic silence in this. It was unusual for him to not have some sort of backup plan, perhaps that is why frustration festered like a swiftly growing flame; as solutions were eventually sought out from the one they called ruler and king. 

“Doubling the border control and enhancing the number of night hunts should do well in achieving our goal.’’ 

“Your majesty,’’ Feren clears his throat, doing everything in his power to not narrow his brows. “Surely you understand that it is something that we have already done. Are we to keep doubling the outer guards until there are none within these halls?”

“Feren,’’ Elros attempts to sate the evident flame within his fellow guard only to be blatantly ignored. “Surely there must be something that you can do other than idly sitting here and giving orders.” You flinch, immediately glancing over the guard with pleading eyes. Thranduil’s patience would not extend to his subordinates, as much as he adored his people; especially those who stood against him whether he was in the wrong or not. 

Yet instead of outright confronting the guard - to Feren’s frustration - Thranduil remains silent, merely staring on ahead as if he was looking past the one who spoke to him. The silence did little to aid the situation, allowing for the tension to rise not only between the two, but the others within the room as well. The king could care less, it seemed. No, instead he kept his gaze onwards, almost as if he were lost in thought. 

He knew what needed to be done, and unlike what he had pertained to earlier it was not as simple as merely doubling the watch and greatening the number of night hunts. For the solution in mind was the very reason that the king held his tongue for majority of this meeting, the reason which held him so still and rendered him akin to a statue. 

‘A means of protecting what is precious to you, surely you accept?’

‘After all, is it not the very thing that brought you to me?’ 

Damnit, that man wasn’t making this any easier. Had he not told that damned buzzard to give him a little more time? To wait.It appeared to not be in his vocabulary, evidently if this is what he was resorting to. Thranduil cursed himself a thousand times and over — for at the end of the day he had no one to blame but himself. After all, would that man know of any of his weaknesses if the elf hadn’t outright sought him? Would he have knowledge of where to hit the elvenking in order to bend him to his will if Thranduil had not made it so blatantly apparent?

A part of him wished he could turn back time, stop himself from even considering seeking out that fortress. But Thranduil knew better than anyone that what was done could not be reversed and unfortunately, he feared that something far worse would have sprung up should he not have played with fire that fateful winter’s night. 

Your own doing, 

this is your own doing,

your own doing.

This is your own doing. 

Oh, how he hated that voice, his own voice, that of which lingered within the deepest crevices of his mind. One which he once trusted so much, now the source of his greatest headaches. The voice which once agreed and commended his work, now against him; reminding him of each and every one of his failures. Is it even possible to have your conscious rebuke you?

He fell into this trap, spun himself this dreadful web of which he could not escape — so was there any point in battling with himself over this any longer? The answer to all their questions was short, simple even, yet would surely dawn upon it an array of judgement and critique. Not as though he ever cared about such a thing. . . but this time was different. 

“My king, will you not answer me?”

“What is it that you wish for me to do, Feren?” Finally, he finds his voice and faces sharp sapphires to his legion of guards. The growing pressure did little to aid the situation, only thickening the darkening mist setting upon both his gaze and mind. The world around him became a blur of hues and incomprehensible ringing, a constant, deafening shrill which left the hairs on his arms standing. 

Swallow that bitter taste, 

focus your vision, 

now is not the time to allow such an ugly beast lose. 

“Anything!” The skidding of wood against stone startled most guards, Elros’ eyes widening at the sight of Feren standing to his feet abruptly. “We are in shambles, your majesty. Surely this is no secret!? We have doubled the numbers, we have strengthened the forces, what else will you have us do when every idea mentioned is either shot down or overlooked?”

“Feren,’’ your voice is hushed, teetering the line of a squeak as you are the first to notice the clenching of your partner’s fist. “My lady,’’ the guard glances at you, eyes brimming with desperation. “Please understand our frustration, our kin is worried.’’ He shoots a quick glance towards his ruler, his king. “And we require some form of plan. Otherwise, I fear the worst for this kingdom, our people.’’ You tense, knowing damn well that the guard spoke nothing of nonsense, yet also having enough acuity within you to realise that this is far from the best option in addressing this situation with the elven lord. 

“That is enough,’’ “Your majesty —” 

A second screech echoes throughout the chambers, following by a loud thud! as pale hands find the wood of the table in a harsh, curt slam. “Dina!” The king’s voice booms across the walls, surely echoing down the halls and startling even the guards who stood at further posts. You are quick to snap your attention to your beloved, observing his figure hunched over the table with nails digging into the wooden edge. A few strands of his platinum hair stray, falling over his face twisted with an expression of raging flames, threatening to consume the entirety of the woodlands. He looked anything but the graceful ellon you had come to know, the elegant king of which his people boasted in. 

Your heart clenches together with your chest, as shoulders amongst the guards tense and all eyes linger upon the ragged-breathing elf. He appeared strained, as if he had walked the distance of Mirkwood to Erebor on foot with so much as a drop of wine and rarely any breaks between. Definitely, an appearance far from which any of you were accustomed to. 

“Am I not your king?” His voice tears through the crippling silence soon enough and when he receives no answer he cranes his neck higher, abusing some of his height and towering over the table of staff. “Have I not promised to assure this kingdom’s safety — have I not vowed it to you as my father did yours!?” There’s a certain gruffness in his voice, dancing upon the border of a growl as his gaze quickly directs to the guard who had the gall to confront him. 

“I would like to inform you, Feren. That I plan not to merely sit here and give orders.’’ He grunts, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. “I suppose there is no more delaying it, since the lot of you drown in impatience.’’ 

Damn that man,

damn that man.

Making him resort to this scheme prematurely and in such an imprudent manner, damn him!

“A plan has already been put into motion, one of which none of you in this room will be able to aid,’’ he exhales, glancing at you and prompting every nerve within you to contract altogether. “Apart from her.’’ 

Thranduil draws yet another sigh, slowly rising to his full height and straightening his spine. “I require you all to put your trust in me as you have for centuries, to do what I ask and order of you. I believe that what I have decided will bring upon scepticism and rightfully so. I only ask for your utmost faith and allegiance.’’ 

An uneasy squeeze finds your lungs, their lungs, as every elf held their breath and stared upon their king who clasped his hands behind his back and raised his head to his usual proud, firm stature. 

“For our plan of action will be to play with forces many of you would deem foolish,  create what we have come to detest and scrutinise. . .’’ 

As sapphires harden, emitting a newfangled chill which circles the chamber, your heart plummets into the pit of your stomach. 

“Our very own: Rings of Power.’’ 

