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faeriichaii · 3 months

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Heyyy, I hope you are doing alright!

I wanted to request a kinda mean but later soft Thranduil x Shy Fem!Reader smut ♡ in which the Reader loves to read and sneaks into a forbidden part of the library and gets caught by Thranduil ;) ♡

Bookworm ~ Thranduil x Fem!Shy!Elf!Reader

A/N: Omg never did I ever expect to see a Thranduil request (even more shocking that it is a smut request🤭) But sure, I can do that for you <33 (Ngl I was very scared about writing this cause Thranduil is like such a hard character for me to write but I obv still appreciate it when I get him requested <33)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, bj ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes <33 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hiril vuin ~ My Lady ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Agórel vae ~ You did well ࿐ྂ

Summary: Legolas let the secret of a restricted area in the library slip, which makes you of course very curious. So after deciding to enter the forbidden part, you get caught by none other than the elven king himself.

Enjoying the serene chirping of the birds, you turned the page of your book. You sat under a tree in the beautiful garden of Mirkwood. The book in your hand only had a few pages left and you just had to know how the story of the princess goes. Does she get her happy end or does the prince of hearts decide to take her down? You don’t know yet, however you are very keen to find it out. A soft gasp left your lips, as your book was taken out of your hands. “Isn’t this one of the books in the restricted area?” Legolas asked, as he turned the book around to quickly skim over the summary. His finger was still placed between the pages, in order to not make you lose the spot you have last read. He once did it by accident and he still hasn’t really recovered from the hell that you let loose upon him.

“Restricted area? I never saw a restricted area.” You said, as you stood up from your place on the ground and snatched the book out of Legolas’ grasp. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” The prince began to walk away from you, however you couldn’t just let him go after he dropped this very important secret. “Wait Legolas! You can’t just walk away now. Where is this restricted area?” A sigh left his lips as you stood beside him and looked up at him with your big eyes. “My father would kill you if he spots you in there (Y/N). It really isn’t even worth it. The only person who walks in there is him and I sometimes join him, and let me tell you, the books are mostly on history about middle earth and nothing special.” He tried to reason with you, but you were insisting on finding this so-called restricted section.

“Legolas, we have been friends for more than just centuries, you do know me and you certainly know that I know the layout of the library better than anybody else. So how come I have never seen the restricted area?” Legolas stopped walking, which made you also stop in your tracks. “There is a mechanism to it. You have to pull a lever in order to open the restricted area and enter it. But (Y/N)…” He turned towards you and grabbed your shoulders tightly. “You really can’t enter. If my father finds out, that you have been in the restricted area, then he will certainly send you far away or set an even worse punishment upon you.” His worried eyes locked onto your own. You gave him a reassuring smile, before shaking his hands off from your shoulders. “Don’t worry, I will not go in there. I promise.” What the prince didn’t saw, were your crossed fingers, that were hidden away in the pages of the book you now desperately wanted to return to the library.

After you said your goodbyes to Legolas, you decided to take a detour to the library. Just to put away the book you still held onto tightly. No other reason. Opening the big wooden doors, you walked towards the designated shelf and put away the book. Turning around, you scanned the whole room for any kind of lever. You walked towards the few golden candle holders, that were attached to the wall. Letting your fingers graze over the cold metal, you carefully tried to pull it, however it didn’t budge. A sigh left your lips as you continued to stroll around the library. You have been walking around for quite some time, until you noticed a little shelf that is tucked into the corner of the room. Examining it, you decided to try and search through the books, if they possibly could be the lever, you have been searching for.

Your eyes focused on a dark green book. The golden edges almost seemed to glow, as you let your fingers trail over the intricate design. Gently pulling on the book out of the shelf, you heard a click. The shelf started to move to your right, opening a small staircase to you. A smile spread across your lips, as you decide to walk down the few steps. Your eyes widened at the few shelves, that lined the stone walls of the small room. Each of the shelves were filled with various books and scrolls, some even in a language you can’t read. ‘How to Brew the Perfect Concoction’ or ‘Middle Earth: Past, Present and Future’ were only a few of the titles you have read on the spines. You took out a dark blue book, dusted it off and read the title. ‘The Golden Egg: A Guide for Dragons’. You didn’t even know that there was a book, explaining how to care for dragons. Putting it back on the shelf, you continued to stroll around the room. Time flew by quickly, as you read various pages of different books, and scrolls, until you found one you really wanted to take back upstairs. Tucking it in your small bag, you walk back up the stairs, pulled the lever that was attached to the wall and walked out. It only took you a few steps until you realized that the king himself was browsing through a shelf that was a little too close to the opening of the restricted area. His eyebrow raised, as he spotted you walk out of the direction of the small shelf. A blush dusted your cheeks, as you quickly did a curtsy and muttered a ‘My King’ in greeting. He mustered you from head to toe, until he noticed the small book that was peeking out from your bag.

You were ready to quickly exit the library, until Thranduil began to talk. “You did not perhaps take a book from a shelf you are not supposed to touch?” He asked, almost daring you to lie to him. The blush on your cheeks intensified, as you looked up at him. “I don’t think I understand, my king. I just took this book from a shelf that I have inspected earlier.” His eyes moved from your own, towards your bag again. “Well, I do hope so. If you would ever enter places, you are not meant to be in, than you will leave me with no choice but to set a punishment upon you.” He spoke, authority dripping with each word. A shudder spread through your body, as your mind registered his words. “Of course, my king. I would never do such a thing.” You smiled softly at him, before politely curtsying and leaving him be in the library. After walking through the big wooden doors, you let out a deep breath you didn’t even knew you were holding. Hopefully the book will be worth the trouble.

A few days passed and you devoured each and every single word, that was written on the pages. Hence you were once again standing in the middle of the restricted area, searching for another book to pass your time. You were at the furthest corner of the room, intensely reading a scroll, that you have found, until you heard the sound of the shelf moving. How come the shelf is moving? Your eyes widened, as the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs echoed throughout the room. Quickly shoving the scroll back into the shelf, you hid behind the burgundy armchair, that was tucked in a neat corner of the room. Holding your breath, you watched as Legolas entered the room together with his father.

“Why are we down here father?” The prince asked, as he let his fingertips glide over some of the dusty books. “We need to search for a scroll. It should be wrapped with a red ribbon around it.” A shudder went down your spine, as you spotted the red ribbon you have removed earlier from the scroll on the ground. In the exact same moment, Legolas picked it up from the floor and wrapped it around the scroll you carelessly shoved into the shelf. “I think I have found it.” He said and presented the item to his father. The king raised an eyebrow at the unravelled scroll. “Did you start reading it already?” “No, not yet.” Legolas answered, wrapping the ribbon around the paper and walking towards the stairs, in order to leave the room. He tilted his head, as he noticed that his father didn’t follow him. “Do you need something else?” “Yes, but you can already start reading the scroll if you want.” Thranduil said, his eyes still carefully scanning the room. Your head was ducked, in order to not get spotted by his hawk-like gaze.

The fading footsteps of Legolas leaving the room made you feel a little bit more relieved. However, you still felt Thranduils looming presence in the small space. “There is no need to continue hiding Hiril vuin.” His voice still seemed a little too far away for him to have spotted you. “You think I didn’t know you took the book from this very room?” Steps slowly started to approach your hiding location, making you duck even further behind the armchair. “I was the one who sorted through the books and scrolls and decided if they would be fit for this restricted area of the library. You weren’t even supposed to know of its existence. So how exactly did you find this room?” His feet stopped in front of the burgundy armchair. “And how dare you lie to me and still hide away like a little mouse.” A shameful blush dusted your cheeks, as you slowly stood up from your position on the floor. “My king, I can explain-“ He waved his hand, signalling you to stop talking. His eyes were filled with rage, as he deeply looked into your own ones. “You lied and now expect me to listen to your pathetic excuse?” You swallowed thickly, looking down at your feet. “You leave me with no other choice but to banish you.” “Banish me?” Your head whipped up, eyes wide and lips parted. Your heart beat faster and faster, as the punishment of your actions settled into your brain.

“Please my king, don’t banish me! I will do any other punishment that you are willing to put me through, but I am begging you, don’t banish me from Mirkwood.” Hands clasped in front of you, you fell down on your knees in front of him. Tears were lining your vision as slight panic settled into your body. You can’t get banished. You have family and friends in Mirkwood and where else are you supposed to go? The king raised an eyebrow, as you kneeled in front of him, pleading him for mercy. “You are willing to do anything?” You quickly nodded at his question. Hope filled your mind and soul as you stood up from the ground. Thranduil took a step closer to you. His right hand wiped a tear away, that escaped your eyes. Heat spread through your body at the realization of your close proximity.

“Show me how much you want my forgiveness.” He whispered, his fingers holding onto your chin. A shaky breath left your lips, as you let your eyes trail down to his own. The magnetic pull towards him was almost unbearable. The urge to just put your lips over his own and entangling your hands in his hair driving you crazy. You looked back up into his eyes, that were glistening over with unspoken want. Grasping his shirt, you quickly pulled him down, encasing his lips with your own. His hands held onto your waist, pulling you closer. You let your hands slowly trail from his chest to his neck, as you opened your mouth, letting your tongue entangle with his in a passionate kiss.

Thranduil separated from you. Your cheeks were bright red, as you took a few breaths to relax from the heated kiss. “Can’t you take more than a mere kiss Hiril vuin?” His head tilted to the side, as mockery dripped from every word he muttered. A huff left your lips. “I can take more than you think.” And with that you pulled him down once more, kissing him even more feverously than before. His grasp on you tightened, as he approached the armchair. Parting from you, he sat down on the plush furniture. His legs were slightly spread, as his arms leaned on the armrests. Your eyes trailed his form, until they stopped at the slight tent, that seemed to grow in his pants.

“Let’s see how well you listen to my orders now. Take off your clothes.” Your hands went to your shoulders. Fingers grazing over the fabric, you took your time pulling the sleeves off of your body. Your dress gently slid down your body, as it pooled on the ground. Eyes still focused on the king who sat in the armchair, you hooked your fingers into your panties. Pulling them down, you stepped out of the pile of clothes and began to approach Thranduil.

His eyes trailed over your body, leaving a hot trail as they go. Your walls clenched around nothing, as you inspected him. “What do you wish me to do next my king?” A chuckle left his lips. His fingers motioning you over. “I want you to prove your statement. You said you can take more than I think, so I want to see how much you can really take.” Thranduil unbuttoned his pants, lifted his hips from the chair and discarded the garment on the ground. His cock was long and thick. A soft gasp left your lips. You moved down on your knees in front of him, your mouth mere inches away from his tip. “My king, will you allow me to take a taste?” Innocence laced your voice, as you looked at him through your lashes. He nodded at your suggestion.

At the approval, you wrapped your hand around his base. Your mouth encased his red tip, gently sucking on it. A shuddered breath came from Thranduil, as he held onto the back of your head with one hand, making you moan softly at his touch. You took more of him into your mouth, gagging slightly at the process. Your tongue stroked the vein of his cock as you slowly started to bop your head up and down, hand covering the part of him that didn’t fit into your mouth. Groans could be heard from the elven king, as his piercing eyes stared at how well you took him with your mouth. Your walls clenched around nothing and you could feel your wetness almost drip onto the floor. Craving to be touched, you let your free hand wander to your clit. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” Retreating your hand from yourself, you let out a sad whine. Thranduils hand pulled on your hair gently. You let his cock go with a ‘plop’ and tilted your head to the side, awaiting your new order. “Sit down.” He said, patting his thighs.

Standing up from the ground, you placed your legs on each side of his. Cold air hit your dripping core, making you gasp. Thranduils hands grasped your hips tightly as the tip of his cock grazed your swollen clit. A whine escaped your lips at the intimate touch. “I want you to ride me. Work for it and earn your orgasm.” His lips brushed against your ear. You took his cock into your hands and aligned it with your entrance. Slowly you sank down, the feeling of the stretch making you part your lips in a silent cry. A groan from Thranduils lips bounced off the walls. You tightly held onto his shoulders, as you let yourself settle down and embrace his sheer size inside you completely. He was longer and thicker than you expected. After a few seconds of letting your pussy adjust to his size, you started to slowly move up and down. The elven kings hand trailed up your body, to grasp your boobs and twirl your nipples between his fingers.

Moaning at the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and completely filling you up, you connected your lips to his. The wet squelching sound of your pussy filled the small restricted area of the library. A familiar warmth spread through your lower region. Thranduil detached himself from your lips and leaned towards your ear. “Are you really already close? Is my cock so satisfying to you?” He gently bit into your elven ear, making you gasp out loudly. Your walls squeezed him tightly, welcoming him even deeper into your core. The king let his hand travel down your body, his fingertips gently leaving a trail. He drew circles on your swollen clit, making you arch your back.

The knot tightened, as your walls clenched on his dick. “Don’t cum yet. You have to wait. After all, it is still a punishment.” A whine left your lips at his words, only wishing to let the orgasm wash over you. “Please.” You begged him, as he even start to move his hips upwards, matching your rhythm. “What do you want Hiril vuin? Use your words.” “Please Thranduil, let me cum.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his dick twitch inside you. His hand grabbed your chin and pulled you in for another quick kiss. The heat that travels through your body is unbearable, as you try to hold back your orgasm. “You can cum Meleth Nin.” And with that, the knot unravelled and you came, squeezing his dick inside you. His big hands moved towards your hips, shoving you up and down on his dick at a relentless pace. Whining at the overstimulation, you buried your head in his neck. After a few more thrusts, you felt his cock twitch, as he filled you up with his seed.

He continued to move inside you for a few more times, before pulling out. His cum mixed with your own slowly started to trickle out of your core. “Agórel vae Meleth Nin.” Thranduil held your warm face in his hand, thumb drawing circles onto your cheek. He gave you a gentle kiss on the lips. “Do you still wish to banish me my king?” You asked him, arms wrapped around his neck. “I think you proved that you definitely deserve my forgiveness Hiril vuin.”

