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elfy-elf-imagines · 4 months

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— Elven Instinct | Legolas Greenleaf *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~2.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Apologies, my prince--”

“I insist my lady, you first--”

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

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

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

“Am I so well known?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I dare say you are more so memorable.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And your instincts say I’m memorable?”

Legolas paused for a moment before continuing.

“Well when you know, you know.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am to return home soon.”

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

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

“I wish you a safe journey.”

The tips of your fingers tapped against the smooth stone.

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lead the way my prince.”

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thewulf · 2 months

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Time is of the Essence || Legolas

Summary: Request - Heyy I was wondering if I could request a Legolas imagine where gimli tells the reader that Legolas likes them, maybe before a battle. Then throughout the battle they are distracted or thinking about what gimli said. Then after the battle the reader goes to tell Legolas that they feel the same or something like that :)

A/N: This one got away from me lmao but I had so much fun writing it. THANK YOU for all the requests. Wouldn't be here without each and every one of you!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3k +

TW: General LOTR triggers, blood, talk of death, shooting, stabbing etc

“Who is that?” Asking quickly your eyes snapped up to the dark-haired twin standing tall next to you. His eyes turned to see the prince from Mirkwood ascending the steps to meet his father, Lord Elrond.

Elladan smirked at your curiosity. For in all the years he had known you, you had never so much given another ellon the time of day. Your interests always seemed to lie elsewhere, until now it seemed, “That is Legolas Thranduilion. Prince of Mirkwood.” He spoke lowly so only you could hear.

Elladan watched as your eyes seemed to be captured by him. You watched as he walked up the marble staircase leading to Elrond before turning back to him, “Prince?” You attempted to bite back the discontent at that one word for you would never have a chance with someone of such stature.

He nodded slowly, “As I remember. It has been a few hundred years since we have had an actual conversation. King Thranduil has Legolas all over middle earth bidding for Mirkwood.”

“Very well.” Turning your attention back to the woodland elf your eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets seeing that he was staring right at you. A soft smile graced his lips as he caught your eye. He had far more courage than you as you turned back to Elladan swiftly with an evident burning on your cheeks.

He snickered softly knowing that every single one of them could hear if he laughed or talked any louder. You elbowed his side trying to get him to quiet down. The last thing you wanted was even more attention on your party of two. Lord Elrond had asked you and his son, Elladan, to receive the guests of the Council of Elrond as they arrived.

You had been taken in by Elrond and his family after your mother and father were called to the sea nearly a thousand years ago. You were a relatively young elf, just over five hundred years old, when your parents had decided it was their time to go.

You had tried to assure them that you would be just fine being alone. You were young but you were still an adult. They wouldn’t go until they knew you’d be taken care of as you didn’t have any siblings to lean on. Your closest kin resided in Lothlorien, a place you had no desire to go even though they begged. But Rivendell was your home, and you had no desire to leave it behind.

Celebrian had always wanted more children but could bare no more. She had heard of your parents predicament from her many visits throughout the city. See, most elves were natural gossips, so it was not even like she had to ask for it. It was just given to her. So, she decided it was time for her to act on it. It felt natural for her to take you in with her, Elrond, and the children. Then she met you and just knew you would fit right in with their family. You were moved into their home no longer than a month later and your parents had set sail the very next one.

No ill will was held toward your parents. You could only imagine how long their lives had been as they had only told you the bits they wished to divulge. They had decided to have you late in life. After nearly four thousand years. They had no plans on leaving you that soon, but the call was so strong they could no longer ignore it for the Valar had its reasons. It was a great sacrifice to stay is middle earth when the sea was calling so longingly. You could no longer be selfish as you were plenty capable of living on your own. Being taken in by Elrond and his family was a gift upon itself, you’d flourished under their eye. You had nearly mastered the art of healing in the one thousand years you’d been under his instruction.

After your parents left, not a hundred years later Celebrian had found the same calling. It broke your heart all over again watching Elrond and his children, your dear friends, let go of their wife and mother. You had almost felt guilty thinking your parents departure had something to do with hers. The calling must have been strong if she was willing to leave her entire family behind. You had thought maybe they would cast you aside now the Celebrian, the one who had wanted you the most, had gone. The opposite was true though. They held onto you stronger than ever before. Sooner, they were more your family than your own. Later, you’d lived with them longer than your parents. New memories with Elrond, Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan began to overtake those of with your parents.

“Prince Legolas.” Lord Elrond’s voice brought your eyes back to the top of the stairs instead of at Elladan, “Rivendell is most welcome to host your visit for the Council of Elrond.” On cue you bowed to the revered prince. You’d heard nothing but good things of him. Nobody spoke of how handsome he was though. Striking in the best ways. You should have known he would be of that stature after seeing his father, King Thranduil in passing once. That as an intimidating elf if you had ever of seen one.