#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊ #lotr #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #silm #the hobbit #tolkien #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #thranduil x reader #thranduil reader insert #dark!thranduil #mairon #mairon x reader #mairon reader insert #sauron #sauron x reader #thranduil x reader x mairon #thranduil x reader x sauron #when darkness reigns #writing

[mimilind]

Healing Music

Summary: An elf with a shattered soul is dying. Her torturer is gone, yet he haunts her, but then she hears the soothing tones of a flute. Can music mend a broken heart? 

A one-shot where Thranduil's former butler Galion finds love through his music.

♫♫♫♫♫♫

Pairing: Galion (Thranduil’s butler) x OC

Rating: T

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Music, Healing, Soulmates

Warnings: Mentioned/implied sexual abuse

Word Count: 1900

Read the story in AO3, or below!

♫♫♫♫♫♫

Healing Music

Eryn Lasgalen, Fourth Age

The lyre called to her again. It sat in the corner, forlorn and silent, begging to be touched and made to sing. Celegiel turned her back to it, stubbornly gazing into the woven screen that shielded her bed from the breeze.

Her windows were wide open, it was a warm summer evening. A gust of wind ruffled her hair and the lyre strings, producing a hum from the latter. Was it going to call to her vocally now, as well? She glared at the offending instrument, willing it to be quiet. It refused, and with a resigned sigh she went to crouch before it. She stroked its smooth, rounded frame, touched the inscription her father had carved: Create Emotion.

Gingerly picking it up, she plucked a scale. Father’s voice came to her. “Never forget your daily scales, daughter. Practice makes perfect!” Thinking of Father almost had her drop it again.

With closed eyes, she began a lullaby, allowing the cascade of tones to soothe her, ease the tensions. Near the end she blinked away a lonely tear.

Clap-clap-clap.

“Beautiful!”

Celegiel jumped at the applause and strange voice, her heartbeat increasing. Turning around, she noticed a tall, copper-haired elf nimbly balancing on one of the branches that surrounded her treehouse.

How dared he! Her home was private, nobody was allowed up here, least of all an ellon, a male elf!

She glared at him and pointedly pulled the window shutters close. In the gloomy darkness of her room, she heard a slight rustle as the ellon climbed down.

Voices drifted to her from below.

“The elleth who lives there, who is she?”

“Ai, it is poor Celegiel Merenoriel.”

Nosy elf! What business had he, questioning about her? And the one he talked with was Niphredil, of course, that meddlesome old healer.

“She seemed sad,” said the ellon.

“Aye, she has not spoken to anyone in several moons. She has not long left, I fear.” Niphredil sighed dramatically. “Something happened on her way here from Lothlórien.” The healer lowered her voice, murmuring the rest.

Good. The ellon would not bother her again, not after he learned what had befallen her.

Celegiel lay down on her bed, eyes burning with unshed tears. Realizing she was still holding her lyre, she hugged it to her tightly.

She must have slumbered, for she woke to a slow, enchanting tune. A flute. And the melody was the lullaby she had played before.

The ellon again. He certainly was persistent!

Celegiel listened in silence, feeling the annoyance subside. He was talented, to be sure. She felt an urge to join, pluck harmonizing chords on her lyre and sing the words.

Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him!

Stoically Celegiel abstained. He would think she encouraged his unwanted attention. Instead she let the sweet tones lull her back to sleep.

♫♫♫♫♫♫

The ellon did not give up. He came back next evening, and the evenings after that, every time playing different melodies. Sometimes he sang in a pleasant baritone. He chose old, familiar songs which brought back memories of happy times back home. Festivals, weddings, begetting days – Celegiel and her parents had entertained in all of those.

Celegiel found that she had begun to look forward to the evenings.

Then came one time when she could not resist. The ellon played the Song of Beren and Lúthien, her absolute favorite. The lyre was in her hands before she knew it, thrumming out the familiar chords, weaving an enchanting harmony together with the tender voice of his flute.

She sang the ending verses out loud, surprising even herself. It was strange to hear her own voice after such a long time.

And yet at last they met once more / And long ago they passed away / In the forest singing sorrowless.

In the silence afterwards, Celegiel was surprised to feel a slight quirk to her lips.

A knock on the window dissolved her smile.

“Can you not come out? It is a beautiful evening.”

She hesitated. His endurance was intriguing, she had to admit as much.

Slowly she opened the shutter. The ellon was facing away from her, leaning against the wall of her house, one leg leisurely dangling over the edge of the platform it was built upon. Over his broad shoulders cascaded a mane of waist long hair, golden with a reddish tint, and in his hand she spotted the source of the bewitching music he had blessed her with: a small wooden flute, which he toyed with absentmindedly.

She turned her eyes to the small circle of sky framed by the foliaged canopy above. The stars were out and the air was pleasantly mild. It was indeed a beautiful night.

Her bare feet made no sound when she slunk out and sat beside him, copying his easy stance. He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the flute, twiddling it restlessly. He had big hands, strong. A warrior’s hands.

“I am glad you came. I do not think we met?”

Celegiel did not reply. She observed the ellon's downturned face. His complexion was pale, almost translucent, the fair eyes framed by golden lashes.

She recognized him then, she had seen him with Thranduil, the Elvenking. He was a former servant of the palace, now a Woodland guard. Celegiel had a notion there was a scandal involved, important prisoners escaping during his watch or something of that ilk.

“You are Galion.” Her voice was clear and it surprised her. It should have been rusty from lack of use.

His eyebrows rose in surprise and now he met her gaze. “I am. We have met, then?”

“Nay.” She did not elaborate, and he did not press the matter. Instead he put the flute to his lips and began a new tune. This time Celegiel joined in without hesitation.

“You sing beautifully,” he said after they finished the last cadence. “You are a musician?”

“You know I am. I heard you asking about me.” Her voice came out curt, cold even.

He blushed, his ears turning bright red all the way to their pointy tips. “Forgive my impertinence. It was not my intent to pry. The healer–”

“Aye,” interrupted Celegiel. “Niphredil talks too much. Whatever she told you was probably true, however.” She gave him a penetrating glare, daring him to return it. To her surprise he did, meeting her eye with open honesty.

“She said you lost your parents on your way here. That you came alone, unharmed, but…” He faltered, the gaze wavering. She almost felt sorry for him.

“But married, yes. You must have noticed this the first time we met. Why do you persist in coming? You behave like a would-be suitor, it is inappropriate.”

He did not reply.

“Before you ask – nay, I did not consent to the marriage. Nevertheless, it happened, and although my spouse is dead now, I could never remarry even if I wanted to, as you well know.”

His eyes were wide with surprise when they again met hers. “Dead?”

“Aye. Courtesy of your guard comrades.”