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theship-thewalrus · 2 years

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masterlist

request guidelines || fandoms & characters

*smut

game of thrones

brienne of tarth jealously not a joke no one hurts you rest together again

tywin lannister love can bloom sweet little dragon may i have this dance? it was my mothers everyone needs some comfort nightmares

sandor clegane waking up to you flowers you are the one i want

oberyn martell enough of this

house of the dragon

ser harwin strong the third time's the charm || part one || part two || part three waking up to you our final moments together looking after a sick harwin rainy days no longer yours a life together general dating headcanons (w/ rhaenyra) good boy * a gift

princess rhaenyra targaryen looking after a sick harwin general dating headcanons (w/ harwin)

prince aemond targaryen anything for you || i'll figure it out waking up to you engagement headcanons (w/aegon (separate)) protective siblings (w/aegon) hiding jealousy

king aegon ii targaryen Disappointment || series masterlist engagement headcanons (w/aemond (separate)) jealously protective siblings (w/aemond)

jacaeys valaryon our secret

queen alicent hightower dragons new sensations *

lord of the rings

legolas injuries clingy stranger

aragorn injuries

boromir stay with me deserve you return to you

the sandman

lucifer here with me i would never hurt you lonely

bridgerton

Benedict this is my idea

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shrubdaddy · 1 year

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elucidative | l.greenleaf

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: elucidative |. /ih-loo-si-deyt/ | verb | to make lucid especially by explanation or analysis | y/n is only a little dumb

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: legolas x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

a/n: Hiii - Sorry I've been MIA - work has been a bit more hectic and I've been having a hard time finding time to write! I could not stop thinking about the Bridgerton scene with Charlotte and George. Lightly inspired by @reality-warp 'Rávamë’s Bane Trilogy', quite literally one of my all-time fave fics and authors in this fandom and is a literal queen in world and character building so check out her fics if you haven't already!

“Manwë’s breath, how much higher can this wall get?”

Reaching for yet another tendril of the vines climbing up the wall, you attempt to climb higher up the stone wall.

It was a precarious situation — one in which you did not expect to be but were not entirely surprised to find yourself in.

You scaled the stone walls attempting to reach the top of the wall to escape yet another suitor. With flowing sleeves laced with snagged threads and leaves woven into your hair, you don’t quite know how long you’ve been attempting your half-scattered escape plan. At this moment, all you knew was that you’d been in this dreaded courtyard for over an hour and you would not be waiting another minute to be trapped and shackled for the next “prince” to come around.

As a ward of Lord Glorfindel, you were of course expected to adhere to the life of a lady in every way possible. You’ve studied every subject, attended every lesson from etiquette and mannerisms to reading and writing in Khuzdul, and attended each and every dreadful social event your father has encouraged.

Feeling your grip falter yet again, you stumble backward and glare at the very metaphoric yet also a very real wall in front of you.

You have always strived to be the perfect daughter in every way possible. However, in regard to love and courtship, you refuse to follow the ancient, decrepit tradition. Between the many years of dodging conversations and offers of marriage, you’ve reached way past the age of courtship, spending many years avoiding each and every suitor thrown your way.

Rather than bubbling with excitement, you felt the fear of the unknown settle in. Having so much to live for and not enough time to experience, you think of your time spent with the twins and the Rangers of the North — time spent traveling, exploring, and living.

You remember joining the twins and meeting Aragorn… meeting Legolas. He was an elven ranger you befriended through Aragorn. He was strong and sturdy, and for a moment you thought you were in love. The camp up North was a place where not many talked of their past but where they all focused on the present. It was a simple life but it was the life you were able to create for yourself.

Lost in the thoughts of the slow spiral of your sanity, you didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you as you reached yet again for the closest, protruding stone on the wall —

“What in the world are you doing?”

Without turning to even see who it is, you let go of one hand waving your intruding guest away.

“Please mind your own business, sir. You can escort yourself out — possibly, somewhere that is anywhere but here.”

You continue your ascent without a second thought but slipped down the wall as stone slowly tore up your hands. Stepping back, you place your hands on your hips and take a look at the growing annoyance in front of you. This stupid wall.

You hear an exasperated sigh behind you and felt someone lightly, grab your shoulder, pulling you from behind.

“Excuse me, sir. But you will unhand or you risk losing your… Legolas?”

Turning around, you were shocked by the familiar face of someone you were completely and utterly infatuated with over the past couple of years. Paralyzed and flustered, you couldn’t help but notice how clean and ethereal — you have never seen him this clean before; his muddied boots were somehow clean and the ragged pants you were so used to was exchanged for a less holey look. Somehow these fit even better. You feel your eyes gaze up but froze — you were staring too long.

“Lose my what?” he asked with a little smug grin.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. On the contrary, you can keep everything… It was nothing…” you rambled as you quickly turned around.

You hear him step a bit closer, coming behind you on your side to examine the wall you were so desperately climbing less than a second ago.

“What in Arda are you doing here, Y/n?” he said with his curious, blue eyes. Though a few feet away, just his presence causes your mind to go in a scramble.

“Me? What are you doing here?” you exasperated. Fiddling with your hands, you begin pacing back and forth, pretending to examine every bit of the wall, looking anywhere but him.

Look anywhere but his eyes, Y/n. That is how we’ll survive his cursed beauty.

“You are climbing a wall. If anyone should be questioned, it is you,” he bit back.

You quickly move your shoulder to release his grip and turn around.

“First of all, I live here. Second of all, please do mind your business, Legolas. I am quite a bit … oof … I’m quite a bit busy here. and I’m running out of time.”

Stepping towards the wall, you begin to attempt to climb yet again. If anything, it was to break free from his distracting grip on your body. Ignoring the growing warmth on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but notice how large and warm his hand was and how one touch made you feel like hot honey dripping down your body.

Shaking off the startling moment, you were determined to leave. And even he could not stop you.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing something.”

“I am not”

“Yes… you quite obviously are are.”

“I am n o t.”

“Yes… you are,” he said firmly.

Relenting — you turn back around to face him. Beautiful face and all. You notice how his head is turned slightly down, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest beginnings of a small smirk staring down at you.

“Fine,” you relented. “If you must know, I am trying to figure out the best way to climb over this disgustingly high wall and escape this dreaded meeting with this so-called ‘prince.’”

“You’re trying to what? With who? Whatever for?”

“Well, the first thing — hmph …” you grunt as you turn back around to attempt to climb for the fifth time in a row. “The first thing is that my dearest father has been parading me around to different suitors, a Lord here, a Duke there — and now, um, it’s apparently another ‘prince’.”

You take a step back because rather than focusing on climbing, you feel a sense of frustration overcome you. The situation of late has finally dug its claws into you... feeling a greater weight on your shoulder than you have originally led yourself to believe. You feel him standing behind you — the burning intensity of his stare on your back.

“No one has spoken of him… no one has spoken of this so-called Prince of Mirkwood?” You continued, “What if he has the personality of a gremlin and the looks of a troll? The Valar knows the little patience I have for men.”

“Gremlins and trolls aside — does what he looks he really matters to you? ” he asked.

“No… Of course not. It’s the not knowing and the fact that I do not know him or his heart that I do not like.

You take a step back to take a look once more at the wall in front of you. Glaring with all of your might, in hopes that your internal rage can burst a whole through these dreaded walls.

“Y/n —you must know... “ Legolas began.

Your eyes run through all the nooks and cranny’s vine-covered stone beast, ignoring Legolas’s words for only a second. There it is. A protruding stone just two feet away from the top. You found one last way you have yet to try.

“Thank the Valar! I think I found a way.”

You walk towards the wall once again, mapping out the new path of vines and protruding stones.

“I think if I can just reach this stone I can lift myself up! If you lift me just a little, I believe I can reach that vine and use these stones to climb up,” you said excitedly.”

“You want me to lift you up… so that you may… escape?”

“Yes, obviously. Did you not hear of threatening the gremlin-troll prince? Please, Legolas.”

“Your father will know that you are missing? The twins have just arrived as well?”

“Those are tomorrow’s problems, Legolas. The prince will be coming today,” you whined.

As you begin your ascent, you feel your foot slipping from the stone. Despite this, you stretched your hand above your head to grab the vine. As you reached, you feel the stone beneath your foot crumble and in a matter of seconds you find yourself falling.

“Lego—”

“Y/n,” he cuts you off. “I have no intention of helping you escape.”

Standing a little too close, you can feel the warmth emanating from his body. As you gaze up to his face, you see he’s wearing an emerald green tunic, soft and silky — something far nicer than the typical garb you always see him in.

“And why not? There is little time to —.”

Your finally glance up to look him in the eyes and —

“You’re wearing a crown,” you blankly stated.

Confused, you oh-so-slowly begin to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes, I am wearing crown,” a small grin appearing on his smugged face.

“Where in the world did you get a crown?”

“It was given to me,” he said as he looked around feigning boredom.

“By who?!” you retort.

“My father.”

“Your father? What does— is he like a king?”

“He is a king,” he said frankly.

“Which makes you a — “ you slowly piece the information together.

“A prince? Yes, a gremlin-troll prince to be exact,” he retorts with now a full grin and staring down at you.

“And you said nothing?” You frantically exclaimed.

“I figured you’d realize at some point,” he chuckled.

You stood there reflecting on all your life decisions at once. Every conversation, every hidden glance. He was a prince.

“I thought it was common knowledge and that you knew of my title,” he said quietly. “I apologize for not disclaiming it sooner.”

“So if what you’re saying is true…” you teased. “You just assume everyone thinks of you as royalty? That’s quite the assumption”

“Y/n, you know I did not mean it like that,” he groaned.

With a little giggle, you stepped away from him and asked “Should I call you, sir?”

“…Y/n, what?”

“Oh my, I’ve never bowed.” Your voice shifts into worry, “Is this grounds for beheading?”

“Y/n, no.”

“I should bow.”

“No— you should not.”

“I’ll bow.”

“Y/n — stop.”

“Please sir, I am merely a lowly peasant. Have mercy, your highness,” you exclaimed as you lower your head and drop into the deepest curtsy.

As he attempts to stop you, he reaches for your arm hoping to put an end to your jester.

As you back away and dodge, you look at him, batting your eyelashes, and cry “My liege, spare me from this punishment I only wish to live.”

Ears turning red with a desperate voice, he begs “Y/n, please.”

As you step back once more, he’s quicker this time and grabs your arm, pulling you close. your chest crushed against his, he drops one of his hands to your waist and the other to your back. You were so close you felt his breath caress your face. As you look up, you find him staring intently at you.

As you stare at each other, you couldn’t help but break into giggles over the preposterous situation. As you begin to giggle, he looks away trying to hold in his laughter, only to also laugh at the situation.

It felt nice — to feel free and silly, if only for a moment.

As both your laughter calms down, he looks back down at you asked, ”So what do you think of the gremlin-troll prince?”

“Nothing too horrid, he’s actually quite dashing,” you teased.

“Dashing, hmm?” he chuckled.

Unaware of everything around you, you were both startled to hear the courtyard doors open with footsteps following. Jumping from each other's arms, you separated a good distance away only for you to see your father and Elrond turn into the corner section you were standing in.

“Oh, good. You’ve met!”

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shangchiswife · 27 days

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dating aragorn headcanons!

hi guys this is the first time in a while that i've written something so i hope that you enjoy. i just recently rewatched lord of the rings and i'm obsessed with aragorn again so here are some headcanons!

aragorn x gn!reader

Aragorn is the biggest gentleman ever. You basically won the lottery when you started dating him.

The lyrics “In a world of boys he’s a gentleman” are about him 100%. Taylor Swift you are not slick at all.

Do not be fooled by his rugged looks, this man is the biggest romantic. He will plan the most romantic dates for the two of you even when he’s busy trying to be King. Even when he’s busy with his kingly duties he will still find a way to shower you with affection. Whether it’s leaving little love notes on your nightstand or bringing you a flower bouquet, he always wants you to make sure that you know that he’s thinking about you.

Aragorn’s love language is through acts of service. He wants to do everything for you. You are his first priority. You’re not feeling well? He’ll drop everything in his schedule to make sure you’re alright. Your weapons aren’t clean? He’ll clean them no problem. You’re cold? Bro will gladly take off his shirt and give it to you so that you’re not cold anymore.

When you guys were trekking through Middle Earth this man made sure that you got as much rest as possible

“Aragorn it’s my turn to take watch” you had said, rubbing your eyes with exhaustion. He walked over to you and put a hand on your shoulder. “You’re still tired, rest, sweet one, I’ll take care of it.” “But-” “No buts,” he said as he pushed you down gently. “Alright well I’m taking your shift tomorrow night,” you grumbled as you put your head in his lap and immediately fell asleep.

Let's just say he didn’t let you take the shift the next day.

He is soooo overprotective of you. He’s always been very protective over those he cares about but he’s especially protective over you since you’re his number one priority. Aragorn's actions are driven by genuine concern and love. He simply cannot bear the thought of losing those he holds dear and will do whatever it takes to keep them safe.

He’s the person who taught you how to fight. You were so embarrassingly bad at first but Aragorn never once made fun of you. He was patient even as you started getting annoyed with training. He was determined to make you a great fighter and it worked.

During the fellowship, you fought fearlessly alongside Aragorn and took down hundreds of orcs together. At one point, Merry even playfully called you guys a power couple because of how hard you both fought together, which made you both grin at each other.

You and Aragorn are basically the hobbits’ parents. They all love you so much and look up to you both with the utmost respect. You both admire them a lot too. Their loyalty and determination never fail to inspire both of you to keep going, even when things get tough and the future feels uncertain.

You’re also best friends with Gimli and Legolas. They have so much respect for you. They are also always trying to one-up each other when it comes to you so they can be your favorite. Spoiler alert you could never choose between them!

Gimli often pretends to be grossed out by displays of affection between you and Aragorn, and likes to tease the two of you with mock disgust. “Oh, just get a room already!” he’d say which would make you and Aragorn laugh. However, deep down, he secretly harbors a soft spot for romance and enjoys witnessing the love and affection between you two. He may grumble and groan about it on the surface, but in reality, he finds it heartwarming to see the bond you share and the happiness you bring each other.

Aragorn isn’t really big on PDA but once you’re alone together, he's affectionate and attentive, making sure you feel cherished and cared for in every moment you share.

In public, he keeps it subtle with affection, but every now and then, he'll gently caress your palms or hold your hand, just enough to let you know he's there. It's his quiet way of showing love without drawing too much attention.

This man loves to give you forehead kisses. Whether you're feeling on top of the world or weighed down by the challenges of the day, Aragorn's forehead kisses are his way of saying that he’s always going to be there for you.

You often find yourself snuggled against his chest, your hand resting over his heart while his arm encircles you protectively. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin, a soothing sensation that relaxes you.

He also has the softest singing voice. It’s so pretty. He mostly sings old Elvish tunes but sometimes he’ll sing some songs in English.

You and Aragorn both share a love for animals, and you often find yourselves adopting stray creatures in need of a home. He's clearly a dog person through and through (I don't make the rules), but he has a soft spot for cats as well.

You love it when Aragorn tells you stories about his past. Whenever he starts recounting his adventures, you're all ears, completely mesmerized by his past. Secretly he loves your fascination with his stories and it fills him with a quiet sense of warmth.

You have a shared love for adventure and often find yourselves exploring new places together, whether it's hiking through scenic landscapes or just going around Gondor.

