‘Scuse. What’s a girl gotta do to get a Thranduil/reader/Legolas one shot? Like I need some angsty, jealous Thranduil Orophorion feeling inferior and incomparable to his own son, who is so much more joyous and youthful than him.
Despite his best efforts, reader has managed to counter every one of his defenses, slipping through the cracks and firmly embedding herself in the recesses of his heart he thought long abandoned.
She is the light of his entire universe, the reason for his continued existence, and deserves nothing but the brightest and strongest love in return, not a damaged ellon like himself.
So he banishes his own thoughts, pushes his emotions to the outskirts, and watches from the shadows as his young son begins to court her, unaware that it isn’t Legolas she years for.
Bonus points for human!reader who feels equally undeserving of love from the great elven king. After all, who is she, a merely mortal, to ever possess the love of one so great and mighty?
ANGST! and just maybe hurt/comfort if our beloved Thranduil and reader ever come to their senses.
I’m dying over here just thinking about it.
ʚ pairing : thranduil / reader
ʚ cw : angst
ʚ summary : there were a lot of eleths that would have considered you the luckiest elf in all of mirkwood, for you were engaged to the prince. but were you really? when your heart longs for someone else?
ʚ note : so I had a lot of ideas for this which is why I decided to do headcanons + a little oneshot at the end. I honestly ended up creating a very heartwrenching story without any sort of comfort I'm so sorry but you put the ball in my court so now EVERYONE IS GOING TO SUFFER 😭
( masterlist ) ( taglist form )
ʚ You were betrothed to the prince of the Woodland Realm for who knows how long. An arrangement that you knew for quite some time. At the very least, you were grateful that you were not being married off to some annoying old buzzard or some snot-nosed boaster - Legolas was kind, charming. You had known him for years in advance and could see nothing but the good in him. . . but he was not the one whom your heart yearned.
ʚ In all of your years in Mirkwood there was someone else who had caught your eye, who had stolen this heart of yours. With a head of silvery tresses and azure eyes that shimmered like that of starlight. Who many upheld with great regard, albeit scorned. The very one who sat upon the throne - the elvenking: Thranduil Oropherion
ʚ Now you knew good and well that this was beyond wrong. Your betrothed’s father? What were you thinking!?
ʚ And yet. . . you couldn’t help but find yourself falling deeper in love with him. Every interaction made your nerves tingle, every look made your heart flutter. It didn’t help that the recent role you took up in the palace brought you closer to him - as the new admiral, you were tasked with ensuring the overall well-being of the palace and co-ordinate night hunts. Meaning you worked very closely with the aforementioned king
ʚ There were countless hours in which the two of you would spend the night, creating plans and strategies on how to combat the creatures of the dark. It was these instances that you held close to your heart, for it was the only time you truly had alone with him. You couldn’t help but admire his beauty, his diligence. And so, you found yourself falling deeper
ʚ However, you had long ago come to the conclusion that whatever it is you may yearn for would never truly come to pass. Why would it? You were a taken woman, he was the king of the Woodland Realm. Even if you were not bound to another - you doubted that he would ever see you as anything more than his admiral
ʚ As fate would have it, you couldn’t be more wrong. For centuries, even before you came to such a position - Thranduil had found favour in you. Many would have thought that after the loss of his first beloved, the elvenking would not find interest in anyone else
ʚ And yet. . . here you were. Stealing his heart and making him feel as though he was some helpless little efling in love again. But he knew better - he should be ashamed. Were you not courting his own son? What kind of moral compass did he have if he were to even think of letting anything develop between the two of you?
ʚ Everytime he looked upon you he felt himself falling deeper. He knew that there would be nothing to ease the wounds once he brought himself back to reality - but he couldn’t bring himself to stop the high that you made him feel. You had slowly become a light in his life - especially as the two of you grew closer, much to everyone’s surprise
ʚ It had become increasingly obvious to those around that the two of you shared a great bond. And soon, the king found himself pulling his head out of the clouds and analysing this situation for what it was. You were to wed the prince, his son. Even if that weren’t the case, did you truly deserve a shattered ellon such as himself? And better yet - would he really put himself through heartache again when you eventually became Legolas’ bride?
ʚ He knew it was foolish and he knew he had to cut these feelings immediately. But with every day that passed, he found himself loving you more and more
ʚ It didn’t help that the two of you had a few. . . incidents. You blamed it on the wine, the heat of the moment. It was only a lingering touch, a stumble in which you fell into his arms. Only a dance beneath the moon. It was the wine - yes! It had to be
ʚ Thranduil finally came to the conclusion that this needed to stop - and so he found himself distancing himself from you. Something which you hadn’t taken too well. After everything he made you feel - after taking you so high. . . now he barely even spoke to you, barely even spared you a glance
ʚ Perhaps this was a good thing. What, with your wedding fastly approaching. . . perhaps this was for the best. You needed to get over him. You were to marry Legolas, you were to love Legolas. Not Thranduil - no matter how desperately you wanted to be his bride instead.
“I will return shortly, M’lady. I must retrieve your brooch.’’