A succession of emotions flickered over his face. Doubt and disbelief were followed by shocked realization and finally white-hot fury. The ellon was on his feet in one smooth motion, tense and dangerous, the relaxed minstrel becoming a fearsome warrior. He held the flute like a knife, ready to stab an invisible foe, the muscles on his arm bulging.

Celegiel felt something then, a tingle, the tiniest of flutters. He looked so protective, so strong.

“Orcs!” Galion hissed. “Orcs caught you?”

She nodded, expecting to read disgust or pity in his eyes, but there was only blistering anger.

“That lair we cleared last month, aye? I was there, killed two of them myself. Filthy abominations!” The ellon breathed hard a few times, then slowly regained his composure. He sat down, closer to her than before. “You are not married. This does not count.”

“A union is a union, however forcefully formed.” Bile rose in her throat when she remembered just how forcefully it had been. Against the strength of an orc, her elven abilities had come to naught. She was a musician, not a fighter.

“But orcs are mortal, and wherever they go after their demise, it is not to the Halls of Mandos. You shall never meet him again, even in the afterlife.”

She pondered this. He had a point, certainly. Did this mean her soul was free, that it could safely leave this broken body? Her soul had been wanting to depart for many moons now, but she had forestalled it, anxious to avoid meeting her molester again. Yet, she had also been unwilling to stay among the living.

“Come, let us play something more. Get your lyre, I love hearing it.” His calmness had returned. Again he leaned against the wall gracefully, lazily even, as if the intimidating warrior she had glimpsed before was a mere figment of her imagination.

She obeyed, and they spent a few more hours in blissful song and music.

When Celegiel was alone later that night, she turned her mind inwards, feeling her soul. It was still restless, still eager to leave but much less so than before. When had this changed? She saw a face before her inner eye then, heard a beautiful flute tune.

Why was Galion so persevering? He had come every night, even before she had spoken a single word to him.

The next evening, after they had finished another piece in lovely harmony, she asked him about that.

“Your soul was calling to me,” he said, shyly looking down at his hands, rolling the flute back and forth over his palm. “The first time I heard your lyre, and saw you… I felt it.”

His answer surprised Celegiel. “Play something,” she said.

He obeyed, beginning the Song of Nimrodel, a delightful Woodland ballad. While he was occupied, Celegiel relaxed her breath and closed her eyes. Then she reached out to his soul. She found it almost immediately, surrounding him in a warm, rosy aura, homely and safe. It was beautiful.

A wave of tenderness engulfed her, and she felt her own soul settle down, once more finding rest in her heart.

When Galion had finished the song, she touched his hand. “Do you really think I would be allowed another chance?”

“I know it.”

“But I am torn. Ruined. I do not know when… if I could–” She broke off, feeling grief burn in her chest.

He put his other hand on hers, enclosing it. “I shall wait for you until you are ready. And if this never happens, I am happy to stay your friend.” He pressed a soft kiss on the back of her hand, sending a pleasant shiver through her body.

She knew then that she could heal. That this ellon’s warm, patient soul, his music and his love – they had power to mend what was broken.

“Please, sing the Song of Beren and Lúthien.”

As Galion complied, Celegiel lay down, resting her head in his lap, losing herself in those bright eyes. The enchanting melody seeped through her veins, reaching her very heart, restoring it.

♫♫♫♫♫♫

Niphredil the Healer nodded happily from her vantage point below. She had been right to lead the ellon hither that evening; music had a healing power even greater than her own gifts.

The song ended, and she saw Celegiel pull Galion’s face down to a tentative kiss. Niphredil knew for certain then; Celegiel’s voice was back and her lyre would be silent no more. She would live.

♫♫♫♫♫♫

A/N:

This was my first Tolkien one-shot, a spin-off from my long fic Horse Lady of Rohan where Galion is one of the characters. Hugs to @raider-k​ for beta-reading!

#lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings #lotr #galion x oc #hobbit #hobbit fanfiction #hurt/comfort #healing #soulmates #healing music #Galion #Mimi Lind

[sharkangelic]

I have a bit of a confession to make. 

“Butler.” Galion is, of course, a butler. We know that from the books. And we all know, vaguely at least, what a butler is. That’s the chief manservant of a house. Except I unfortunately know that the oldest definition of butler is basically “the wine guy.” The butler was the guy in charge of the wine cellars of a castle or estate. And given Tolkien’s writing style and where Galion is mentioned in the books, I’m thinking this is likely his actual role. 

Do I prefer him having the role of a “chief manservant”-type butler? Yes, yes I do. Has Tolkien ever said anywhere “The Elvenking’s butler is in charge of the wine and nothing else”? Not to my knowledge. Ergo, by the laws of all things Tolkien-fandom, it is up in the air and by fanfic-author decree I name him Oropher’s chief manservant.

#the hobbit #galion

[thefandom02]

Imagine kissing Galion

Galion: My love, it’s been a long day

Y/N: Come to bed and relax now.

Galion: *Gets into bed beside you, leans over and kisses your lips*

Y/N: You’ve been drinking Thranduil’s best wine again, haven’t you?

Galion: *Smirk* I have, you like the taste?

#Galion the hobbit #mirkwood #reader insert #the hobbit imagine #galion the hobbit #thranduil’s butler #Mirkwood elf #Mirkwood elves

[tamurilofrivendell]

Beauty and the Beast | Chapter 11

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Beauty and the Beast inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking and a human reader from a nearby village Taglist (let me know if you wish to be added): @captainchrisstan​, @rebleforkicks​ , @yjrevolution​, @majahu​​, @honey-wine​, @accio-boys​, @achromaticerebus​,

Thranduil had been pouring himself another drink when it had happened. He had left it too long and the poison had worked its way through his system quicker than he had expected. He had indulged your little hero complex and intended to use the correct herbs and a little elven magic of his own to help dispell the poison from his wound. However, it took him quicker than he had thought it would and before he knew it, he was unconscious.

Galion had rushed in, hearing the smashing of glass as Thranduil knocked wine and glasses off the table as he fell. His butler had been stricken with worry and had immediately called for help, moving to help his King up off the floor where he lay, moving him to the bed. “Get the Prince!” He called as a guard came in, followed by a throng of healers. The guard in question had run headfirst into Tauriel, who took it upon herself to get Legolas.

Without a backward glance, Legolas had taken off back towards his father’s chambers. You had followed and the guard outside your room did not stop you. Indeed, he himself was too caught up in reaching his King.

Reaching the rooms, you lingered in the doorway, peering in as best you could. He had been fine, had he not? You had just left him. He had been his usual arrogant, angry self. You could see that Legolas was worried and you watched all of the elves running around tending to their King. Looks of concern were written across all of their faces and you didn’t think they could fake it... indeed, there would be no reason to fake it with Thranduil unconscious. Did they truly care for the Elvenking? Why?