He is also the best listener. You tend to yap a lot but he does not seem to care at all. He will listen attentively, asking questions every so often, drinking in your every word. He always wants to make sure that you feel heard.

Aragorn also dreams about starting a family with you. He's always imagined the joy of being a father and raising children together, but he'll only take that step if you're both on board and excited about it. Your comfort and readiness are his top priorities, and he wants nothing more than to embark on this adventure together, hand in hand.

#lord of the rings x reader #aragorn x reader #lord of the rings imagines #aragorn imagine #lotr x reader #lotr imagine #viggo mortensen x reader

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lillianofliterature · 2 years

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Hi Lillian! If your preferences are still open, could I please request a preference for what the LOTR Fellowship think of a modern woman appearing in Middle Earth and developing feelings for her? Thank you!

LOTR PREFERENCES || 3/?

a/n: hi, love! thank you for your request! I’m delighted to do it! 💚 Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve been working on this on and off since it was sent in to be sure I wrote a good amount for every character (although my favoritism is palpable, oops). I would get through 1-2 characters and then my brain would shut off for a while. Very convenient of it. ¯\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

if gifs are not sourced, they were found ages ago on Google and have sat dormant in my gallery since. if they’re yours, lmk and I will credit or remove them!

some of my preferences are written like imagines, some are written like headcanons. this particular request fits the headcanon format best!

each character varies in length (I mean, some of them have A LOT and I hope you don’t mind, I just like to include everything I think of for headcanons!) and some ideas or descriptors may have been repeated a few times due to there being so many of them! On this particular request, it was so hard to make everyone’s unique because they’re all so kind and good? I feel like everyone would just dote on you and take care of you in their own way? I hope they’re unique enough!

I do my best to keep them gender-neutral for everyone! <3

warnings: repetitive ideas I’M SORRY I TRIED I PROMISE, some injuries and light gore mentioned, mental health issues implied (depression, anxiety, etc.)

(preferences below the cut-off)

| how they would react to developing feelings for someone from the modern world

aragorn | word count: 1.3k+

Aragorn was no stranger to forces of magic and otherworldly power he didn't quite understand, as he was exposed to such truths all of his life, so he wasn't as untrusting or suspicious of you as some of the other folks of Middle-Earth might be to someone claiming to be from another realm of a far advanced make and age.

He wouldn't develop feelings for you right away, he's the slow and steady sort who must get to know and become familiar with someone before even entertaining fonder, sweeter thoughts, much less full-fledged feelings. But you did have that mysterious air about you, being a stranger to his world, the era and its customs, and he always wished to understand you from the moment Elrond had introduced you to each other. You were intriguing, to say the least.

To be fair, you were slow in trusting people completely, just as he was, so your path in developing feelings for each other was equally stubborn and forgiving. He believed your story, of course, about how you'd come from another land that was quite different from his own, about the strange humming you'd heard one night and the stinging you felt in your toes and fingertips, about how you'd ended up in a forest somehow and had followed the Ford of Bruinen into Rivendell.

He was the first person to truly believe you and not just try to assuage your questions and anxieties passively. He made a point to validate that you weren't crazy or dreaming it up; he did everything he could to help you feel grounded and understood. Aragorn was humble enough to admit he didn't understand everything—and that he especially didn't have to understand something in order for it to be true.

At Elrond's request (and largely due to his own curiosity), he'd agreed to help you learn about this strange new world and its history and customs. Why he'd been tasked above any other elf of intelligence in Rivendell to be your guide and tutor, he hadn't the faintest idea, except for the fact that perhaps since he traveled more than those who dwelled comfortably in the elven lord's domain, his experiences might be of more value than knowledge gleaned solely from literature and speeches.

He was quizzical about the strange things you would do, the habits you admitted were hard to break. Such as how you would rub your knuckles against the wall by every door frame when you entered a dark room, presumably looking for "light switches''—and the way you searched for "buttons and knobs" when you entered a kitchen and asked if there was such a thing resembling a "refrigerator" or an "icebox" in this world. Whatever phantom switches and objects you were after, he found it amusing to see you chastise yourself for looking for things that weren't there in Middle-Earth. (But he also realized it must be difficult to enter a realm where nothing is the same and everything is new to you, even down to the most basic aspects of daily living.)

There was also the way you were afraid to drink from rivers and skeptical of sleeping on the ground and accepting food from people you hardly knew and constantly asking what it was you were eating or if it was cooked all the way through. He knew there was some wisdom to caution, but your caution seemed extreme, which made him wonder what sort of world you hailed from that food and drink could not be trusted and one would not be accustomed to natural resources and living off the earth.

He never once made you feel silly or cowardly, though, for whatever you discovered or worried about that made you feel squeamish. He merely taught you his own ways with generous patience; he taught you to hunt and forage, how to protect yourself from insects and parasites with herbs and salves, to trim your hair with shears, and use a specific type of tree branch to clean your teeth (you couldn't just pick up any stick on the forest floor, you know), and how eucalyptus was especially soothing for the scalp when washing your hair (so long as the water wasn't too cold when you rinsed, which you learned the hard way after bathing in the river after he concocted something resembling shampoo for you).

He'd been the one to hold you that night on your travels across lands (an idea Elrond had had to get you used to the world you'd been brought into, teaching you with firsthand exposure or something of the sort) that you'd finally broken down into tears after weeks of trying to make sense of your predicament. He'd sang to you in his elvish tongue until you'd fallen asleep in his arms under the warmth of his furs and winter coat. You missed your family, your friends, and some of the beauties and conveniences of your own land. People and things he couldn't replace. He did his best to calm your aching spirit. He knew what it was to miss people, to ache for them, to reach out and not find them reaching back, to not feel your mother's warmth any longer–no matter how much you longed for it.

It was that kind of sweetness, how in touch he was with his emotions and how readily he extended his compassion, that made you realize how special of a man he was.

And after months of helping you along in Middle-Earth and watching you blossom and grow with the changing seasons, essentially becoming part of his world, Aragorn began to feel deeply towards you. Not just his protective instinct that he'd developed for you since he'd been your confidante and ally since your arrival (he once compared you to a fawn just learning to walk in the afterbirth or a little bunny hidden away in a burrow that he had been tasked with - and obliged - to help grow and adapt) (all until you asked him to stop comparing you to wild animals), but also these funny little bouts of fluttering in his stomach and an innate need to be near you. The reprieve your mere presence gave him. The pure happiness your eagerness to learn and understand him and his world offered him.

It would be difficult for him to act on those feelings at first because the last thing he would want to do is add more pressure or discomfort to your already convoluted burdens. But when he did, after weeks of pining for you and feeling himself smile (momentarily free of any heavy thoughts or worries of his own that often tugged that smile flat) after your many failed attempts to mimic or poke fun at him for his quiet, mysterious "Strider" persona.

Luckily, Aragorn was not alone in his feelings, and his only regret was not telling you sooner.

Neither of you knew if your returning home was a possibility or not, nor especially how such a thing could even be done, but he hoped that the day would never come when you would disappear from his life. It wasn't that he wished you never to return home to your loved ones and your comforts, but that he needed closure of his own. He needed warning in order to prepare himself to lose you if he was fated to–not that any amount of preparation can teach someone how to nobly lose their soulmate. Or perhaps he needed at least enough preparation to follow you into that world if he was ever given the chance.

And if you were to stay in Middle-Earth until the end of your days, he vowed to help you in whatever endeavors you faced, as long as he could be by your side for every one of them. He would gladly go on teaching, guiding, and needing you.

boromir | word count: 1.8k+

Boromir was definitely skeptical of you, not only because of your sudden appearance in his father's city, but also because of your explanations to their inquiries of who you were, where you were from, and how you had come to enter the steward's palace without having alerted any guards or centremen were never quite believable. It seemed as though your answers just brought on more questions, which only made his father's temperament even more fragile than normal.

For his father's sake, Boromir would take over the situation, reprieving him of any responsibility of having to deal with the "nuisance of a wench" that Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had so politely referred to you when you didn't admit to his accusations of your being a spy from Edoras or some sort of conspiring assassin having come to usurp his throne (because you weren't one and in light of your very sudden and confusing teleportation into an entirely different realm, couldn't care less about some rickety old man on some throne you didn't even know about, much less want)

(which you told Boromir to his face once he'd come to visit you in your holding cell to interrogate you further).

Your relationship was a rocky start, to say the least. There wasn't torture involved or anything, you were kept fed and hydrated from within your cell, and the cell itself was much more quaint living space than the stuff of dungeons. The door even had a lock on the inside to ensure your privacy as an individual, although there were guards placed outside the door and the windows were too narrow and too high to even see out of, much less clamber out of to escape further out into a world you didn't understand. In all actuality, as the hours wore on and no one came to remove your fingernails or dunk you in a barrel of icy water until you spoke, you began to realize that the steward's son–Boromir, you think it was–had most likely placed you in the guest or servant's quarters. There was no way that this room, furnished with a single bed, a vanity, a well-stocked bookshelf, a wardrobe, and even a small washroom was in any way dungeon quality. Where was the hay all over the floor? The rusty cell bars? Mice scurrying over your feet? Mushrooms and mold growing in damp corners?

So, had he lied to his father? Gone against his orders to let you rot in a cell for your lying impotence and instead given you room and board?

As the next day dawned and Borormir came to speak with you privately, he was an entirely different person than what you'd expected from your brief encounter in the throne room. Out from his father's scrutinous and demanding gaze, Borormir was much more agreeable and even somewhat patient. He wasn't quick to condemn you as a liar or some manipulative traitor, although he obviously still did suspect it. He was commanding, but he wasn't dominating.

In short, romance wasn't even on the map for either of you due to the circumstances of your meeting. No one falls in love with the man interrogating them for days on end about losing everything they ever had in an instant, about walking into an old alleyway back home to escape the rain, only to find yourself walking into the halls of some grouchy old steward who accuses you of treason and attempted murder. And no one falls in love with the person skulking through their father's halls unannounced and dishing out insults to that said father and kingdom at first glance, wounding their pride and dignity in one fell swoop.

In fact, he'd even chastised you for speaking ill of his father.

"You mean the man who just called me a nuisance? And a wench?"

Your pension for being very...communicative despite speaking to the son of the steward shocked him to say the least. Boromir wasn't used to being spoken to with such reignless freedom—especially not from strangers under lock and key.

He apologized for Denethor's crass and demeaning insults. You wouldn't have accepted his apology if it hadn't been for the forlorn sincerity in the man's eyes when he explained that his father was a changed man–and not for the better. Regardless, he asked that you respect the steward and his position of power, but even more so, respect that he is his father and he couldn't tolerate ill words being spoken about him.

You agreed to speak no such insults in his presence out of respect for Boromir in return for the patience and hospitality he'd shown you, but you made no vow to be tolerable of Denethor himself. He found that agreeable.

As the questions wore on and your answers remained much the same, Boromir realized that this story you kept explaining, about the alleyway and the rain, the smell of the bakery across the street, the soggy socks in your shoes, it was obviously what you believed–even if he wasn't sure if he could believe it yet. It was hard for Boromir to believe without seeing for himself. It's ye old "I believe that you believe it happened," two hairs shy of calling you crazy sort of response.

That is, until his brother gets word of the new visitor a few days after your arrival. Faramir was his name. He remembered how strange that passageway deep in the stone walls of the palace near the eastern wing had always made him feel when he passed through it. And when he heard of your predicament, he actually seemed rather aware of some sort of power or legend that once spoke of beings traveling between realms in some rare instances. Apparently, Boromir was much more trusting of his little brother. He took Faramir at his word, especially once shown several tomes and scrolls from across the ages of rare but unexplainable instances such as yours.

With Faramir's help (whom you found much more agreeable than his suspicious and impossible older brother), Boromir actually believed in what had happened to you. Not just that you thought it was true, but that such strange things do happen, things even the bravest warriors from great kingdoms cannot explain away.

When it was revealed that it did make factual sense, given your odd apparel that day you'd arrived and the baggy "sweatshirt" you'd refused to let them confiscate, the difference in your accent and dialect, the contrast to your world and Middle-Earth, how very little you understood about his kingdom and the way of basic living, you were then given a proper room in the guest housing just outside the palace courts, a few blocks from the courtyard and stories above the inner city.

You were viewed as an intellectual advantage (or at least that was how he explained it to his father in order for it to make sense to the paranoid steward to keep you nearby), given access to the libraries and studies under Boromir's supervision, and were assigned servants to help you learn to bathe without running water, how to brush your teeth without paste and a brush, how to lather your hair with only water and sweet-smelling oils and rinse within a basin, and a myriad of other daily changes you needed to adapt to. When you refused assistance beyond being taught how to live and function in his world, Boromir found it almost insulting–but it made him curious.

He'd never gone a day without servants, almost like shadows ushering about him, unseen and avoided beyond what they were needed for. He appreciated his people and had great pride for them, but your point of view (from someone of the working class) helped humble the entitled nobility woven into his countenance.

As time passed, Boromir found that it was he who took you for walks throughout the palace courtyard rather than silent guards or obedient servants under order; it was he who excitedly showed you his prized steeds and explained each of their individual personalities, who insisted that you venture into every reach of Gondor until you are as familiar with its villages and rivers as you are with the backs of your hands.

It was his idea, then, to show you parts of Gondor you'd never seen. Forests, plains, meadows, farms, and mountain passes, even the distant horizon of a vast beach shore toward the south. All of it grand, all of it foreign, all of it breathtaking. It was there, on horseback and walking through his father's kingdom, that you really saw who Boromir was. Free of armor and duties, he was just a man desperately in love with his country and his people.

He was flawed, yes. Greatly so. But then again, everyone bears flaws as much as any other person. Some are just skilled at hiding them from the world. Others use them to their advantage. But Boromir–Boromir just seemed like a boy some days when he was beyond the walls of Minas Tirith. The tours he gave you of his beloved land, free of expectation and any sense of obligation, were what allowed you to see everything differently, everything way back to the beginning, to months ago when you'd stumbled through those passageways between royal chambers.

And evidently, Boromir had started to realize much the same for himself. He wasn't one to take ladies for strolls about courtyards and offer them wildflowers that he nearly trampled under his boot; it wasn't like him to look forward to the days when he could spend his time riding into the villages and forests with company rather than being alone; it wasn't like Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the stewardship of Gondor, to find himself lost in laughter as he tried to teach you how to start a fire without a "lighter" contraption that you were used to and watching you fail miserably into the evening hours and cursing under your breath with risqué words he'd never heard. It wasn't like him to feel such relief, to feel so light and free of his father's burdens.

But love comes when you aren't looking for it, and it often brings people together who would never have noticed one another in any other circumstance.