You nod at the handmaiden, feigning a smile as she hastily leaves the room in search of the aforementioned accessory. As the door shut, the curl of your lips drooped along with your brows as you turn to face the mirror.
Donning an elegant robe embedded with silver which matched some of your jewellery, you stood there in your wedding attire. With hair styled most favourably and make-up done just the way you preferred. You were stunning, as every bride should be on her wedding day. A day full of cheer, an auspicious occasion that almost every little girl dreams off.
Yet here you were with a forlorn look scorning your features, unable to bring a smile to your face. You swore that your lips almost hurt from the difficulty of putting on an excitable mask as if you were brimming with joy.
How could you?
How could you feel as if this were the happiest day of your life? When your lungs burned, when your chest tightened and strangled your heart which cried out for mercy, for its want - the one whom it truly desired.
Stop - you shouldn’t be doing this. In the moments to come, you would find yourself before your groom, your soon-to-be husband. These thoughts should have been banished long ago and yet. . .
You still find them centring back to one being. The very man your heart wailed out for.
Fighting back the sting in your eye you are quick to straighten your slumped shoulders and avert your gaze elsewhere, knowing that the sight of your bridal appearance would surely break the floodgates were you to focus on it any longer. “Have you found the brooch?’’ You attempt to call out and mentally curse at the hints of hoarseness in your voice. It takes everything within you to even try and shove down the growing lump in your throat, but nevertheless, you hold yourself upright.
The silence consumes you whole and a part of you falls into panic. Had she heard it in your voice? The remnants of a sob? Of course she did! You were never a good actor, why would you even speak? It would have been better to -
“Yes, I have.’’
A small twinge on your scalp as a new weight nestles within your hair. There’s a newfound chill in the room followed by an equally as ice touch on either jaw which brings your head up to gaze upon the mirror once more. “And it suits you perfectly. . .’’
Every muscle within you tenses, your body growing rigid and akin to a statue as you stare upon those shimmering sapphires once more — the face which peers at you through the reflection of the glass. The gentle caress of your jaw with both his hands leaves your knees weak, your throat trembling as it attempts to swallow back tears.
“I. . . M-My king.’’
You behold as a ghost of a smile finds his lips, gentle hues meeting yours within the mirror for but a moment before he is faced with the real thing after you opt for turning to him. “What are - Wh-What are you doing h -’’
“Ssh. . .’’
A lone tear finally spills, rolling down your cheek yet caught by the crux of his finger. The cool sensation against your cheek made you inhale in a desperate attempt to keep your make-up from ruin. “Why do you cry?” His voice is soft, tender as though he were dealing with a frightened woodland creature of his realm. “Is it not your wedding day? The beautiful bride-to-be should smile. . .’’
“If you are here, then you know why I shed these tears.’’ Unable to hold back any longer you, at last, allow for the break in your voice, the choked-out sob to fall from your lips as he takes your face into his hands. “I-If you stand here before me with such a look in your eye then you know who these tears are for.’’
What point was there in putting up a facade? No truth was hidden in his gaze, everything was clear as day and written all across his face. The very reason he had come to see you — why he held you like this. The elvenking’s heart echoed your own, joining in the anguished symphony which practically blared through your ears; making it feel as though cotton filled them to the brim. Your throat dry, your body quivering. There was no point in lying to yourself, to him. For soon you would stand before another and all of this would amount to nothing.
“I know,’’ he hushes, bringing you near whilst you weep and pressing a kiss atop your head. “I know.’’ He repeats, voice barely breaking a whisper as he allows your hands to reach out and curl fingers into his robe. “Why?’’ You croak, altogether limping against him. There was no care for your robes, the look which your handmaiden had meticulously put together as you sobbed into his chest. “Why has fate dealt me these cards? Why did you pave its way?”
“For there is no other way.’’
You knew this, and yet hearing it from him altogether shattered you. There was no regard for who could have walked through that door; your handmaiden, a guard, Legolas. You couldn’t give a damn as you found refuge in the king’s arms and wept along with your aching heart. He seemed to forget the outside world as well as he embraced you as though you were his — oh, how you wished to be his.
How you wished to see him before you in that ceremony, to say those vows to him, leave as his wife. You wished and you dreamt and you even begged to the creator and all the valar that they would turn back the hands of time and give you this one want. This one need. You needed him.
Soon, his hands found your face once more and drew you away from his chest in favour of turning your eyes to his. Tears still shimmering, you clear your throat and observe his every move. Although you may have been the only one crying, that did not mean he stood here strong. Not in the slightest. For you saw a thousand emotions behind those gorgeous sapphires, a look which mirrored yours in every which-way possible. Clear cut, inconceivable, raw. . . emotion.
“I would want nothing more than for you to be my bride,’’ a thumb gently glides across your damp cheek, further smearing your already ruined make-up. “I would have needed nothing more than you as my queen.’’ You find yourself barely holding back a sob as he draws near and brings his forehead to yours. “To be able to call you mine.’’
“Th-Thranduil. . .’’
“For a moment,’’ you swear his voice almost broke. “For a moment. . . may I pretend as though you are mine?’’