You didn’t have much time to dwell on it as the commotion around you continued. Healers flitted around the bed inspecting the King’s wounds, the same wounds you had tended to not ten minutes ago. Would the blame for this fall upon you? Fear sparked through you at the thought and you wondered if you should once more try and run for it while everyone was distracted. Your feet stayed rooted to the spot, however, lurking in the doorway of Thranduil’s bedchamber.

“Poison.”

You heard a couple of conversations happening at once as orders were thrown around but what stuck out to you the most was that the wound on his shoulder had been poisoned and the poison was quickly working its way through his system. You felt something pull at you within, wringing your hands together. You hadn’t known. If you had known, you wouldn’t have even been able to do anything, you didn’t have any experience with that. Had Thranduil known? Surely not. Right? He surely would have gone to the healers, he would have been more forceful in throwing you out of the room... or at least he would have told you what to do for a poisoned wound.

“I didn’t know.” You said, reaching out to catch Legolas’ arm as he passed. He startled a little, not having even known you were there. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze softened and he shook his head. “It is not your fault.” He told you simply. “My father should have acted quicker.”

“He knew?” You wondered aloud, looking from Legolas to the King lying out on the bed, surrounded by healers and guards.

Legolas nodded. “He will have. He’d have been able to feel it.”

“Then why--?!” You cried, frowning as you turned your face back up to Legolas. “Why did he not say anything? He sat there and allowed me... I should not have pushed so hard!”

Legolas, truthfully, didn’t know why his father had sat there and allowed you to continue tending him as he had. It was a mystery that he wasn’t sure he would ever get the answer for but he was quick to shake his head again, looking down at you. “If my father truly did not want to allow you to continue... you would not have had the chance.” He told you firmly, knowing it to be the truth. He couldn’t explain to you why but he knew that Thranduil would have dragged you from the room himself if he truly hadn’t been inclined to allow it to continue. “Do not blame yourself.”

The rest of the night had passed slowly and you had eventually wandered back to your room, lying on the bed and thinking back over the events that had transpired. You still grieved your chance of escape but you knew that you wouldn’t have been able to leave Thranduil in the woods injured and especially now that you knew his wound was poisoned, you found you were glad not to have fled. As terrified as he’d made you, as badly as he’d scared and hurt you, that wasn’t who you were. He saved your life out there when he could have let you die and be rid of his problem and it seemed you had returned the favour. Not that it gave you much hope for him setting you free out of the goodness of his heart but still.

Eventually, you’d drifted off into a light sleep, rising late the next afternoon. When you sat up you noticed a tray of food by the door, breakfast, and figured that Myleth had been in and had taken care not to wake you. You smiled a little, moving over to nibble at some of the fruit on the tray, before you dressed and washed and hesitantly cracked open the door of the room. The guard was outside but he turned his head to you and nodded to you. He made no objection or move to stop when you moved out of the room and started down the hall. You weren’t planning to run away this time, you were looking for Myleth or perhaps Legolas. The guard watched you go, having been told overnight by Legolas to allow you freedom to leave but he’d been kept there at his post in case his father recovered enough to take notice. He hadn’t.

“You should have heard her, Tauriel!” Legolas insisted, shaking his head as his friend looked back at him with slightly disbelieving eyes. His father would recover, he had been told that morning, but he might not wake for another night or two at the most. It was just a waiting game and Legolas was relieved that his father was not gravely injured.

Tauriel had joined him that afternoon for lunch and he had finally regaled her with the story of you and his father in his father’s room when you’d tended him. He had told her of the back and forth between you two, the way you hadn’t held your tongue when he challenged you. She shook her head, unable to picture it. Surely he would have thrown you straight back in the dungeons if you had said even half of that to his face! She was a little stunned but Legolas seemed slightly overjoyed about it and it made her smile.

A few moments later they both turned their heads as the door opened and you walked into the dining hall, arm in arm with Myleth.

Back in your village, your father was frantic. He had spent the time since being home recovering from his illness but his strength had returned to him and today he had made his way to the tavern. He crashed into the place, causing all eyes to turn on him in surprise. “We were beginning to think you had moved away, old man.” A voice he knew well, belonging to a man named Vermund, called from the corner. “Come, have a drink.”

“There is no time!” Your father cried, shaking his head, standing at the door, his face a mask of panic. He hadn’t been able to calm himself since leaving you in the Woodland Realm, guilt and worry gripping him every moment, but he had been too weak and unwell, and he knew that for sure he couldn’t do anything to rescue you alone. “My daughter has been taken! Someone must help me, we have to go now.”

“How much have you had to drink today?” The man behind the bar asked with a laugh.

Vermund spoke up from his corner again. “What do you mean taken?” His legs stretched out in front of him lazily. He lifted the ale in his hand and took a long drink. Vermund was a well respected man in this town but he was vain and superficial with not a whole lot going on upstairs. He had had his sights set on you since he moved to this town, finding your outward looks pleasing to him. It went well with his own, he had decided, and you were set in his sights as the woman he was going to take as his wife. He had cornered you multiple times over the last few years asking for your hand and you had managed to brush him off every time but Vermund was relentless. The last thing you’d ever want is to marry that man.

Your father turned his attention to Vermund, eyes wide with worry for you, his only child. Vermund was a skilled warrior, surely he could help. “She followed me into the forest! The Elves... the King! He took her, he’s holding her captive!”

“The Elf King...” Vermund gazed back at him, disbelief in his eyes, but he stood slowly all the same. He hadn’t seen you in a few days, in truth, and he was eager to find you again to get his hands on you once and for all. He turned to his friend Oeric, who was sitting beside him, and held his arms out as he turned back to your father. “Well, hey. Lead the way, we will help you!” He wasn’t sure that he truly believed you were in the forest with the Elves but he would go along with it for a time just in case. It was a little odd that nobody had seen you sitting by the fountain or in the stables with one of your books the last while. Besides, he was willing to indulge your father for a time, thinking it would be a good way to get your father on his side when he asked for you hand for the final time.