So maybe that's why you were brought to Middle-Earth, to Gondor, to the halls of his very home, out of all the places and realms you might've ended up in. Whatever might've happened, it must have been fate, or some destiny tied to love. For Boromir, the greatest warrior of his father's vast army, to find himself believing in miracles and accepting the truth of the unknown and uncertain–it could be little else but love. For the first time in his life, not knowing was enough, as long as it meant having you.

faramir | word count: 1k+

Your meeting would definitely be in a forest somewhere, perhaps in Gondor or somewhere you can't even pronounce when he tells you. He's with his rangers, scouting and securing the borders of his country–but truly, his purpose for being all the way out there was to be far away from his father to drown out his disdain and favoritism.

The way you would meet would provide him with comical relief somehow, I just think that's something that would give your relationship such a different beginning than all the other people in his life. Not bound by blood or duty, just victims of circumstance, although he wouldn't want to say he was any sort of victim in having the privilege of meeting you.

He would be knelt by the river, scooping crisp water with his hands and sipping it as his men are some ways down the bank, offering him a moment of silence and reprieve from his own duties. His men, the rangers he lead as their captain, were more than just his "Inferiors" (as his father put it), they were his friends and most trusted advisors. They weren't sworn to serve Faramir, son of Denethor, younger brother to the great warrior Boromir, only because duty and station required it of them. They were both fond and loyal to him, to his humility and wisdom, to his feeling nature. His strength was different but no less honorable. So when their captain wandered off alone, they knew him well enough to give him space.

Although, that's not exactly what he would get.

One moment, you were on the hiking trail you'd taken near your local park for the scenic terrain and perfect reading spots when suddenly the trail had twisted in a way it hadn't before until it had completely disappeared from beneath you in the rapidly appearing overgrowth. Now in a forest you didn't recognize, with panic and anxiety pulsing through your body, running back the way you'd come from in desperate search of the trail you'd been vigilant not to wander from.

That's when Faramir hears the rustling in the forest behind him, he stands as he shakes the water from his hands and poises his bow, knowing his men would never rush him unexpectedly while in the wild (and they weren't even in that direction as far as he knew from where he left them). Before the poor man can react, your bodies collide as you appear out of the thicket and slam into him. I mean, you absolutely take this man out.

You'd both crash in a heap by the river, sliding down the bank and into the shallow edges of the freezing water. Your comfy tennis shoes? Sopping wet. His cloak? Might as well hang it on the laundry line next to the linens.

You'd scramble to your feet, still rushing from adrenaline, while he'd take his time getting up as he rubbed the sore spots you'd brandished him with. With one look in your direction, he'd do a once over and a double-take, completely befuddled by your apparel and whatever reflective material your tight leggings were made of. Not to mention the strange device in your hand with a long cord dangling from its end and the sack of books that had tumbled into the damp dirt at the river's edge.

Once he regained his footing with an adjustment of his jaw and posture, he'd be bombarded with your frantic questions of where you were, where the trailhead was, if his "phone" device had any cell power (whatever that meant, he hadn't a clue) or if he was a "LARPer" based on his apparel (which, mind you, he had several questions about your very strange clothing of choice as well). Simply put, you were quite confused by one another.

Much akin to how he would be of aid in Boromir's version, Faramir would be adamant in his studies and knowledge of many mysteries and forces in his world, from long ages past. He was quite the scholar, given his neglected childhood. He would at first be skeptical of your explanation, but it wouldn't take him as long as his brother to believe you. Faramir could sense things about people, he had that sort of discernment that helped him know whether people were honest or insincere. And you were honest.

He would be very empathetic to your situation. He would offer himself as a guide and a protector, teaching you gradually how to arm yourself in the wild during the long trek back to his home of Minas Tirith. Once there, you would be kept out of his father's reach and safely somewhere you could be comfortable and adjust to the changes of his world.

Apart from being a very mature aide to you in your time of crisis, Faramir would be as excited as a kid in a sweet shop. Your presence in Middle-Earth, the circumstances which brought you to him, were absolutely incredible. It was as if his whole life sort of made sense—all the hours spent with his head in the clouds and books upon books flitting through his hands as a young boy and into adulthood, it had all prepared him for you. This fantastical miracle that came hurling at him by some stream in the eastern forests and defied any and every law of science and physics he'd ever been tutored about.

Over time, once his feelings matured into something more than honorable duty (and giddy curiosity), he'd be absolutely devoted to you. He would spend his life trying to find the answers you needed, even if it meant finding a way for you to get home, despite how much he wanted you to remain in his life. He would cross seas and brave mountains to seek out others who knew of anything like your situation, he would risk himself to keep you safe.

Faramir would do absolutely anything for you, at all times, with the utmost sincerity and adoration from the deepest parts of himself. He would vow himself to you and leave you no room for doubt or insecurity.

eomer | word count: 800+

Eomer, Lord of the Mark and future King of Rohan, would definitely place duty above curiosity and emotion when first meeting a stranger claiming to hail from another much different world completely unrelated to Middle-Earth in its entirety. Albeit a respectful and honorable man, he would have his suspicions about whether or not your predicament was at all possible. And if possible—that was a big if—he would doubt your sincerity (if it had really happened or not). He's the type to need proof and evidence so he can work out how to respond and execute a plan of action. He wasn't one to meddle with ancient powers and mysterious magic—he was a man of law and combat.

What you don't know for the first few weeks, though, is that there's a reason behind his doubt and scrutiny of you, his blatant distrust and sheer callousness. He'd seen what the dark powers of wizards and warlords had done to his uncle Theoden. He'd witnessed firsthand how it had torn his family apart, stricken with grief and remorse. His sister had been plagued and stalked by one such man who was an ally to such dark arts. Magic and powerful entities had never brought Eomer or his people anything good.

Eventually, when you learn about all of this, you're more compassionate to his point of view and not so frustrated with him for being so darn suspicious all of the time.

However, despite his reservations about your situation, that would not affect his efforts in helping you (after you've been ruled out as a threat). You would never be treated like a prisoner or an enemy, nor as any sort of asset or property. You were simply a traveler, a person in need, and eventually a friend to Rohan and the people that dwelled within Edoras.

Something you noticed early on was his absolute devotion to his family. Not just his lineage or his people, not solely to the crown that still sat upon his uncle's head. His sister was his closest friend (and she soon became yours as well) and there was a bond between them you had never born witness to in your disconnected world. The loyalty and affection he showed freely were quickly one of the traits of his character that attracted you to him, as well as his consistent sincerity—there was never a word uttered from his lips that he did not mean or a promise that he failed to keep. He spoke with bluntness plainly, you never had to solve any riddles or secrets. There were never any tiresome games. He just was. The "once loyal, always loyal" sort of person.

And as someone used to a world full of people more concerned with themselves rather than those they claim to love, it's refreshing.

Because of Eomer's need for proof and evidence to be able to believe and understand things that were presented to him, your relationship was also rocky at the start. Yes, you knew he was trustworthy and you felt safe under his care as his sister showed you the ways of their people and clothed you in their garments. You knew no harm would ever come to you as long as Eomer kept watch over your wellbeing. But there was the disconnect between you where emotions and souls come into play–a need for him to have faith in your story, a need to be trusted above reason and common sense.

That would be the great battle throughout your developing feelings for each other; to understand and accept each other and your very different origins. It would be that discourse and the eventual change of heart that would convince Eomer he was in love with the one person who had appeared wandering aimlessly across the Riddermark. And when he was able to accept the heavy truth that you spoke—that not only were the myriad of powers and mystics of his world very real and prevalent, but there was another realm far beyond his own—it would not only prepare him for the throne he would one day succeed, but open his heart to the reality of love itself. That there is more beyond honor and duty, beyond loyalty; there is love, devotion of the heart, and the binding of one soul to another.

Truly, your crossing into Middle-Earth was more than mere chance. It was the dealings of fate, the weaving of a tapestry that spans beyond lands and stars, that brings union and contentedness to those it touches.

To Eomer, you would become more than a dangerous risk or a misunderstanding or a wearied traveler between lands. You would be his life source in a more intimate way than even what he had always known with his family–the love of one's life is one incomparable to all else. His fierce loyalty that you'd observed since your first meeting had become an unsplintering shield. You were now bonded by that same sort of unwavering devotion.

eowyn | word count: 800+

Eowyn, Lady of the Mark, would react much like her brother at first. Suspicious and protective of her people, she would do all she could to ensure that those around you were taking all precautions necessary when you are first brought before the throne. She wouldn't take as long to come around to you as Eomer would, however. She was more prone to trust people and offer them a chance to prove themselves.

You see, Eowyn has a sense about people. She could always read them like an open book, whether they meant to be read or not. And you? Well, she had a feeling you were a good book. Shrouded in mystery and understandably met with fear at first by most of her kin, Eowyn would be the first person of her people to reach out to you as an individual after the initial shock of your sudden arrival and concerning origins.

She'd be the one to bring your meals and stuff extra pastries under the napkin for you (she'd conceited her brother and his men to allow you a room with humble furnishings rather than a cell until they were sure you would not pose a threat) and offer up small talk as best she could. Eventually, though, that small talk turned into stories and memories shared between two fast-growing friends. You told her all about your world, about your home, about the technology and amenities you missed, about the pretty lights of the city at night and the twinkling strings of lights decorating your bedroom walls.

"They're like little bursts of fire within tiny shards of glass, led along a wired string of sorts", you'd tried to explain. You loved the way she listened to your every word, her smiles growing bigger and her eyes reflecting the warmth of the hearth.

You told her about your family and friends and some of your most memorable moments with them. Several of which derived a very contagious laugh from the fair Lady of the Mark. "Tell me more about your homeland!" She would exclaim, offering an encouraging nudge to your knee.

She would spend hours helping you adjust in whatever way you needed. Didn't know how to brush your teeth the medieval way? No problem; Eowyn walked you through the steps. Kept burning your fingertips while trying to light the lanterns and oil-glazed candles? She'd show you how she got around that herself as a child. Wonder what it would be like to fight like the soldiers training in the yard? Eowyn would teach you better than any man could.

You'd always wondered what it was like to experience that best friends to lovers sort of romance—and that's exactly what you found in Eowyn. Although her protective loyalty had set a boundary between you for the first week or so of your unexpected arrival, that loyalty was soon extended to you. She'd be the first person you would really trust, the one you would call for when your dreams turned sour or your loneliness weighed too heavily in the night. She'd be the one who would lead you around Edoras, showing you the beauty of her home and people. She would teach you to bond with your own horse and train you well to become a proficient rider yourself.

The horses (and Eowyn, of course) were really what made you hesitant to ever leave this realm called Middle-Earth if you could. Rohan, their whole culture, was surrounded by the rich history and generous communion with horses. Everything here was tied to legend or powers beyond humanity's limited understanding—but everything was beautiful and enchanting. Their ancestors resided in great halls of kings in the stars. Everything about these people was so rooted in family and kinship. You'd never known anything like it back home.

People in Edoras were kind to each other, save the occasional drunkard. And Eowyn—Eowyn was the brightest star among them all. Compassionate, loyal, and brave. Those were the words you thought of when she came to mind (which was more often than not).

It wouldn't be long after becoming best friends, perhaps a few months, that you would feel things slightly shift between you, and she, you. You wanted more of Eowyn. More hours spent riding together across plains of tall grass and wildflowers. More evenings unraveling the debris of the wind from her unkempt golden hair. Eowyn wanted to share with you her greatest secrets and desires, her darkest fears. She wanted to sleep alongside you, her hands entwined with yours, to ward off the nightmares she often suffered. Eowyn found herself always in want of you; your voice, your presence, your scent. You become her comfort.

No matter how harrowing your appearance had been and the implications of other worlds beyond hers—Eowyn would never once wish that the fates or ancestors hadn't brought you to her across realms. You were everything she'd needed and yearned for in a friend and a partner her whole life, just for someone to see her and hear her.

You'd become everything to each other.

elrond | word count: 1.1k+

The Lord of Rivendell would be no stranger to mysterious visitors happening upon his halls unannounced. In fact, he'd begun to think it almost routine at the rate hobbits, dwarves, and all manner of beings showed up on his doorstep. But there was definitely something different about you, the visitor who claimed to hail from another land—no, you clarified, not just another village or region; another world.

Where cars and trains and buses rattled the bones of the earth and ushered time and society forward at a harrowing speed. Where kingdoms and governments warred endlessly and stars were a rarity to see above the lights of growing cities.

He would be interested in this "advanced" world of yours and desired greatly to learn more about its vast variety of life—but not as much as he was interested in making sure you were acclimating to such a drastic alteration of life itself.

He would be wary of you, due to his wealth of knowledge on all manner of strange magic and ill-boding omens (do you know how many peddling sorcerers and distasteful necromancers this man has had to turn away at his doorstep?). However, Elrond would be much more hospitable from the very beginning than any of his kin. He wouldn't be as off-standish or suspicious of you—at least, not to your face.

You would be given lodging and hearty food almost immediately rather than a cell and modest portions, as well as a servant-guided tour of Rivendell and access to most of the beautiful city (save for the sacred archives and private chambers). He would not only meet with you in the hours he could spare each day to decipher your journey into Middle-Earth, but he would recommend several pieces of history and literature to get you acquainted with the customs and cultures around you. He would let you into the library at any hour you needed, even in the wee morning hours when you couldn't sleep.

A gentleman through and through, your experience with him would be much different than with any other host you might have stumbled across.

He would be undeniably patient as you're thrust into an entirely different way of living in every possible aspect, down to the very brass tacks of human nature. It feels like you're having to be raised again, like how children are taught to take care of themselves and understand the way things and people around them work and operate. There is never a grievance expressed or muttered from him as you excelled with some aspects and struggled through others.

His graciousness and soft-spoken wisdom were just the cusps of how intelligent and tender-hearted the kind elf truly was—all of which you would come to know well when he had had plenty of time to adjust to you. His introvertedness would definitely be a bit of a stunt in the development of your relationship from acquaintances to romantic partners.

He wasn't one to speak just to engage in conversation and keep busy; he only spoke if he truly had something worth saying. That of course makes it difficult for you to try to communicate beyond discussions about your unprecedented situation. But if you asked a question or politely pressed for conversation, he wouldn't deny you his attention either. While this leaves you being the one to strike a majority of the conversations between you (outside of his devoted interest in learning about your situation), you don't mind all that much. You could push through your own social anxieties as long as the person was receptive and open to engagement, and Elrond certainly made extensive efforts to be as much and more.