“Hir nin (my lord).” Legolas bowed back to him, “It is always most welcome to visit Rivendell.” To your horror he looked right at you before continuing loud enough for all to hear, “I have met your son, Elladan. Who might the lady be?”

Your face must have been aflame by now with all the attention keyed in right on you, “Ah, that is my youngest daughter. Lady Y/N.” You’d so rarely been referred to as his daughter it had caught you off guard. For whom else might you be? Everybody in Rivendell knew of your status why should he not claim you for his own? He had known you and cared for you well-being longer than your very own parents had.

He smiled hearing your name on the Lord’s lips, “Youngest daughter? Have I been so distant I did not know you had another daughter?”

Elrond smiled looking over to you. Trying your very best to remain stoic you were sure your father could see right through it, “My daughter has been mastering the craft of healing.” He turned back to Legolas before muttering something in his ears that he did not let you hear no matter how hard you strained to. Maybe Elladan caught it but he just shook his head at you as you looked over to him.

Legolas turned giving you another bright smile. He bowed right at you before walking over, “It is a pleasure, Lady Y/N.” He was much bolder than all the ellon you had met in Rivendell.

You let out a strangled cough. One that your brother knew was one of sheer panic. He let out another chuckle which meant another elbow was sent right to his ribs, “All the same Prince Legolas.”

His smile was something you had rarely seen in an elf. It was so pure. One that made you want to smile right along with him. What was it? What with you? Why was this ellon making you act like a fool? You needed to get it together and quick. Elrond would see right through your little coy act. He was far from dumb. Perhaps the opposite. He was the smartest elf you had ever met. It was impossible to try and get a leg up on him as he was already ten steps ahead.

“Legolas is fine, Lady Y/N.”

You nodded quickly, “Then I must insist, Y/N is fine as well.”

“Indeed, it is. Y/N.” He spoke to you before turning his eyes towards your brother behind you, “Elladan. It is nice to see you once more. I trust Elrohir is faring well?”

“He is well, Legolas. He is away seeing to personal matters in Minas Tirith at the moment or else he would be here.” Elladan turned serious as the prince’s eyes were on him now.

“That is not a worry. It is good to hear he is doing well. Elladan. Y/N.” He bowed to you once more before turning and walking back to Elrond, clapping him on the back like they were old friends. You were sure they actually were. You’d never been privy to life outside of Rivendell. You’d also never really cared. You never needed to. Not until things started turning dark. Suddenly you had to care about everywhere but Rivendell. Elrond sent you on small quests at first. Then longer and harder ones. You had no idea what he had planned next, but you were sure it was going to be big considering what was happening with Sauron. He tried to keep it quiet, but you heard whispers. It was an impossible darkness to hide.

The next few days went the same as the last. You’d received a few humans from Gondor, Boromir, and his crew. He was as funny a human as you had ever met and crass as ever. You quite enjoyed him. Next up were the dwarves and the harsh stares you received from Gimli and his kin. The dwarves were no fans of your elven kind. You had already met Strider and the four Hobbits to which you had taken quite the liking to towards as well. You’d never received so many different people and creatures from across middle earth and you were having a wonderful time. Elrond had suspended your studies while the council was in session leaving you to wander during the daytime on your own free will.

You had taken to shooting your bow trying to get in as many reps before all out war commenced. Elrond would never admit it, but it was coming. You could sense it. Things had never been so cold and dark as long as you had been in middle-earth. Lord Elrond had all but admitted it had not been this bad since Sauron came around the first-time thousands of years ago.

Being wrapped up in your thoughts your senses had betrayed you. The Prince of Mirkwood had snuck up on you. A usually impossible task that was easier as you had been distracted by your very own thoughts, “Raise your arm a little.” He spoke from beside you. Letting the breath, you’d been holding in out you turned to him lowering your bow in the process.

“Legolas. What are you doing here?” He was indeed the last person you had expected to see. He had been locked in your fathers study for the better part of the week. He was a part of the strategizing crowd not even your brothers were privy to. Elrond had done a masterful job of hiding his children away. He had no desire to put you in harm’s way on the front lines. But even as he tried he could no longer hold you back.

He shrugged giving you the eye as your bow was still loaded in your hand. You pulled the arrow into the quiver connected at your hip in a hurry before slinging the bow itself over your shoulder, “Needed some time away. Things were getting a little personal in there.” He smiled but it wasn’t the bright smile you’d seen on his face prior. It had been dulled.

“So, you come to the practice range?” You asked curiously. Knowing so little of the elf you knew you were digging for something hoping he would give you a little more.

“Exactly, my lady.” He grinned holding his hand out for your bow.