Oeric rolled his eyes, not wanting to leave his ale, but he dutifully stood up and followed Vermund and your father out of the tavern, turning and following the frantic and mildly relieved man in the direction of the woods.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #beauty and the beast

[nocompromise-noregrets]

Oh I'd love to read your thoughts on modern thranduil, legolas, any character you like

Hi, anon! I couldn't see myself writing a modern AU, originally (I'm not very good at AUs) so I didn't have many thoughts about modern versions of the characters, but then the idea for a daft Christmas movie AU came to me, and then All I Want Is You-'verse happened. In which:

Thranduil is Lord Greenwood, widowed, isolated, very lonely when his kids are away at boarding school, and he's rattling around in his enormous stately home with only Galion the butler for company. He owns, if not quite 'half the county' as Sigrid off-handedly puts it early on, a large country estate, which he runs as carefully, ethically and environmentally-responsibly as he can; he is painfully aware of the ridiculous privilege he's inherited through an accident of birth, and he tries his best to do good things with it all, support local community organisations and so on. He is rather reserved and, I think, actually quite shy (that's the British aristocracy for you...) which can come off as stand-offish and forbidding.

Legolas is eighteen years old, in his last year at boarding school, outgoing and friendly, into things like athletics and archery and history, and the member of the family most likely to be getting into trouble at protest marches, seed-bombing patches of wasteland, and probably superglueing himself to railings/diggers/bridges etc, given half a chance.

Tauriel is seventeen, very quiet and reserved, was adopted by Thranduil and his late wife when she was small after her parents died in a house fire - her dad was the woodsman on Thranduil's estate and Tauriel and Legolas had been best friends since they were tiny so it made all the sense. She likes horseriding, and she often goes and sits on the roof of Greenwood Hall to think. She also likes Sigrid, very much.

Bard is an exhausted, widowed single dad who was made redundant from his job as a museum curator (specialism: medieval weaponry) a few years ago and has been barely making ends meet as a delivery driver ever since. He'd like nothing more than to get another museum job, but there's nothing on the horizon. His one priority in life is making sure his kids are okay.

Sigrid is sixteen, also likes horseriding (and Tauriel, very much), and books and spends most of her time studying, working at the riding school at weekends in exchange for lessons, and looking after her siblings. (Her Da hates that she's had to take on so much responsibility)

Bain is fourteen, likes football and computer games, and if he were any more laid-back he'd be horizontal. He's quick-witted and more interested in his schoolwork, especially history, than he likes to let on. He's the artist of the family, too.

Tilda is ten, massively outgoing, given to asking awkward questions, thinks Legolas is the cat's pyjamas, and is probably going to be going to demonstrations with him just as soon as Covid's over. Weapons-grade cuteness which frequently requires warnings in chapter notes.

Thranduil has been noticing the very handsome delivery driver who's been bringing his wine orders (and may possibly have been making more orders as a consequence) but hasn't quite managed to actually speak to him...until he does, and then they bump into each other, quite literally, in town a couple of weeks before Christmas. At which point the kids take matters into their own hands. And then three months later the first lockdown happens and things rather accelerate from there. :D

I actually work, part-time, in a stately home, so I've ended up channelling all sorts of things into this story from personal experience, and I've been having a whale of a time with it, although I'm rather stalled on it at the moment (then again, I'm stalled on pretty much everything at the moment...)

I did write another modern AU for Tolkien Secret Santa, in which Bard and Thranduil were friends as teenagers and never quite got round to doing anything about (or indeed understanding) what they felt about each other before they went off to uni and lost touch, and then run into each other 25-odd years later; in that one Thranduil is a very repressed (and probably demisexual/grey-ace) top-flight QC (Queen's Counsel, a top lawyer) and Bard is assistant distribution manager for a brewery in their home town, and the kids are more or less as above - I had to put my foot down with that one at 14k words or it would have turned into another massive series and I haven't the time or the mental energy for it at the moment XD

I do tend to take the movie portrayal of Thranduil as inspiration rather than the book one, which is probably why my versions of him are all rather more reserved than many others. Which is why fandom is so awesome - there's room for everyone! :D

Thank you very much for asking! <333333 I've never really sat down and thought about my headcanons before, much less actually written a post for them. I am wondering whether perhaps I should do something like this for Empty Vessel-'verse (my enormous sprawling Middle-Earth-set series)...it's certainly big enough, and I do have a large number of headcanons for it at this point...

#lotr #all i want is you #modern au #otp: bi widower dads #bard/thranduil #barduil #sigrid/tauriel #sigriel #bard the bowman #thranduil #bardlings #sigrid #tilda #bain #legolas #tauriel #my writing #headcanons

[lady-of-imladris]

CHAPTER 4 - IF WE SURVIVE THE GREAT WAR

Synopsis: The years are passing by and Thranduil and Anarríma have some decisions to make

Word count: 4k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: mention of knife kink? I don't that any warnings apply to this chapter but please tell me if I missed something!!

Link to the chapter overview

Always remember Uh-huh, tears on the letter I vowed not to cry anymore If we survived the Great War - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

Thranduil was happy. For the first time in his life, he would freely admit to anyone that he was feeling great. His life was everything he ever dreamed of. The war was over, his people loved and respected him as a king, and he had her. Anarríma. His lady. His love. His everything. The king smiled to himself as he opened the small box Galion had delivered to him earlier. Yes. Today would be a very good day.

“This is the most stressful day ever!” Anarríma exclaimed loudly, pacing up and down. It was the anniversary of her first meeting with Thranduil. They had never exchanged gifts previously, but this morning, when they were still in bed, Thranduil had told her that he would like to dine with her tonight. Just the two of them, because he wanted to give her something. She had nothing for him. Yet. Ana strode to the door, opening it and telling the nearest guard to go find Galion, as quickly as possible.

Thranduil’s butler arrived not two minutes later. Anarríma received him in her study, where she was currently taking care of some of Thranduil’s work. The king had intended for her to busy herself with whatever she wanted. Sewing, reading, gardening. The choice was hers. But Anarríma grew bored soon, having been very busy the last two decades, planning and fighting a war. Thranduil had been surprised when Celeborn told him that Ana had been his chief advisor and a brilliant military strategist. Ana had not told Thranduil herself, and she did not intend to. What for? They would never fight anymore.

“How may I serve you, my lady?” Galion asked, bowing his head in respect. Anarríma looked up from her work. “You know what Thranduil intends to give me this evening?” Galion’s entire face went red. “My lady, I cannot-,” he stuttered. Ana held up a hand, silencing him. “I do not want to know what it is, I just want to give him something that matches his gift. I was not aware we would be exchanging gifts and I do not want to have nothing for him.” Galion smiled. He liked the lady Anarríma. She was making his king very happy every single day, and Thranduil deserved such happiness. They both did.

“You cannot gift him something similar, my lady. Our king’s gift for you is one of a kind,” he stated plainly. Anarríma threw her head back in frustration. “Of course it is perfect,” she mumbled, “What can I give him, Galion? What does he like?” Galion cleared his throat. “You. He likes you.” Ana looked at him bewildered. “So you are suggesting what? That I tie a pretty bow around myself and let him unwrap me? That I give myself to him and let him have his way with me?” Galion nodded, not even slightly shocked by the suggestion.