You liked his quietness, though. It was attractive in a way that made you hang onto every word he did decide to share. It gives you a sense of comfort. It's startling at first, the way you're able to trust him so fast, especially given the absolute madness of your traveling between realms themselves. Surely it was wiser to have your guard up at all times when in a strange new world with such stark contrasts to your own, right?

But you just couldn't bring yourself to doubt someone so compassionate and sincere.

All the while you're slipping fast into fonder feelings with every day that dawns over Rivendell's many waterfalls and etched forests, Elrond is slowly dissecting every thought pertaining to you as it surfaces in his mind. He had already had one great love in his life, the mother of his sons and daughter, a loving lady who had led their kin alongside him. He would feel such a heavy burden of guilt when he realizes the same patterns of infatuation and fondness start to swell over him. The same fluttering, freeing feelings that he had felt with his wife in their early years together. The same wandering of thought, despite his very disciplined nature. The instinct to return to your side when he wasn't busy, as if that was suddenly where he belonged more than in his study or his chambers.

Within a mere few months, it was Lord Elrond who was escorting you to peer at moonlit waterfalls and forests set ablaze with fireflies and starlight. It was he, rather than a servant or guard, who taught you how to mount a steed more than half your height and ride with all the elegance of an elleth. It was he who felt his zeal for excitement return to him when you dared to race him beyond the forest and across the rushing ford. It was Elrond who sat with a smile on his face as he listened eagerly to the cultures that thrived in your world, specifically the details of your own home and heritage.

Although it took time to trust his own heart enough to feel more than politeness for someone, Elrond was no stranger to love or what it felt like. That's probably what would scare him so much when he first starts to feel himself becoming attached to you—the realization that somewhere along the discussions about your homeworld and the hours poured over tomes and memories...he was falling in love again.

Another facet of your growing relationship that would shock him would be the fact that he'd fallen in love with a human? Of course, he was the most tolerant of the race of men across all of his elven kin, but even that tolerance hadn't prepared him for the day he would face the same risk of love that his daughter had faced (you know, the courtship with a human that he'd told her to leave behind for immortality? Well, now he's facing the same question, darn it). He would absolutely need the approval of his children before even making a single stride in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, something permanent (spoiler alert, they would absolutely bless your courtship).

arwen | word count: 500+

Arwen Undómiel would be very open and intrigued by your arrival, especially when she notices how out of place you seemed to be, not only among her people but with the way of life itself in Middle-Earth. It isn't until she inquires about your odd behavior (the asking about cellphones and electricity and other foreign amenities) to her father that she realizes you had hailed from another world entirely—not just another region or from somewhere beyond the mountains. Learning this, her intrigue only grows.

She was a lady who adored her people and the comforts of her home, but was not a stranger to adventure and the restlessness that accompanies a free spirit. Because of her love for exploring and learning, you're like a perfect mixture of mysterious and confusing. She might not have understood how travel between realms was at all possible, but she didn't mind not knowing. After all, many of her kin were gradually departing to the Undying Lands beyond the sea—a place that, in its simplest explanation, was a sanctuary divided from the common world of Middle-Earth. If such a place as that could exist just beyond the western horizon, then surely it was not so outlandish to think that there were even broader realms beyond that.

Arwen, as stated before, is a very open individual when it comes to expressing her feelings and saying exactly what she means. There is no loitering about wondering about this or that—when Arwen desires to become your friend rather soon after your arrival in her father's halls, she does just that.

She would help you adjust to things with an abundance of patience and sincere interest. She would be excited to teach you about her people and her world—about its histories and legends. But even more so, Arwen would be of even more aid when it came to helping you work through your sporadic emotions as the shock and remorse of your situation became clearer with each day. Of course it was exciting to suddenly find yourself in a world as illustrious and peaceful as this one—but there was a home, a family, and a slew of friends and interests that had been left behind without warning. She doesn't belittle or rush your grieving process, and instead becomes your confidante and place of refuge.

She would speak on your behalf to her father, about what you might need or what you were struggling to understand. She would be your voice until you were able to get your bearings and become more and more comfortable while so far from everything you once knew to be true.

In short, she isn't one to be afraid of her feelings or have any reservations of expressing them the moment she becomes aware of them for herself. Because of that kind of communication and the way she would devote herself to helping you from the very first day, it doesn't take long before she confesses that she harbors a fondness for you, like how the moon has a fondness for the sea; how her father harbored a fondness for her mother, and still does.

It's her openness and her lack of fear in expression herself that draws you both together from the first moments you share. From then, your friendship developed naturally into something of romantic permanence. As your place in her world became cemented, your place in her heart flourished with unabashed sincerity.

legolas | word count: 500+

Legolas would be very suspicious and observant of you for quite some time before even engaging with you, much like his friendship with Gimli. Already being someone of very few words, Legolas would take his time in getting to know you before having even said a word to you. He was raised to be suspicious and discerning of "outsiders"; woodland elves, specifically those native to Mirkwood, were known for their suspicion and distrust of others, even their own kin.

So getting acquainted and close to someone who's not only not an elf or from Mirkwood, but also not even from Middle-Earth itself? That's gonna be a big barrier for him to get around and it's going to take time to achieve that familiarity and comfortability around you.

But when he does—it comes from seeing how you are with his friends, such as Aragorn and Gimli. His gradual trust builds up not from interacting with you for himself, but from observing how you communicated with others and treated his friends and allies. When he's more or less sure of your character, he would then venture into becoming friends. What he doesn't expect, however, is how quickly that friendship became something so much more to him.

Perhaps because he'd been getting to know you from afar and seeing how kind and generous you were with his loved ones despite the sheer confusion and fear you must be feeling every day in his strange world. It was one thing to venture away from home in search of adventure, even among unfamiliar faces, like he had. It was another entirely to be ripped from your world and everyone you knew, away from your kin and your people, away from your family, without any sort of warning or choice. He comes to admire you and the bravery you displayed every day just by choosing to exist in his world and trying your best to become a part of it.

Then he would notice how you'd been taught to fish with just a shaft and some thin twine by Aragorn's hand. How you kept absorbing skills as though you were a sponge, desperate to cling to any sort of help. This is when he would reach out and offer you archery lessons because "everyone should learn to have some skill with either a blade or a bow. It is better if you know both—but in your case, I think we should start with one." And you chose the bow, telling him how you admired how beautiful of a weapon it was, how graceful. You'd seen it in movies and read about great archers—you'd always wanted to be one. And so Legolas, though he had no idea what a movie was, vows to make you proficient with a bow.

It's really your devotion to learning about his world, about his friends, and eventually about him that really snares him in the end. The way you refused to wither and panic within the shelter of one of many great cities in Middle Earth, but instead wanted to see the world and get your bearings, despite how obviously unsteady it often made you feel. For you, you'd not only been brought to another world, but a world that was supposedly far behind in its technology. Everything had completely changed for you and yet you still worked hard to make something good out of your predicament. It's that bravery that pulls him to you.

galadriel | word count: 300+

Someone as wise and clairvoyant as the Lady of Lothlorien would not be surprised at your unprecedented arrival across realms. She had probably (listerally) seen you coming long before your arrival (remember that magic basin of psychic water she traumatized Frodo with?). Her ability to read the minds of others offered her an immediate leeway into your intentions and sincerity. This meant that while she was still careful with you, she was well aware that you posed no threat or harm to her people.

You, on the other hand, were more than wary of her upon your first meeting. It wasn't just the shock of entering a new world that made your heart uneasy to trust—but something about the ethereal, untouchable power about the Lady Galadriel herself that left you teetering into doubt and discomfort. While her beauty and gentleness made her alluring and with time to develop that trust, your doubts faded. Her goodness and generosity proved time and time again that her power wasn't something to fear.

Something that made her so wonderful once you grew trusting of her was how much she believed you—largely due to her ability to read minds and people themselves—and never doubted your character or motives.

Hailing from a world hewn with distrust and malice, the calm pace and sincerity in which Middle-Earth (and Lothlorien especially) was governed made you hopeful for what sort of life could be made there.

With the help and generosity of your hostess, you soon considered Lothlorien your home. Not just for its beauty and its sort of magnificence that you'd never seen in your world before—but also for the lady who watched diligently over her forest and her people. In time, you came to consider her your closest friend, someone you could wholeheartedly trust with your life.

Galadriel would find your naivety of her realm intriguing and would be more than happy to offer herself as your guide. She would find your tendency for loud bursts of laughter and curt outspokenness refreshing in a culture of hushed voices and gracious tones.

All in all, you're both quite a mystery for each other to solve. Luckily, neither of you mind the adventure of getting to know one another.

haldir | word count: 600+

To say that your first meeting had also been a bit of a rough start was the understatement of the century. I mean, who would react well to having a dozen arrows poised inches from their face while trying to find their way out of an unfamiliar forest? Your fear had quickly turned to frustration and anger, despite the threat of being pierced with the polished shafts of their arrows. Your quick turn to anger stunned the very poised marchwarden—it wasn't often that intruders grew hostile when threatened at the neck. Typically, people would stare back in silence like a doe stunned by fear.

A mixture of terror, exhaustion, hunger and dehydration had driven your more cooperative senses from your caliber of responses, evidently.

After you'd recovered well enough to be questioned over a generous meal, it was very obvious you were simply lost. Very, very lost. Of no threat to his people or the sacred forest they dwelled in, Haldir would have no issue in setting his pride aside to apologize for frightening you.

Soft-spoken and introverted, Haldir would have that wall of kind politeness that was at first almost polarizing to someone who'd just had the shock of their life by entering an entirely new realm in a split second. It would be many awkward attempts at sifting through your explanations and anxious emotions before Haldir was able to gauge how you would feel more inclined to trust him. And in order to achieve your trust, he would need to let you (a stranger, mind you) break through those carefully learned guards to see the real him behind the graceful countenance and elegant sentences.

It was your desperation to find answers, to understand if you had gone mad or if something so radical could have truly taken place, that sparked in Haldir the great need to console you. Generally, elves were calm and uninvolved beings—to those not understanding of their ways, they might even appear void of emotion. But that couldn't be any further from the truth. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

As your time in his homeland spanned from weeks to months, Haldir grew more and more attached to your side. Devoted to your wellbeing, he became more of a confidant and friend than the simple guide he had volunteered to be for you at the start. The softhearted nature that flourished within him bloomed around you, finding a home to take root in.

Your knowledge and straightforwardness about what you needed at any given time, whether it was a hot bath or an audience with the Lady Galadriel herself, struck a chord of admiration with Haldir. He didn't like having to piece together the riddles that strangers often gave when they were prejudiced or distrusting. Your sincerity in such matters, no matter how embarrassing or seemingly insignificant, quite honestly inspired the skilled marchwarden. With such honesty, he didn't have to work so hard to get the answers he needed to best help you.

In return, it's his diligence in his help that draws you to him. The absolution he promised with every request he listened to—there was never a question or a need he left unresolved for you. If you'd asked for your favorite meal from your world, he'd find some way to have it made for you. If you'd gone to him in a fit of tears and in need of comfort, his arms would be the first to be open to you.

It wasn't that you were a basket case, mind you (and if you were, he'd never let you or anyone around you use such insensitive terminology for your very validated expressions of distress). It was simply that you'd never been so vulnerable and in need of someone before. And Haldir, well...Haldir had never felt so inclined to a soul before, so effortlessly devoted and tethered as if some string was being pulled taught between you.

Haldir relished in being able to be of service to you.

And you held fast to the curious needing you felt for him.

gimli | word count: 400+

From the moment he met you, Gimli knew something wasn't quite right. Sure, you weren't waving the tips of pointy weapons or spitting out slews of evil curses at people—but you were like a shard of sea glass among grey stones. Everything about your stature, the way you spoke and carried yourself, the way you interpreted the world and its people around you...it was all so different from anyone he'd ever met before.

For starters, you're much more outspoken than anyone he'd come to know. You weren't afraid to speak your mind (and even include the occasional profanity to get your point across) in any given occasion or setting, even among elven nobility. The time you practically cursed his fair-haired elven friend Legolas out was an afternoon he'd not soon forget. Especially since the whole ordeal, which he conveniently didn't recall the details of, had most definitely been Gimli's fault rather than the prince's.

He wasn't too keen on trying to understand all the details about your predicament or how you came to be in this realm of all places. Gimli never asked for more of an explanation than you were willing to give, which was something you found quite refreshing amidst a slew of people who had been asking questions upon questions since your peculiar arrival to Middle-Earth. You knew you didn't have to explain yourself to him or try to make sense of it all in order to be believed—the red-haired dwarf simply nodded through his pipe smoke and moved on.

In all honesty, Gimli hadn't thought much of you at first, the same way he didn't think much about anyone until it was apparent their paths would cross more than once. He didn't give much effort into friendships that weren't of substance, despite the loss of much of his kin. If anything, it was harder for him to attach himself to friends now than it ever had been before due to the great losses he had suffered.

But when he does get accustomed to you, it's all over for him. Once Gimli gets attached to a friend or partner, his dwarven passion for loyalty and honor kicks in. He understands you're not familiar with this place, whether that meant Gondor or Edoras or any other region beyond Middle-Earth, and that's enough for him to believe you and offer some sympathies to your situation. He was kind of the same, you know. Far from home without any of his kin left to visit or send word to.

All in all, Gimli likes your modern gumption, your fighting spirit, and that occasionally sour tongue of yours. And although it's obvious he didn't have to protect you when you were very efficient in doing so for yourself, he would gladly spend an age or two by your side offering his services as a companion—and someday, perhaps as much more, if you'd allow it.

frodo | word count: 400+

Somewhat of an expert in the joys and terrors of adventuring, Frodo Baggins would be a most empathetic and compassionate companion to have upon crossing into his realm from your own homeworld. More than anyone, he would understand the pressures of having to keep it all together in the presence of unfamiliar faces. When he had been the ring bearer, shouldering an object with the very sentience of darkness within it, the fear and desperation had nearly overtaken him as he traveled into forests and mountains he'd never ventured to before. He couldn't imagine traveling between worlds—realms of existence entirely.

He would value the trust that you placed in him, handling it with the utmost care. His skill for listening is unparalleled, as is the wisdom he offers in return for your woes.

Frodo would find your situation extraordinary and fantastic. He wouldn't be able to resist asking all of his questions and brimming with excitement about this realm of yours beyond his reach. He would, however, do his best to temper his ecstatic humoring in favor of handling your delicate situation with attention and care. He found himself reminded of the years he spent as a young boy listening to Bilbo's stories of his grand adventures with goblin kings and dwarf lords and fire drakes from the north.