The feel of his lips against your own had been something you dreamt of for nights on end, something you had experienced only in your wildest fantasies. It was everything you could have wanted and more, sending sparks to your spine and erupting your chest into a flurry of butterflies — yet it did little in soothing the sting in your heart. The gaping hole which now would grow and surely overflow with nothing but sorrow by the time this moment was over.
You push your head back, kissing him with an overwhelming passion that you could contain no longer as your fingers curl further into his robes, desperate to cling to him as if he would disappear were you to let go for even a second.
He poured everything that he had into this exchange, as did you. For you both knew that this would be the first as well as the last. A memory that you would cherish yet would haunt you for as long as you both shall live.
And for a moment,
just a moment,
You were his.
taglist ━ @kiatheinsomniac @augustwithquills @blueberryrock @m-shade @nerdydcfan @flowerchildishere @camilomyshiningsun @bugnug @algae-rave @spoopy-fish-writes @yellowbadgermole @perwaineintsomi
I'm sick and in bed and that means I get to be mean to Faramir. SO! Whenever the topic of his character comes up (who he is as a person and what he values etc) the only quote from him people ever seem to use is the 'I love that which they defend' schpiel, despite Faramir having... A LOT MORE quotes about his worldviews than just that one. But fine! Let's talk about JUST THIS one quote and how it reflects on Faramir.
The quote (as used in gifsets, fanfic and artworks) is written thus; 'but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory, I love only that which they defend.' The assumption being that ‘that which they defend’ is referencing the people of Gondor, thereby affirming Faramir as a pacifist who loves his people, yes?
But the thing is no one needs to make assumptions about what ‘they defend’ means, that quote is cut off mid sentence! It ACTUALLY continues; 'that which they defend: the city of the Men of Numenor; and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom.'
See here, Faramir isn't talking about the PEOPLE he and his soldiers are defending. The population of Gondor and indeed Middle Earth at large that is being defended in Gondor’s perpetual war is a complicated mix of ancestries that include the middle men Faramir later despairs of emulating. They are certainly not all part of ‘the men of numenor’ nor are most at all invested in Gondor’s ancientry etc. He is talking about the political entity of Gondor as a remnant of the lost Numenor that he so idolises and the history it represents. It is a nationalist sentiment.
To Faramir, 'glorifying war' (as he perceives it) is an aspect of lower men, of lesser culture, not befitting high men. Not going to war mind you, it is just the glorification of such that he despises, the fact that it is a necessity of these times that warriors are lauded; “For as the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts. Such is the need of our days.”
It is already dismissive and callous to ascribe a LOVE of war to the Rohirrim, who appear just as aggrieved by loss and suffering as anyone, but what Faramir calls ‘love of war’ is really just the preparedness for it and those who respect others for that preparation and practice. The Rohirrim have never gone to war as a sport. He means duelling, wrestling and encouraging people to learn to defend themselves because as he says! ‘Such is the need of our days’.
But those things, to him, are uncivilised, the mark of “we too have become more like to them [the Rohirrim], and can scarce claim any longer the title High. We are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things.” So Faramir, in his claim of not loving a sword for it’s sharpness etc, is distancing himself from those men, showing in fact a callousness for the people he protects, holding idealised concepts of racial superiority and nationalism over defence.
Denethor accuses him of just this! 'your desire is to appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle. [-] but in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death [-] with the death of your father and of all your people whom it is your part to protect'. Notably, Faramir replies, 'So be it'.
Anti-war sentiment is fine! Yes war is bad in general and shouldn’t be entered into lightly. But the message in LotR is not so simple and specifically Faramir's reasons for being anti-war-GLORIFICATION are not so selfless or noble as people like to believe. The war in LotR is not some political mess organised by higher powers and forcing those lower than them to suffer for their inscrutible machinations, it is a war of necessity in defense against (as Faramir puts it) “a destroyer who would devour all.” The wars that were for self gain and expansionism were what enriched Gondor and allowed it to become the ‘Queen among Queens’ that Faramir is yearning for. How can one be anti-war and yet idolise the colonialist Gondor of history? You can't.
The Gondor of old that is 'feared only as men may fear the dignity of a man, old and wise' that Faramir wants to emulate does not exist and Gondor's beauty was always supported by its King-lead military conquests to the east and south. But Faramir still wishes 'the silver crown return', for the King to come again and for this to somehow return his country to it’s former glory. Only under the Steward’s rule were Gondor's borders receded by design, and under Aragorn it proceeds to 'subjugate the South' once more. Minas Tirith is certainly at peace in the future however, it does not see siege or desperate battle again, which is the peace Faramir is looking for, 'Minas Anor again as of old, full of light, high and fair.'
So! Faramir is not Anti-war, nor does he love his people. Faramir resents the loss of the illusion of a wise paternalistic Gondor 'queen among queens' that does not have to bother with such lowly pursuits as war for the sake of self preservation and the praise that comes with it. HE LOVES ONLY THAT WHICH THEY DEFEND! (The great history of passive and magnanimous Gondorian supremacy that he has made up in his own head) I am so dizzy and my heart is beating way too fast I hate being sick adieu