Ana sighed and shrugged. “Well it is Thranduil after all, I do not think he would complain. Thank you Galion, you may leave.” “Actually, my lady,” Galion spoke, putting a large box he had been carrying on the desk in front of her, “his majesty sends his regards. He wishes for you to wear this to dinner.” Ana smiled, Thranduil always did this. He constantly sent her new dresses to wear, and they were always made from incredibly soft and beautiful fabrics. She gently untied the bow and took the lid off the box, revealing a sparkling white gown. Galion smiled knowingly, bowed, and left.

The dress was stunning. She had never seen something like it before. It looked like it had been made of pure starlight, possessing an almost unnatural glow. Anarríma took it out of the box fully, hanging it properly, so it would not crease before dinner. She mindlessly ran her fingers along the golden embroidery along the sleeves, and sat down again, finishing the last bit of her work for the day before getting ready for the dinner with Thranduil.

The king groaned inwardly, fidgeting with the small box in his pocket. If there were a prize for the worst meeting, this one would surely win it. His advisors were pestering him constantly. Thranduil was tired of it. One of them, a relic from his father’s reign, was asking him almost daily about his plans to produce an heir. He would love to release him from his duties, but that proved impossible. He was the only one who understood his system, so losing him would plunge the realm into chaos. Thranduil had secretly tasked his good friend Feren with acquainting himself with his councillor’s bookkeeping. He would be rid of him soon enough. The king rose from his seat, declaring the meeting to be over for the day, as he had other plans. It was time for dinner.

Nervously, he walked back to his chambers, his hand in his pocket. When he walked in, he found Anarríma, sitting at her vanity, idly brushing her hair. She was so lost in thought that she did not hear him walk up to her. Ana jumped as she felt him gently take the brush out of her hand. He chuckled and began brushing her soft curls. “Good evening, meleth nin.” Ana smiled and relaxed into his touch. “Hello, my love. Did Galion bring you the dress?” Thranduil inquired. The elleth nodded excitedly. “It is beautiful. You shouldn’t have.” Thranduil returned the brush to its place on the vanity and offered Ana his arm, walking her into their dressing room.

“Tonight is a very special night. It calls for a very special dress,” he commented, taking her dress off the hanger and helping her step into it, not even trying to conceal how he was staring at her chest. Thranduil laced up the dress, kissing his way up Anarríma’s back, drawing little gasps from her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, looking at them in the large mirror. “We match,” Anarríma remarked upon seeing that Thranduil’s robes were made from the same shiny material. She smiled as the king kissed her cheek softly. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm. Ana took it and let him escort her to dinner.

They ate in Thranduil’s dining room. The doors to the balcony were open and the setting sun enveloped the forest in a warm glow. Anarríma noticed Thranduil getting more and more nervous as the night went on, constantly fidgeting. “Meleth nin, are you alright?” she asked after dessert had been served. Thranduil looked at her, startled by her question. “Yes, yes I am fine, how are you, my darling?” he choked out and hastily ate some cake. Ana was perplexed by his behaviour. “I am- fine? But what on Arda is going on with you? You look as if you were about to face Ancalagon himself.” Thranduil chuckled nervously at the comparison. He would rather face Ancalagon at this very moment.

As Ana finished her dessert, Thranduil decided that it was time. He rose from his seat and took her outside. She looked beautiful in the light of the setting sun and Thranduil found himself staring at her, just smiling. “I love you, Ana,” he whispered to her as he wrapped an arm around her waist and looked out at the vast forest. “I love you too,” she whispered back, leaning against him and breathing in his scent. “Marry me,” he said suddenly, not knowing what came over him. He had planned it meticulously, what he would say to her. Word for fucking word. And he had messed it up just like that.

“What?” Anarríma’s voice was shaky. Unsure of whether she had imagined it or not. Thranduil tore himself away from her and went down to one knee, holding both her hands in his. “I have loved you from the moment I first held you in my arms and I cannot ever let you go. I want you. I need you. I need you at my side, as my queen. I need you to face all the ages of the world with me. I want you to raise our children with me. I want you to marry me.” Anarríma had tears in her eyes as she looked down at the king kneeling before her. Every single day he told her how much he loved her. Wanted her. Needed her. But this was different.

Thranduil took the small box out of his pocket and presented it to her. It was a stunning piece of jewellery. It looked like tiny branches, intertwined with each other, incredibly small flowers growing on some of them. Had she been paying closer attention, Anarríma would have noticed that the design of the ring matched the embroidery on her gown. But she was hypnotized. By the ring, and by Thranduil’s eyes. She knew their colour inside out, but she could swear that they were different. There was a fire in his eyes. Thranduil was a dragon, and she was his treasure. And he would never let her go.

Her hands were shaking. Her entire body was. She could not keep him waiting much longer. Anarríma wordlessly extended her left hand towards Thranduil, still shaking very obviously. Thranduil took the ring out of the box and slowly pushed it onto her finger. Ana stared blankly into space, tears streaming down her cheeks, wincing slightly when she felt the king kiss her hand. She loved him. She wanted to spend the rest of all eternity with him. She wanted to be his. But everything in her screamed at her to run away from Thranduil. To save herself. Anarríma commanded her body to obey and the voices stopped, but not before uttering one last thing. You will die at his hands.

3 years later

Thranduil and Anarríma, his betrothed, awoke like they did every day, naked and holding each other. This day, however, was very different. This was the day they would be getting married and she would be crowned Queen of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil smiled to himself at the thought, as he slowly ran his fingers through his soon-to-be wife’s long golden curls. Her hair had grown so much since the end of the war that it now reached her waist. Thranduil once told Ana that it was probably his doing, since he pulled her hair so often. The tips of her ears had turned bright red at his comment. Reminiscing, the king gently wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled on it, earning a sigh of contentment from his lady, who was still half asleep.

Their peace did not last long. Galion was the first to enter, ushering them out of bed and urging them to get dressed. The delegations from Loríen and Rivendell had arrived. Anarríma sprinted down the hallway to the throne room, dragging Thranduil with her. She had not seen Celebrían or Galadriel in over 15 years. “Nésa [sister],” she exclaimed excitedly and jumped into her Celebrían’s arms. “I have missed you so much,” they both said at the same time, laughing and crying. Anarríma felt a soft hand caress her head and she turned around to see Galadriel standing behind her, smiling. “Ammë [mother].” “Suilad, sëldenya [Greetings, my daughter],” Galadriel hugged Ana tightly. “You have been so very brave, my child,” she whispered the thought to her, only in her mind.