Imagine hours of pouring over books and scribbled notes his uncle had left behind for him, huddled near each other by a warm fire in his home. Papers and stacks of sifted lore and myth, anything pertaining to what had brought you to Middle-Earth, littering the floor around your folded legs and shared quilt. He would dedicate himself to helping you find the answers you were looking for, even in his small corner of the world (don't worry, he has this friend who's a king somewhere out on the southern plains who would be more than happy to lend some scrolls and tomes).

To Frodo, your mere existence is illuminating. Just having you pop up in his favorite glen while he was spending his usual afternoon reading was enough for him to strike an interest in you. You were yet another adventure, living and breathing, waltzing into his life. Sure enough, you become an answer to the hobbit's dwindling hopes for normalcy, thinking perhaps he was destined to the fate of bachelorhood and haunted memories, the same as his uncle.

You show him that it is possible for Frodo to have another adventure—one that won't cost him his soul or his life. (Just maybe his heart.)

samwise | word count: 500+

Samwise Gamgee knows a fool when he sees one—after all, he'd grown up with Merry and Pippin in his circle of friends. So when he's the first to believe you out of the tale-spinners and prank-weavers of the Shire, it's a relief to say the least.

He'd invite you into his home, seeing as you were so far away from yours and had no way of going back. He would offer you his pantry, his sunroom, his best linens and finest silk nightgown. There would be afternoons of gardening and learning a trade for yourself that would both provide food on the table and a bit of coin in the markets. Sam would be more than delighted to have a houseguest to cook for, seeing as his Old Gaffer wasn't one to spice up the recipes very often. But for you, Sam would cook a feast. He'd even sit down with you and help you write out recipes that reminded you of home, meals that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold day. He'd grow flowers you remembered seeing in your mother's garden.

Somehow, even so far away from your world and your home and your friends and family, Samwise Gamgee would give you a sense of home you'd never encountered before.

It was so exceedingly rare to find people so willing to lend such a selfless hand to others in need. Helping a strange person he'd never met find their way through Hobbiton was one thing—but inviting them into his home and giving them a place to stay and warm meals to eat without anything in return? Quite literally offering the (night) shirt off his back? You'd never been extended such kindness before.

When Sam realizes how much of a stranger you are to such hospitality, he would go all out with everything he possibly could. Finding it rather sad that you'd come from such a dismal world that was void of such simple acts of kindness, Sam can't help but want to display every possible act of kindness he can think of.

And Samwise found in you the purpose he'd yearned for all his life—the chance to be something for someone that no one else could, the chance to make a difference simply by being himself and doing what it is he does best. Although it was difficult for you to navigate through the differences and the culture shock of his world and his land—there was really very little to complain about when you find yourself in the Shire (except maybe those pesky neighbors who have nothing better to do than to stick their noses in your business between meals).

Eager to be at ease and belong, you are more than willing to learn all that Sam can teach you and his way of life. Your acceptance and sense of humor, joking about things he didn't quite understand (What was that you'd said about looking "at all those chickens"? Those had definitely been ducks swimming in the pond that day), worked together to win Sam's heart in no time.

It really didn't take long before Sam was fonder of seeing you disheveled in the mornings and in his borrowed nightgown than fixed up for the day ahead; for him to cherish those small domestic moments you'd both begun to share as time wore on. Before long, Sam found himself daydreaming of dances and the music of flutes and fiddles to set the pace.

merry | word count: 500+

This rascal would absolutely not believe a word that comes out of your mouth about whatever peculiar land it is you keep droning on about. Automobiles? Airplanes? Lanterns that work without fire? Portion control and food pyramids dictated by the government? What the bloody hell was all that nonsense? (Dark magic or the result of some soured Old Toby, he was sure of it.)

He'd volunteer himself to be your official tour guide to Middle-Earth, claiming he'd been as far as Mordor once (wherever that was, you had no idea) and was, therefore, the best guide anyone could ask for this side of Brandywine River.

For the longest time, Merry really thinks you're spinning tall tales about this world you came from with all these fancy doohickeys he hadn't a clue about. As someone proficient in telling exaggerated memoirs and pulling indulgent pranks, he would for the longest time assume that your explanation of origin was one and the same. Listen, he'd seen the weird stuff out there, probably as much of it as there was to see, and there definitely wasn't any Europes or Americas or Indias or anyplace else you kept mentioning.

When he's taking you on a stroll along his favorite trade route all the way to the Breelands and back home, any mention of your predicament (beyond being a lost traveler far from home) was met with a mischievous scoff and a twisted grin. Once, with a mouthful of fresh summer berry bread, he'd made such an expression of dubious skepticism that he hadn't needed to even utter the "uh-huh, sure" along with it.

He meant no harm in his teasing disbelief, of course, but sometimes the gradual accumulation of it got on your nerves. While Merry was fun, kind, and a very joyful and admirable hobbit to be around...sometimes it felt as though you were trying to convince a toadstool that its colors were indeed brown and not blue.

He's fond of you already, of course, nearly upon the moment he met you—who else was he taking on his little adventures across the many borders within the region of Eriador apart from Pippin and a batch of Old Toby?

As weeks pass and one day, his distrust in your explanations pricks a little too far beneath your skin, your bout of aggravated and fearful tears came as a shock to the hobbit. It's in that moment sat across from each other with a small campfire between you that his carefree persona faltered with guilt.

Oh, he thinks. You're telling the truth about all that.

From that moment on, he would be the most expressive and compassionate person you had ever met. He'd be sure you were getting your daily dose of sunlight and ale for the day, as well as whatever desserts or hearty meals you felt inclined to indulge. You'd become attached at the hip and wherever Merry (and usually Pippin) went, you were there with him (them). He'd already been welcoming and friendly to you, but now he had this sort of tenderness in his gaze that you thought might melt you through like a chocolate drop in the oven. And if anyone were to express the same sort of doubts or contribute to the rumor mill around Hobbiton about you, he'd put an end to it before it had gone beyond the hedges of Bagshot Row.

pippin | word count: 400+

Much like his rapscallion counterpart, Pippin's first impression would be that your whole story about arriving from another realm was a fabrication of your very active imagination. He and Merry had spun their fair share of tall tales and mischief as far and wide as the town of Bree and the little villages along the Brandywine river.

Unlike Merry, though, Pippin's reason for skepticism wasn't even so much skepticism as it was ignorance. He'd never knowingly poke fun at what you were going through, whether he thought it exaggerated or not. Pippin just truly didn't think it was at all possible for other places to exist. He really thinks you're joking or unsure of what you're even saying for the longest time.

But when Pippin figures it out after you become a sordid mess of blubbering tears over a pint of ale outside the Green Dragon Inn, he realizes everything you'd been trying to explain hadn't been a "really wonderful story" you'd been working on. It was how you'd come to be in the Shire, in Eriador, in Middle-Earth at all.

"There's no use cryin' ov'r a pint, (Y/n)! Ded someone let the barrel sour?"

You sniffled, trying to dry your eyes with the back of your hand before they were too heavy to extinguish. "It's not—it's not soured, Pip."

"Oh. Then what—?" He took a moment to understand. You'd been talking about a dog with two mismatching socks on its paws. A bedroom with fairies for lights and walls made of printed paintings. The way you'd been describing everything was almost too detailed to be off the top of your head...and then he realizes.

Pippin would buy you another pint, one untainted by salty tears. He'd do his best to listen more, although he still misinterpreted much of what you tried to explain. But it was better now, knowing that he was trying to comprehend this world of yours, rather than committing it to his memory as a tavern story.

He'd be excited to learn about what sort of drinks and food and pipeweed you had in your world and what sort of music your village danced to at seasonal festivities.

While Pippin may not be able to really grasp the extent of what you're explaining, that perhaps entire realms exist beyond the very vast one he had traveled across himself, you are reassured that he does at least believe you and understands the jest of it. And somehow, that's all you really needed—someone to just listen to what you were trying to say, to take your truth for what it was.

(Of course, this confirmation that you're really an "other-worlder" as he coined it means that he's designated himself to acclimate you to the life of a hobbit to its full extremities. This includes seven meals a day, which you're more than happy to oblige.)

TAGS: @moony-artnstuff @wellfuckmyexistence @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossom73

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random-imagines-blog · 1 year

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Imagine telling Boromir that you’re pregnant with twins.

The sparkle that lit up his eyes came from within, and couldn’t be blamed on the sun, not today. Some would say that he already was a glowing man, proud, hearty, kind, brave, but this was a new sort of glow - a happiness that you hadn’t seen since the day of your wedding together.

“Boromir, are you going to say something?” You asked, as the quiet moment went on a beat too long, and his face remained completely unchanged. His smile only seemed to grow bigger at the sound of your voice, and he snapped out of whatever trance that your words had on him.

“And the healer was sure? There’s twins in there?”

You ran your fingers over your stomach, which bulged through the loose gown that you were wearing. The folds of it did nothing to hide your pregnancy, not that you wanted to. “They seemed quite sure of it - with how fast I’m growing.”

“Twins,” He repeated again. His own hands rested upon your stomach now, palms caressing the fabric, trying to feel within. “I don’t believe that life could get much better than this.”

He was so happy, it made your own heart soar. Having a family was always his dream - and being a better father than his own had been, not choosing favorites, never leaving one to feel abandoned while the other was celebrated. There would be no time for favorites now. You were happy, and quite honored, to help him achieve this dream.

“You say that now, wait until they start crying in the night,” You laughed.

“I can’t wait,” Boromir admitted. “Twins. Have I wandered into a dream?”

“No, my love, this is real. This is all so very real.”

Requested by: Anonymous

#Boromir #Boromir x reader #Boromir imagines #Lord of the RIngs #Lord of the Rings imagines #request #imagines

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heliads · 10 months

Text

To Be You

Eowyn knows the bitter resentment of being left behind when the forced of Rohan ride off to fight in battle. She is less familiar with what to do when a newcomer, Y/N L/N is allowed to fight, or how Eowyn should feel about her.

masterlist

Eowyn is not happy about being left behind.

She rarely is; too many hunting trips have been conducted by her brother without her riding beside them, and a great number of attacks against orcs or other monstrous beings have been led by her uncle and accompanied by every capable fighter save Eowyn herself. She is not unused to being alone, minding the house while everyone is away, but it does not mean that she has to like it.

This time is no exception. It is one thing to be forced to forgo a hunting party or horseback patrol, but this is different, this was a battle to save her home, and she was not there to protect it. Eomer was away, but allowed to fight in a different manner, Theoden was there alongside all other soldiers and adventurers both, but Eowyn herself was not. It would be cruel, were it not for the fact that she is constantly assured these sorts of decisions are only ever made in her best interest.

Eowyn does not want her manner to be considered like this, nor her charm or emotional state or anything like that. She wants to fight, not wait under the White Mountains with the rest of the people of Edoras as her friends and family killed orcs and brutes and monsters. Has she not been trained with the sword just like any other? Is she not worthy of battle to save the land she loves?

It’s becoming ridiculous. Her entire life seems like a game played by the men around her– Eowyn may be taught the sword but never be allowed to use it, she can imagine leading her people but never wear the crown of a king. She is left spinning in circles, waiting for an enemy to attack, but always having others break their necks to save her from the possibility of peril.

She’s gone along with them now anyway, camped near Dunharrow with the rest of the fighting men. There will be a new battle to come, as there always is, and Eowyn can sense the way it will go without the gift of prophecy. She will beg to fight and be rejected, told that she will be most useful staying behind and waiting to save those who need it. No matter how willing Eowyn is to lay her life on the line, she will not be permitted to come within sight of a battleground.

To distract herself from the fury curling inside her lungs like a flame, Eowyn takes it upon herself to do what she can to protect her people. There are soldiers that will need medical attention, men who have damaged weapons and need new ones, horses who must be looked after. Dunharrow is a busy camp, and Eowyn can make it busier if need be.

She’s interrupted not long into the night by a group of warriors riding up. She recognizes the leader instantly– Aragorn, Ranger of the North, protector of the hobbits and now Rohan as well. Aragorn dismounts from his steed with the ease of years of practice, then gestures to the riders behind him after exchanging basic pleasantries and expressions of concern for injuries possibly sustained. Not that Eowyn could have been in any sort of situation to warrant an injury, of course, but the concern is kind.

“I’d like you to meet some of my traveling companions,” Aragorn tells her.

Eowyn furrows her brow. She’s met most of them already, the dwarf and the elf and the wizard, plus heard of hobbits and men that graced their journey already.

When she tells Aragorn as much, he chuckles and shakes his head. “No, no. There is one more to our numbers, a friend we happened to meet along the way. You’ll like them, I think.”

His favor is enough to guarantee a good impression on Eowyn, and she turns to greet this mysterious friend as they dismount from their horse. They must have come straight from some sort of battle, for their helmet is still on their head, and their hand has stayed on the hilt of their sword this entire time, evidence of recent use. A fighter, then. Good.

She’s about to treat this as a normal introduction, another soldier come to pledge aid to Rohan or at least not declare themselves an enemy of it. And then this rider, Aragorn’s favored warrior, takes off their helmet, and Eowyn realizes something about them that she hadn’t noticed before.

This is a woman. And– Eowyn is furious about it.

She shouldn’t be. Obviously. This is proof that she should be allowed to fight to save her people after all. If someone else can do it, so can she. Instead, Eowyn feels a ripple of unrighteous indignation bleed through her. All this time, she’s been pleading for a chance to put her sword to good use, and another girl was doing it anyway? And likely at the very same battle that her uncle and brother fought in just hours ago?

It makes Eowyn want to scream. So the problem is her, then, not just the fact that she’s a woman. The world sees no problem with allowing this woman to fight, but throws every obstacle in Eowyn’s path just because. Disregarding Aragorn’s good faith in an instant, Eowyn resolves herself to nothing but hatred and bitter jealousy. Does the woman deserve it? Likely not, but she’ll receive it anyway.

All of this passes through her head in an instant, then Eowyn swallows it down and out of sight. She musters up the strength to nod at the woman in greeting, to introduce herself by name and hear this opponent of hers in return. Y/N L/N. So that’s who Eowyn must triumph over to prove herself worthy of the battlefield.

Eowyn would like to hate Y/N quite a bit, and so she does. Y/N does make it quite difficult to hold a grudge, though. It takes every bit of Eowyn’s stubbornness to keep that spark of fury afloat. The moment she feels tempted to yield, though, Eowyn only thinks of the battles in which she could have participated, all the times Rohan needed her and she had not been allowed to aid. This is what Y/N has, what Eowyn likely never will. After such musings, the anger returns in a flash.

Y/N is good, though. Even Eowyn can admit that. She pledges her help in an instant, and with Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship there to back her up, Theoden accepts her support with minor waffling. Eowyn watches from the corner, seething, but also notes Y/N’s easy manner of address, how she’s able to build rapport with the other soldiers in mere minutes. By the end of that night, Y/N’s managed to win over at least two thirds of the camp with pleasant conversation and descriptions of bloody exploits won in the past.

Eowyn watches her the next morning and night as well. Y/N stays with the camp even after Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas go off to the Paths of the Dead for some unknown mission. Y/N claims it’s because she was never actually a part of the Fellowship, just a passing friend who happened to run into them and pledge her aid for the land and people who needed it.

Y/N says a lot, actually. She talks about how she first received her training, her first battle, how she’s been unable to accept a ‘no’ when she hears it but puts herself out there anyway. It’s not like Eowyn is asking, or she hadn’t meant to, not at the start, but. Maybe if it works for Y/N, it’ll work for Eowyn too. That could be the only reason that Eowyn would want to listen.

Not for anything else, of course. Eowyn polishes her hatred like a blade, refines it until it’s sharp and shining. Y/N is there a lot, always helping out around the camp, and their paths frequently collide. Eowyn lets her resentment steep through her like hot tea. She can’t sleep one night and takes over a midnight watch. Y/N is there too. They stare up at the stars. Y/N says, do you hate me in this quiet voice, like she doesn’t dare ask but has to know anyway. Eowyn doesn’t answer immediately but stands and looks skyward. Y/N whispers again into the silence, would it make it easier if you did?

They don’t bring it up again. It doesn’t have to be said. Eowyn can’t explain why the syllables knotted in her throat, stopping her from confirming or denying Y/N’s query. Perhaps even Eowyn does not know the answer. Perhaps none of them do. Rohan picks up camp, moves closer to the gates of Mordor so they can aid in the end of the world. Eowyn begs to be allowed to fight, points to Y/N as a reason that she could go. She’s denied anyway.

Y/N approaches her afterwards, tells her she’s sorry with more sincerity than Eowyn thought it possible for anyone to muster. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should. It doesn’t hurt at all. Y/N tells her that she can find a way to protect the people she cares about if she wants it enough, even if it involves breaking a rule or two. Eowyn stares at her throat, the exposed expanse of it above her armor. It would be easy to place her sword there, against the beating of Y/N’s pulse. It would not make anything better, but– it would make everything different.

They fight in Pelennor Fields. It is bloody and terrible. Eowyn knows, because she dons armor and pretends to be a man. She rides alongside Merry, and they slay many a foe. It is what she expected and utterly removed from anything she’s ever experienced before. Weapons are natural in her hand, and when she stands against the Witch-king, dark and awful being, she slays him.

It takes everything in her and then some. Eowyn knows little of what passed after that, only what was told to her afterwards. She fell on the dusty ground, sword clattering from her hand. She had done what was necessary to kill the beast, but it almost killed her, too. She was found and brought back to the Houses of Healing, where her life hovered on the threshold of passing on until Aragorn saved her.

And then, when she was well enough to sit up in bed and receive visitors, someone came to check if she’s alright. It’s not who she expected, but for some reason the sight of Y/N L/N hovering beside her door fills Eowyn with a rush of relief and she eagerly gestures for the other woman to come in.

“I was afraid you had died,” Eowyn confesses, “No one would tell me a word of what had happened to you.”

“Few knew,” Y/N admits wryly. “I was deep within the fight and took my time in stamping out the last of the enemy before I returned. I hurried here immediately when I heard of your condition, though. I feared the worst.”

Eowyn finds it within herself to smile. “I am well. Well enough to live, at least. Not to fight.”

Y/N nods, but she still seems incapable of relaxing. Her fingers fidget with the rings of her chainmail shirt, the stitching on her belt. “I was worried that I was going to lose you. There was so much I wanted to tell you. You never answered my question at the camp. I thought you were going to die without ever saying what you needed.”

It takes Eowyn a moment to place the question Y/N references, and then she recalls it at last. The nighttime watch, Y/N’s voice threading through the dark. Do you hate me?

Eowyn leans back against the multitude of pillows Eomer managed to find out of who knows where, thinking it over. She had, at first. She thought she did, at least. But then again– was that hatred, really? To look at someone and wish to be their equal? To watch their figure every time they passed before her eyes? To fear for her safety more than Eowyn feared for her own?

Then, more pressingly, Eowyn considers her feelings as of late, not just at the start. Hearing Y/N urge her to fight was the last bit of courage Eowyn needed. It made no sense why Eowyn would need her approval even more than her own, but it did a little. And, when Eowyn was dying on the ground, she thought not of her family, but her. A woman she’d just met, of crucial consequence that the idea of her would carry Eowyn off to the embrace of death.

“No,” Eowyn whispers at last, “I do not. I could not if I tried.” It would kill her, perhaps, to keep cutting off the one person she wants more than anything. Even more than a sword.

Relief colors Y/N’s face. “Good. I had thought– I had feared–” She breaks off, looking away, then: “I love you. I do not need you to do the same, I just want to know that you do not despise the thought of me doing so.”

Eowyn’s eyes widen. To think it is one thing, but to hear it spoken aloud is something else entirely. “I love you too.”

Y/N smiles, and if Eowyn were not completely certain of the change in her feelings, she is fully convinced of it now. She had never truly understood the poets nor the performers who sang of love as if it were a tangible thing, something that would be felt from the stirrings of one’s heart until they could only be sure of their love and nothing else. She understands it completely now. What Eowyn feels for Y/N is strong and devastating and lovely all at once. It is more compelling than a lifetime of battles fought. It is all that she has ever needed, and all that she will need. It is enough. They both are.

tolkien tag list: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @gods-fools-heroes, @crazyhearttragedy

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mirkwoodshewolf · 10 days

Text

IATCOD Chap. 28; Plan in motion

*Author's note*

This was a chapter long in the making due to life getting in the way but I finally got around a week ago to finally get this chapter done. Not a lot of action in this, just some plot settings to get ready for the main action that'll happen the next few chapters. But I hope you all enjoy this chapter no matter what. And yes I had to use the death whistle from Puss in boots the Last wish so credit goes to Dreamworks for that.

NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@queen-paladin

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@thats-s0-ravenn

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

_________________________________________________________________

After Cain had returned back to Hela's chambers and told everyone what Druig had suggested, there was silence in the room. Everyone pondering in concern, fear, and denial.

"And you're sure there is no other way?" asked Gandalf.

"It has worked one other time. With Fili and Kili sons of Dis, nephews of Thorin Oakenshield. Hela gave to them the very gauntlets she wears that holds our kins celestial stones. When Sauron took full control over her body, the stones used both their bodies as a host to banish Sauron's spirit from her very body before releasing them."

"Bofur and my uncle Oin did tell me that tale when I was still a lad. Never before had they been both in awe and struck with terror at the sight of what happened that night."

"I too was there when it happened. Never would I have thought that two Dwarves could hold the power of nine Celestial gems and live." Said Legolas recalling that night at Bard's house.

"But Merry still needs time to heal. He's not ready." Proclaimed Pippin worriedly.

"And the raw power of a Celestial's stone is nothing to be trifled with. I have seen what gripping a celestial stone can do." Aragorn said with a distant yet horrified look in his eye as he remembered one incident with some wild men in the North when they came to take out the remaining members of the Dúnedain.

The chief of the wild men had foolishly thought he could take Thena's stone for himself to enhance his weapon's strength and durability. But when he went to take the stone from Hela's gauntlet after ripping it from her arm, his body began to crack and burn like firewood.

His screams sounding like something both unholy and holy at the same time. His eyes became soulless white and gold until his body exploded into a pure light before Hela managed to contain Thena's stone once again.

"How do we not know that the same could happen to Merry if he takes hold of Druig's stone?" continued Aragorn.

"He wouldn't have suggested Merry if he didn't feel some sort of connection to him. Trust me Aragorn, I don't like this either but we are running out of options and out of time." Cain said as thunder rumbled once again and the red lightning began to flash in the sky once more. Cain and Aragorn turned to Merry and Aragorn said to him.

"The choice is yours Merry." Everyone turned to the hobbit who still looked exhausted from his Black breath recovery. Merry slowly stood up, Pippin tried to help but he held his hand out to refuse help. He slowly walked to the center of the room and said to everyone present.

"Since starting this quest back in the borders of the Shire, Pip and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. But even then I didn't care, all I wanted was to see Frodo away from the danger. Only to find out that he must bravely face the danger himself to destroy the biggest threat to our home. And Sam, loyal hearted that he is, he willingly without a second thought vowed to go alongside Frodo even if it costs him his own life. Boromir died to save Pippin and I. Without a second thought, he kept bravely fighting until his last breath took hold. I have lost—many of my friends, and thousands-nay millions more all over Middle Earth will suffer if Hela is not awakened. If there is a chance to free her from her curse, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to play my part in saving Middle Earth."

Everyone took to heart of what Merry had to say. He walked back over to Druig's stone and called for him once again. The black onyx stone glew bright until a golden light shot out once again and appearing before him once again was Druig.

"You have made your decision." He spoke down to the young hobbit.

"I have." Replied Merry.

"Then what say you, Meriadoc Brandybuck?" Merry took a deep breath before exhaling through his nose and he said.

"How do we save Hela from herself?" A slight grin came across Druig's face then he told Merry.

"Take my stone within your hand, once you feel the full strength of my power coursing through your body, press the stone to the crown of your head. And we shall become One mind, One body, One soul."

"You both shall become one? But will Merry still be there? Your soul won't overwhelm his?" asked Pippin.

"He has accepted the terms young Peregrin Took." Druig said turning towards the other hobbit. "Time is of the dire most essence now, and we must bring her back now before it is too late." Druig's spirit then shot back into his stone and the glow of the stone faded.

"He's right Pip. If we're going to do this, it has to be now. If Hela is truly dying from this spell, Druig and I need to act now. And we've already lost a day already." Merry and Pippin looked at each other then after a moment of staring at each other, Pippin gave him a nod.

"Pippin, come join us." Cain said as he took out his knife and he slide the blade across his palm. Pippin walked over towards the others who were now starting to huddle on the other side of the room.

Using his blood, Cain drew along the floor a Celestial rune circle to protect everyone within the tower from any Celestial power outbursts. Everyone stood within the circle while Merry stood over the table where Druig's stone rested.

He turned to the others as Cain now began to wrap his wounded palm and he gave the young hobbit a strong nod. Merry nodded to him and took a deep breath as he reached out and took the stone within his bare hand.

As he grasp the stone into his palm, Merry's arm began to slowly crackle open like lava seeping through Mount Doom itself, he fell to his knees in agony as the power of the Mind celestial began coursing through his veins. But he kept a firm grip on the stone as well as holding his enclosed fist with his free hand.

The group watched in despair as Merry was forced to endure this pain alone. Pippin softly whimpered and said.

"We have to make him let it go! He's hurting can't you see he's in such agony!"

"No Pippin, we cannot interfere at this point." Gandalf warned him as he held him back.

"Merry?" cried out Aragorn. Merry continued to grunt and cry in agony.

"Merry talk to us." Cain ordered. As Merry continued to groan and pant in agony he finally spoke up.

"I'm fine. I'm alright." Slowly he raised his enclosed hand as he felt the full power of the Mind Celestial coursing through his entire body. But even with such power coursing through him, it was causing the gem to feel so heavy, he could barely lift his own arm.

However Merry knew he had to do what Druig had told him. Using his free hand, he guided his enclosed fist towards his head and with a cry, he open his palm and pressed the stone into his very head before a flash of light and wave of red energy shot out hitting the barrier but knocking down all the furniture in place. Then Merry fell onto his back with a thud and Druig's gem embedded into his very skin.

"MERRY!" cried Pippin as he ran through the barrier. Everyone crowded over him but Cain warned them.

"Don't move him!" Gimli held Pippin back as both Gandalf and Cain knelt over the unconscious Merry. Cain used his enhanced senses and could hear Merry's heart beating normally. "His heartrate and breathing is normal." Gandalf waved a hand over Merry's face.

"And his spirit is still in-tact." Suddenly Merry's eyes shot open but they glowed the same golden light that Druig produces whenever he used his mind controlling abilities. Cain and Gandalf backed away as did everyone else as Merry now stood up but there was a difference to the way he stood. He looked down at his hands and he said.

"I almost forgotten what it's like to have an actual body."

"Is that you Druig?" asked Cain.

"No, it's Sauron. Of course it's me." He turned over to Pippin and said, "And don't worry Pippin, Merry's still here. I just need to take control when performing the spell. However I do need to request something of you all. Performing this spell, requires my full concentration and power. Both Merry's body and Hela's will be completely defenseless, so someone needs to stand guard over us in case time runs out." They all turned to one another before Haldir spoke up.

"I'll do it." Everyone turned to him and Haldir said as he looked to Cain, "It's what Hela would've done for me." Cain nodded.

"I admire your heart and loyalty to my sweet Hela, but you'll need a better weapon than your own. Take Aeglos and place the tip of the blade to Thena's gemstone. It was once the host of her powers, and should any Deviants come to the tower seeking her or my power, you'll need the power of the Celestial of War to aid you." Druig told him. Haldir nodded then Merry walked over towards Hela.

He stood over the head of the bed and placed his hands on each side of Hela's temples. Golden light emanated from his palms and bounced between his palms and Hela's temples which also began to glow. Soon the small glow from Merry's eyes grew bigger until his whole eyes were nothing but a pure golden light.

"It's happening. Now it's up to him and Merry. The rest of us will continue to get the people down below and prepare for the Deviants as well as the Celestials of Sauron's attack." Said Cain. As the others began to leave the tower leaving Haldir alone, Cain said to him, "Haldir," the march warden turned to him. "Take it from someone who has tasted vengeance for over 2 Ages. When Nergal shows himself, do not engage him alone. You will wait for us to aid you in taking him down, understood?" Haldir turned his head with a narrowed, hateful look in his eyes. "Understood?" Cain asked in a firmer tone.

"Go help the others in getting the people to the lower levels of the city. They've suffered enough at the hands of a leader who could care less about them." Haldir said as he went over and took Aeglos from Hela's side.

Cain turned but had a suspicious look on his face as he left to join the others to help evacuate and prepare Gondor for the oncoming Deviants.

Within Hela's mind, both Druig and Merry walked through a dark chasm with the only light coming from the very floor they walked upon. However the floor itself was a sea of souls glowing a pure blue light.

"Is this really what's inside Hela's mind?"

"We're only at the gate. Everyone has their own unique gateway into their subconscious." explained Druig.

"So what is it that we're looking for?"

"A tree. A very large tree."

"A tree?" asked Merry unsurely.