Anarríma greeted Celeborn and Elrond next, leaving Thranduil standing around awkwardly in his own throne room. He bowed to Galadriel and Celebrían. “Hirilion nin [My ladies]”. Celebrían chuckled and approached the king, pulling him into a hug. “Don’t you ever call me that again”, she chided. Relief washed over Thranduil, but it was quickly dampened when he met Galadriel’s penetrating gaze. “Oropherion,” he heard her voice in his head, “do not presume that I do not know what happened between you and my daughter in that tent. My husband told me everything.” A shiver ran down his spine. How much did Celeborn know? “He persuaded our dear son-in-law to tell him what had transpired between the two of you”, Galadriel answered his unspoken question. Thranduil saw her mischievous smile and he felt her leave his mind. The hard part was over.

Anarríma turned around as she sensed another presence in the room, letting go of Lord Celeborn. Her brows furrowed as she properly regarded her sister. “You’re pregnant!?” she exclaimed in surprise. Celebrían laughed and nodded. Ana turned to Elrond, who smiled proudly. “Twins,” he confirmed. “Congratulations,” Thranduil said, having finally regained his composure, “the two of you will make marvellous parents.” “As much as I would love for this conversation to continue,” Celebrían cut in, “you are getting married in three hours and the both of you look like you just rolled out of bed.” Thranduil and Anarríma exchanged guilty glances.

“I’ll get ready in my office, you take our chambers,” Thranduil said to his lady and walked off, Celeborn and Elrond following him. “Our chambers?” Celebrían gave her sister a suggestive look and they both giggled before walking to Ana’s chambers, Galadriel in tow, chatting the whole way there about their lives. The Lady of Loríen, however, was deep in thought. Her daughter, the Lady of Rivendell was expecting twins with her loving husband, and her other daughter, the soldier, was about to marry her great love and become the Queen of Lasgalen. Galadriel ought to be happy. But she knew what was still to come. And she knew she could not prevent it.

Galadriel forced herself to smile and pretend to be happy. It was easier than she thought, being her daughter’s wedding day. She sang old songs of Doriath as she brushed Ana’s long golden hair, and there were tears in all of their eyes when they helped her into her dress. Anarríma thought it too extravagant, but some part of her also loved it. The dress had a train that was longer than any she had ever seen before, the sleeves were trailing on the ground as well.

The fabric was gold and silver, shining and sparkling with her every movement, and the bodice was very low cut. It consisted of leaves, silver and golden, and encrusted with sparkling white gems. Some were embroidered fabric, others were made of metal. They covered her breasts, but little else. Anarríma still remembered Thranduil’s face two weeks ago when she told him he could not leave any marks on her body anymore. She was fairly certain that Thranduil would make up for the lost opportunities as soon as they were alone tonight.

Soon the time came for Galadriel and Celebrían to join the other guests. Galadriel sent her daughter ahead so that she could have some last words in private with Anarríma. “Do you love him?” she asked, not beating around the bush. Ana nodded. “I do, Ammë. I love him so very much.” Galadriel smiled sadly. “Then it will be worth it.” Anarríma felt frightened. Her mother being cryptic was nothing unusual, but at that moment, she scared her. “What will be worth it, Ammë?” she asked, almost afraid of hearing the answer. Galadriel did not answer. She opened the door and walked out, looking at her daughter one last time. The pain was almost unbearable. “If you marry him, it will be your doom,” Anarríma heard her mother’s voice in her mind, “and if you don’t, we will all be doomed.” And then she was alone.

Celeborn arrived to escort his daughter down the aisle. He found her standing in her chambers, staring blankly at a wall, fighting against the tears. “Anarinya?” he spoke gently, “are you alright?” Ana turned around and blinked a couple of times, nodding to her father, “Shall we?” Celeborn was not convinced at all. Nevertheless, he offered his daughter his arm. She took it, and Celeborn gently cupped her cheek and turned her face up so that he could look into her eyes. “It is not too late, I can get you out of here, Anarinya. Just say the word and this all ends.” Ana shook her head and pulled back slightly. “No Ada,” she said. “There is no other way.”

It saddened Celeborn to see his daughter like this. She had seemed so happy about the marriage. What had his wife said that caused Anarríma such grief? He knew she would never tell him. He, too, was powerless. They were quiet as they walked down the corridors of Thranduil’s halls. The guest list was long, Thranduil was a king after all. Even before they made it to the aisle, people were gathered to see her, curtsying as they passed. Anarríma and Celeborn made their way to the altar, where Thranduil was waiting anxiously for his bride. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. Anarríma. His lady. His queen. His bride.

Usually, elven weddings were small gatherings. The only necessary components of the ceremony were the exchanging of vows and the consummation, or in their case, the exchanging of vows. Anarríma would swear not only an oath to him on this day, but also to his kingdom. She was nervous beyond all aid, but seeing Thranduil wiped her mind clean of all thoughts. He looked at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered and with an uncharacteristically wide smile. The king wore his crown of branches and leaves atop his head. He wore white with some gold embroidery on his cape. Celeborn kissed his daughter on the forehead and placed her hand in Thranduil’s. “Be happy, Anarinya,” he whispered to her and took his place next to his wife.

The ceremony was kept short, as was Thranduil’s preference. He would rather show his love to his wife in private. “I, Thranduil, King of Lasgalen,” he proclaimed, “hereby vow that I will cherish and love and protect you until the end of time. I swear by Manwë and Varda, by Aulë and Yavanna, that my love for you will never falter. I hereby take you, Anarríma, to be my wife. From this day, until the end of all days.” He slid the ring onto her finger gently, and yet, Anarríma felt as though she would pass out. He will be your doom. You will die at his hands. This will claim your life. The words were repeated over and over in her head.

“I, Anarríma of Loríen,” she commanded her voice to obey as she took the ring into her hand, “take you, Thranduil, as my husband.” And by Manwë and Varda, by Aulë and Yavanna, I vow to love you until the end of time. No. “And by Mandos, I vow to love you until my last breath.” So it came to pass that Anarríma of Lothloríen wed Thranduil, the King of Lasgalen. And so their doom was final.

“Kneel,” the king commanded, “swear your oath to the kingdom and receive your crown.” Anarríma obeyed. “I vow to protect this kingdom and its people from all evil, be it known or foreign. And nothing shall defend from me, whoso tries to cause it harm. This I swear by Eru Ilúvatar, I will give my life for this kingdom. I will not know mercy against our enemies.”

It was a cruel oath she took, but it was necessary. There was peace now in middle earth, and though Elrond pretended it would be everlasting, Thranduil was careful. The crown of golden leaves was placed on Anarríma’s head. It felt heavy, like a physical manifestation of the vow she had taken. Thranduil offered his hand to help her to her feet. “My queen”, he said, and it sounded like a threat. Should anyone harm a hair on her head, Thranduil’s wrath could not be contained.