"Being the Mind Celestial I've come to see that in everyone's mind, no matter the race or species, the gates of their minds hold a very special tree to which I've called them the Tree of Life. Each branch representing a person's memory or thought. It's what makes them the person or creature that they are. And if my hunch is correct, Hela's tree may not look like it once was." As they treaded through the ankle-deep water, Merry began to grow weary of the souls that were moaning and weeping.

"Who are all these people?"

"The souls that had been lost but could not move on. Remember Hela is the bridge between the Seen and the Unseen world. Souls pass through her in order to move onto Mandos' halls, even under this spell they continue to come to her. But they're trapped here until she gives them her blessing."

'You are correct.' A voice spoke up. The boys stopped and Druig stood in front of Merry protectively as a spirit soon raised itself up from the water before taking the shape of King Theoden.

"Theoden King?" Merry gawked.

"Hello Meriadoc." He then turned to Druig and said, "And you must be her twin brother Lord Druig. Hela told me many stories of you and your sister Makkari the Speedster when I was a lad." Druig nodded and Merry said.

"Theoden King, we're looking for Hela's Tree of Life, can you take us to it?"

"I can but I must warn you. The spell that has imprisoned not only us but Hela herself has grown too strong. If you dive too deep into her mind, you too may also suffer the same fate as she."

"That's a risk we have to take. I won't leave here without knowing my sister will be okay." Answered Druig firmly. Theoden's spirit looked at both of them as Merry gave him a strong nod.

"Very well." He faded back into a spirit ball and began the light to guide them through the darkness and towards where they needed to go. Eventually they came upon a grand willow tree that stood nearly as tall as Treebeard himself, but just as Druig had thought, the lush green vines had been dried up and were starting to crumbling.

Within the vines were small thought bubbles that would normally be as bright as bubbles should be, but they were now dimmed and grey with faded memories hazed over.

"This is Hela's Tree of Life?" asked Merry.

"Yes. But it's worse than I imagined it would be." They walked up to the tree as Theoden's voice spoke to them.

'Remember, dive too deep and you too may suffer the same fate as she. Though I do hope you are successful in returning our Hela home. Good luck.' His spirit then dove back into the sea of souls. Merry walked up to the tree and touched the main trunk. He could feel just how malnourished the tree was.

"Any ideas on how we can fix it?"

"It's not up to us, it's up to Hela. Only she can mend her own Tree."

"But how are we going to find her?" Druig walked around Hela's tree until he had found what he'd expect to find. Glowing in a haunting green and black aura of magic was a large mushroom that was attached to one of the roots of Hela's tree. The light pulsating and almost sounding like a heartbeat but what had Druig in awe was the mushroom was showing a vision much like Hela's thought bubbles on the vines of her trees had.

"I think I might have found her." Merry came around and knelt down beside him. The two of them stared at the mirrored image of what looked like a large green pasture (much like the Shire) and Hela was out folding laundry. "You ready for this?"

"Let's do it." Answered Merry. Druig took his hand and together with their free hands, they reach out and touched the mushroom all while their eyes glowed a pure gold. The second they touched the mushroom, the black and green aura shot out like lighting trying to fend off Druig's and Merry's touch. Both the Celestial and the Hobbit groaned and cried out in pain but they kept a firm hold on the mushroom. Until they were encompassed by the green light.

"Merry? Merry! Wake up!" Merry's eyes shot open and he saw Druig kneeling over him. "Easy there halfling." Merry held his head in pain as he let out a small groan.

"What happened?"

"We got absorbed by the curse and sent into this false world. I must say I'm impressed by your mental stamina, any normal person would've crumbled by now. Think there might be a future for you being a Mind Celestial." Druig held his hand and helped Merry onto his feet.

"Hela once said I would make a clever one."

"And for myself I can see why she said that." Merry gave a slight smile before asking.

"Now that we're here, how do we find Hela? This place is nearly as big as the Shire."

"We just start walking. Hopefully we'll come across her. And we may just find out just what exactly this curse is doing to her." The two then proceeded to walk once again onward this time through the peaceful green pastures.

Back in the real world, Cain was standing along the very edge of the city where Denethor had leapt to his death. He could sense the very change in the air from the darkened clouds, the difference in the lightning and the very air seemed denser as if a dark spell had once again been placed over all of Middle Earth.

"We've gotten the last of the civilians gathered in the lower caves. And Faramir and Gandalf finally managed to work out the protection spell Hela had made for the city. It should be up later tonight." Aragorn said behind him.

"With all that Denethor allowed to happen, this city doesn't need to suffer twice at the hands of a bigger threat than orcs, trolls and wargs." Said Cain. Aragorn stood beside him and said.

"They'll find a way to bring her back."

"It's not bringing Hela back that I'm worried about." One look on Cain's somber face and Aragorn knew what he meant.

"You fear for Haldir's mental state at losing Hela."

"Grief—is a powerful feeling. Especially if it's fueled by rage. I may not be able to physically see his eyes but I can sense his heartbeat. His deep, sharp breaths through his nose, and the anxious ticks he's now been having at the tips of his hands, especially since he took hold of Aeglos."

"You fear he might turn into what you became." Cain solemnly let out a deep sigh. Aragorn placed a hand to Cain's shoulder and he told him, "He may not know it now, but he'll need your guidance before the end. Who better to understand what he's going through, if you can find the way, he will too before the end."

"I hope so Aragorn, I really hope so." Aragorn turned and headed back inside the palace leaving Cain to stand alone once again. However Cain felt a dark presence behind him and he withdrew his axe and his blade soon met with another and a voice said to him.

"You can even sense Death coming for you. Impressive."

"Deimos." The two of them uncrossed their crossed their weapons. "Why are you here?" Cain sneered lowly in the tone he's always used for those who were impure of heart.

"Apologizes for interrupting your little brotherly love session with Isildur's heir, but I had to come see for myself what wasteful plan you all have tried to come up with to save yourselves." Deimos chuckled sinisterly.

"You underestimate them. Even in their darkest hours, until there is no hope remaining, the Fellowship and the people of Gondor will continue to fight till their last breath."

"It's a waste. You cannot save them from the inevitable. Without Hela's power, the Deviants will take each race of Middle Earth, one by one until all is nothing but shadow and stone."

"And what do you three get out of all this in the end? If all is meant to be shadow and stone, what will you and your brothers do?"

"What Perses and Nergal want is up to them. I, however, have a different score to settle." Cain heard as Deimos unsheathed his second sickle. "As I'm sure you're aware, each Celestial while cut from the same cloth based on one's powers, there are the Celestials gifted with sub-level powers. A power solely focused to one main power."

"Yes. Like those celestials who could only control one element, or be able to see into the future."

"Hela had her time to be the high Celestial of Death, but she missed the whole point of her existence entirely."

"How so? By teaching that death shouldn't be feared? That it is another path to the next life."

"That! That right there!" Deimos snarled in distain. "You actually believe that death is a merciful, that it's something to be fully embraced and accepted like how you view Life. No, no, no. Death should be feared, uncertain, and permanent." He emphasized on the word permanent as Cain could feel his red eyes cutting right through him.

"You've come for me." Cain realized.

"Now you're catching on." Deimos then began to circle around Cain like a predator, eyeing him as he continued, "When you were brought back by the desperation of your brother Ikaris, you didn't value what he had given you. And while I find the very idea of resurrections and reincarnations absurd, what I loathe more than anything in this world are those who think they can cheat Death."

"As you said, it wasn't my choice to be brought back to life."

"You don't think I don't know how throughout the first 100 years of your banishment you tried to end your own life? And yet with each time, you survived."

Cain's heartbeat escalated, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a cold chill ran up his entire body. He could hear the blades of Deimos' sickles cut across the cobbled stone beneath them.

"But here's how we can rectify all of this. When the time's right, I will come for you, and you and I shall face off in a duel to the death. See who truly has the blessing of the Valor on their side. You do that, and I swear to not harm a single hair on anyone else's heads."

"You really think I'll trust you to do that? After the way you beat Haldir and Hela nearly to death."

"A mere demonstration for what I have in stored for you. They were just so I could get to you. You agree to fight me, and death will only come for you." Deimos then let out a soft yet haunting whistle and when Cain turned around, he could sense that Deimos was gone, only hearing the brief whistle before it too was silenced.

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Almost as if he had been strung up on strings, he collapsed to his knees, his heart still racing in such fear that he only felt when he came before the Nine Nazgul.

In Hela's mind, Merry and Druig continued walking along the grassy over hills until they came to a quaint little cabin. To Merry it almost resembled Frodo and Bilbo's home of Bag-end with a similar green circular door but it was a big-people sized home.

It had a small front deck with a porch swing, and the front yard was covered with wild flowers. A gazebo that looked exactly like the one in Lothlorien stood at the side of the cabin.

"Is this what Hela dreams about?" asked Merry.

"She was never one for riches or grand castles. When we were children, she always said she'd get herself a cabin and plant wild flowers as far as the eye could see." Said Druig. "But even so, this is still a prison so don't get swept by whatever you see. Remember Theoden's warning." Merry nodded as the two of them soon heard the sound of arrows being twanged from an bow around back. They heard the arrow hit a target so they came around to see someone who looked like Haldir doing some target practice.

Instead of the normal Marchwarden uniform or even armor, he donned on a simple dark green tunic and grey trousers. Haldir notched another arrow into his bow and released it and it split the arrow that was already in the target.

"Can he see us?" Merry quietly asked.

"No. This is an illusion, they usually can't see nor hear us."

"Even if this were an illusion, we Elves can hear the flutter of a humming bird's wings 10 leagues away." Haldir actually responded to them. He turned towards them and greeted with a warm smile and a bow of his head, "Welcome Merry, and back already Druig? It's not even been 20 minutes since you left." Merry looked up at Druig worriedly. While Druig's eyes expressed shock, he turned to Merry and told him telepathically.

'Just follow my lead.' Druig cleared his throat and said, "Well you know how it is. Big brothers and all, can't leave you two alone for one second."

"Even after all this time we've been married, you still can't trust us alone. Though I can understand, being an older brother myself. What can I do you both for?"

"We're actually here for Hela. Is she in the cabin?" Merry asked the Haldir illusion.

"Unfortunately you won't find her in the cabin. At this time of the day she's down at the farm just over that hill. What do you want with her?" there was a hint of suspicion to this fake Haldir's tone but Druig plainly said.

"Just received a message from Keoghan about the Midsummer's ball tonight. Apparently Kingo once again burned the cake and they need Hela's help since she is the best baker out of all our kinsman."

"Very well. But I must warn you, one of the cows just recently gave birth. She'll be on the fight if you anywhere near her pen."

"Thanks for the heads up Haldir. Good day." The two of them bowed to Haldir the Mind Celestial bow before heading over the hill where Haldir said the farm was at. "Tell me you caught the way he got suspicious on why we needed Hela."

"I did. There was also something in his eyes that gleamed the same color as the spell that shot out around us when we touched that mushroom on her Tree."

"You are indeed a clever hobbit Master Merry." They soon came up and looked down at a large farm. With large shire horses running freely around the wooded area in the back, large mountain dogs helping log around eggs, crates of apples and corn, and ducks and chickens waddling about the farm grounds.

As they walked through the farm grounds, they heard soft humming coming from the stables. They slowly walked in and soon found Hela brushing a white stallion's mane humming softly.

"Hela?" Merry called out to her. She jumped and smiled.

"Merry, this is a surprise. I wasn't expecting you till next month for Pippin's birthday. And Druig, back so soon. Let me guess, you thought Haldir and I were having another sweet rendezvous at the gazebo that you walked in on just shortly after we began courting." At that openly suggestive statement, Druig's cheeks went red as he said.

"No but thank you for that unholy image that is now seared into my brain." Hela giggled and said as she stroked the stallion's nose. "So what brings you both here?"

Merry turned to Druig wondering if they should break it to her now since looking at her, it seemed like they had found the real Hela. Druig was torn because the last time he had seen his sister this happy was when they were children. After Sauron came fully into power by the time the three of them came of age, Hela always held such a burden on her shoulders. Like the weight of the world fell on top of her weighing her down and taking her innocence away bit by bit until all that was left was a hollowed shell.

Here she seemed—happy, relieved even. No wonder why she's refused to awaken from such a dream. But he knew she had to, but they had to approach it delicately at first.

"Keoghan reached out to me halfway on my journey telling me that Kingo burnt the cake for the midsummer's ball again." Hela let out a sigh and shook her head.

"That Kingo, he can put on a show with Sprite but when it comes to drawing or cooking, he's hopeless. And I thought Apollo had banished him from the kitchen?"

"He did, and that banishment is still in affect but you know how Kingo is."

"He always finds a way." Both he and Hela said together. "Sorry Snowmane, afraid this grooming session's gonna have to be cut short." Snowmane huffed and let out a shocked whinny. "Don't blame me, if I don't go stop Kingo, he could blow the whole castle up." she got out of Snowmane's stable and walked pass Druig and Merry. "C'mon, we better get a move on. I'll have to tell Haldir first of where I'll be heading."

"Actually we just told him that before we came to find you." Merry said.

"Oh well okay then. That's one less thing to worry about." As they stepped out, Hela raised up her fingers and let out a sharp, loud whistle that almost resembled an eagle's scream. They waited for a bit until finally a real eagle's cry was heard and swooping down was Hela's great eagle Icarus. "Hey Icarus, think you can carry Merry to the palace?" he let out a soft trill before lowering himself down for Merry to climb on.

Druig nudged the hobbit forward and Merry raced up and with Hela's help, mounted on top of the great eagle.

"But what about you?" asked Druig.

"Why would I need Icarus to fly?" Hela's normal dress soon morphed into the Starlight Celestial armor. "Being born a Starlight Celestial, I never need aid in flying again." As Hela shot up onto the air like a shooting star, Merry and Druig looked at each other worriedly before Icarus soon took off following behind his mother and Druig used his levitating powers to fly right beside Merry and Icarus.

Another night was passing even through the dark, thunderous clouds that covered all of Middle Earth. Gandalf, Aragorn and Cain all stood along the balcony near the throne room as Cain said.

"One more day to go, and the Deviants will return to Middle Earth."

"Any word of Merry and Druig's progress?" asked Aragorn.

"I had just met with Haldir, no changes." Gandalf replied solemnly. "I know Merry is strong and Druig is powerful but I fear they may not bring our Celestial of Death back in time."

"We still have time." Aragorn stated. "All we can do now is give Merry and Druig the aid they need. We've coded the protection spell, the second we see those demons appear, we activate the spell."

"It won't just be the Deviants we'll need to worry about. Nergal, Perses and Deimos will also need to be stopped. I fear their goals are more than just what Sauron had intended for them. And if they try to stop Merry and Druig from helping Hela, Varda help us all." Cain said as thunder once again rumbled in the sky and red lightning flashed in the sky.

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