The celebration that followed was unlike the ceremony itself in every single way. It lasted until the break of dawn and there was plenty of wine, food and laughter. By the end of it, Anarríma was certain she had not skipped a single dance. Everyone wanted to dance with the bride and who was she to deny them? Thranduil tried his best to contain his jealousy, but if this weren’t one of the most important days in their lives, he would drag his wife away and not leave their chambers for at least a week. But by the break of dawn, he decided that he was well within his rights to follow through with his plan.

He raised his glass for a final toast and Ana abandoned Elrond on the dancefloor to join him. “Before my wife and I retire, I want to thank you all for attending today, my dear friends. May we go towards a brighter future together.” A servant brought Thranduil a box and he took a necklace out of it. The white stones were sparkling in the fading starlight, shining brighter than the silver tree Telperion itself. “But nothing shall ever shine as brightly as my beautiful wife.” He stepped behind Anarríma and brushed her hair aside. She gasped slightly when the cold metal made contact with her skin. Thranduil clasped the necklace and she felt its weight rest against her neck and shoulders.

They left without much decorum, but they were followed by thunderous applause and laughter as Thranduil picked Anarríma up and carried her away. He smiled to himself smugly when he felt her settle into his embrace, as he heard the last noises of the party fade away. They were making bets on when the royal baby would be born. But Anarríma and Thranduil just laughed. They had all the time in the world.

Anarríma had lost both her shoes and Thranduil’s ornate robes were dropped unceremoniously in some hallway on the way to their chambers. They were both drunk and clumsy and very, very happy. Thranduil’s guards opened the door and retreated hastily. “As King of Lasgalen,” Thranduil proclaimed, “I hereby declare the ban on leaving marks on your body lifted.” With that, he carefully put Anarríma down on the bed and immediately kissed his way down from her neck to her stomach, leaving little red marks all over her body. She made a noise of utter contentment and relaxed completely.

“Thranduil,” she whispered breathlessly after a while, “off.” She vaguely gestured between them, but Thranduil understood. He took off his shirt and pulled Ana to her feet. He tried his best, but the laces of this wedding dress were unlike anything he had ever seen. The king fetched a dagger. “Not the dress,” the queen warned him, trying her best to conceal how turned on she was by the thought of him bringing a knife into this. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Thranduil kissed Ana’s shoulder before half ripping, half slicing through the laces of her dress.

The maids would gossip the next morning, finding the queen’s dress on the bedroom floor, the laces cleanly cut and the king’s robes somewhere in the hallway. One of the queen’s shoes dropped off a stairwell and was discovered years after the wedding by a guard, earning much laughter from the king and queen, who fondly remembered their wedding night.

The gracious queen Anarríma would thank the guard, take the shoe from him and find herself in Thranduil’s arms again. His eyes were telling her that he wished for a reenactment of their wedding night. “You get to rip this one if you want,” his wife would suggest to him quietly, a little voice in her head had told her to wear an older gown when she got dressed in the morning.

And Thranduil did.

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#lady-of-imladris fics #fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil #thranduil x oc

[majestictolkienelves]

Last night i had a dream that Galion did his job as butler the same was Edmund Blackadder did in Blackadder the third

And it was just the best dream i have ever had!

#galion #mirkwood #lotr #blackadder #blackadder the third #ferdan is bouldrick

[sixtyfourk]

Galion Galion Galion I love Galion!!!

#64personal #i'm back in my galion obsession #as in the elf butler from the hobbit #my old friends always used to tease me because of how much I loved him #I'm glad that over the last few years he's gotten more stories #even if they don't quite match my version of him since he really is almost an OC #I always saw him as very loyal and neurotic and he had OCD #and thranduil drove him crazy but galion still loved him #I was actually the one responsible for getting him added as a character to label with on fanfic dot net #you couldn't search for him before but i emailed them and asked them to add it in #so I think a few of my stories are the oldest that have his name searchable #anyway I love Galion and I want to write stories for him again #hopefully I will get the time #I'm still writing my fma stories too though because I still love them as well #anyway... a lot of tags i'm sorry #galion #I obviously need to go to bed

[edensrose]

Okay okay hear me out. Thranduil with a reader who he (and the whole damn kingdom to say) swears the reader is playing hard to get and plays coy at every romantic advancement for the fun of it

ʚ pairing : thranduil / reader

ʚ summary : a game of cat-and-mouse was not high up on thranduil's list, and yet here he is — entertaining this damn game of yours

ʚ note : I honestly had such a fun time writing this lol it's quite comical but also really cute ✨

ʚ Thranduil didn’t even know where to start when it came to this little situation. At first, he thought you were simply oblivious to his advancements - he couldn’t blame you, after all he wasn’t exactly the most obvious person when it came to displaying his interest in someone. Yet even after he upped-his-anti, you seemed to simply brush them off, not even notice them at all 

ʚ He was confound, especially when some of his advancements were returned, albeit in lesser proportion. He would have simply accepted the fact that you were not interested - but you returned some of them. You returned them! Only to turn around and act oblivious once more. In all honesty, he had him more than just a little confused 

ʚ The guards, Tauriel specifically knew exactly what you were getting at. She had seen you giggling along to yourself after your actions sent Thranduil into a slew of disarray and had him walking off. In all honesty, she found it amusing and would most likely confront you on this little game of yours - only to commend your efforts and simply sit back and watch the show as it went on

ʚ Galion has heard each and every one of Thranduil’s little rambles when it comes to you. He is the poor soul who has to listen to the king rant and rave about how you know exactly what you’re doing to him and how he is ‘so done with this game’. Yet the butler and everyone else in Mirkwood know that the king is head over heels for you and this ‘game’ is only just beginning. In all honesty, it’s almost amusing to some of the palace staff, who watch the two of you as if you were silly little elflings in love. It was definitely refreshing 

ʚ Don’t expect his efforts to let up, especially when he gets a few hints that you are indeed interested in him. Expect little flowers every now and then, for him to order the room empty just to get you alone, lingering stares, almost-kisses. Perhaps it’s a game that he is slowly beginning to enjoy - not that he’ll ever let on to it 

ʚ To his kingdom, it is beyond rejuvenating to see their king act in such a way to you, for many had thought he would not feel this way again after the loss of his previous queen. However, you managed to get him acting like a lovesick elf teen all over again. And honestly? They couldn’t be happier. . . 

ʚ “But for crying out loud just kiss already!” -Galion 

#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊ #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #tolkien #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #thranduil x reader #thranduil reader insert #lotr x reader #the hobbit x reader #headcanons #writing