“Y/N.” You corrected him not liking how that sounded. Far too mature for your stature.

He gave you a lazy smile, “That is right. Exactly, Y/N.” He kept his hand out waiting for you to hand him the bow. Slowly you pulled it off you back and handed it to him. To your surprise he started inspecting it. You’d felt terribly self-conscious as you had crafted it far too quickly. It was just your practice bow after all and it was one of your first attempts.

“This is lovely.” He grinned over at you as he held his other hand for your arrows. To which you gave him as you were now far too curious to see how this prince would do. He was nothing short of a whispered fear around Rivendell. The stories your brothers have told of him made you far too curious of the blue-eyed elf.

“That is a lie.” You laughed.

He shook his head, “It is fine work. I, myself, could hardly do better.” You watched as his hands traced your woodworking. You were not overly proud of the piece. In fact, you’d all but thrown it away finding yourself frustrated at not being able to carve in the finer details as you had planned. Eventually, after a few too many attempts you’d succeeded at getting the right shape but gave up on the detail.

“Are you trying to flatter me?” You questioned letting him know it was you who had made the bow.

He looked over at you curiously, “Did you make this?” Asking as if he didn’t quite believe you he waited for your response.

“I did indeed.”

He looked you over once more before trying the bow out himself. You’d heard of how good he was, but it was hard to believe until you had seen it. In a matter of seconds, he had not only shot all of your arrows but had placed them perfectly around your target. It was more than impressive. Wood elves were known for their skills with the bow, but this was nothing like you had ever seen. Not even your bow master could keep up with something like this.

He turned back to you with an even bigger smile on his face, “It shoots even better than it looks! You have a talent.”

You gawked at him without so much as a care of how dumb you looked, “You just shot like that, and you are saying that I have the talent?”

“Aye.” He set the bow down before heading over to retrieve the arrows. He looked back waiting for you to follow, “This would not be possible if your work was not as balanced as it is. I must ask you to make my next bow. I will pay you handsomely for your work.” He spoke as if money was the issue with his request.

“Oh!” Your cheeks were surely there usual fiery hot selves as they usually were when Legolas had come around, “I hardly doubt I could make…”

He shook his head cutting you off, “You must not doubt yourself. I would not ask you to if I did not think you could.”

You nodded knowing there was no actual point in arguing with him. He was as stubborn as you were and nobody was going to win the fight that was surely going to ensue, “All right then. I will make you a bow. On one condition.”

“And that condition is?” His smile only seemed to grow as he talked to you. It’s infectiousness wearing off right on you for how could you not grin when he was smiling at you like that?

“You do not pay me. Let me make it for you as a friend?”

He nodded, “That is a condition I can accept. As long as you let me return the favor?”

You giggled feeling his eyes wash over yours in bliss at your reaction, “You cannot give me a condition for my very own condition!”

“Please?” He asked with such a softness you could only nod at him.

“You may return the favorite, mellon nin.”

The two of you had spent the better part of the afternoon chatting, laughing, and avoiding the reality of the situation of the world at present. You had one of the best afternoons you probably ever have had in this lifetime goofing around with the prince. He was certainly not the ellon you’d expected. He had become more than you could have ever had imagined and more.

It did not take long for you to fall for the prince. After Elrond had volunteered you for The Fellowship you had grown close to him. About halfway through the journey, after Pippin and Merry had been taken and you’d been running for days is when you knew. That was when you knew you had feelings for the elf. The signs had always been there, but it was his constant care and checking up to make sure that you were all right that made you realize where your heart had actually lied with the elven prince.

It was decidedly not a good position to be in. He could never be with you. The king would never approve. You would be left longing and loving for an elf who was strictly off limits. The journey to Mordor had been nothing short of rough. You were constantly amazed and astonished at Gimli and Aragorn keeping up, the Hobbits trail, the wizard coming back. It was almost too much too believe. When Aragorn rose from the dead in Helm’s Deep you could not believe it. That was why you had decided to fight. For him and middle earth.

“What are you doing?” Legolas looked at you desperately as you placed the chain-link guard around your torso.

“Preparing.” You spoke matter of factly not noticing Gimli behind him.

“For what?” He asked. For what? Was he mad? Playing dumb surely.

The look on your face let him know you were not playing, “The battle, Legolas. I will not let you all go out there without me. Not once more while I sit behind. I am more than ready and far more than prepared.”

“You will not. I will not have you go out there. You must stay back and tend to the wounded. Your skills are needed here!” For the first time Legolas sounded frantic. Out of control. Worried as if he knew you would go against his wishes. He was right, of course. Legolas had gotten to know you well over the course of the journey from Rivendell. He’d learned of your ticks and habits. Your nature and goodwill. How your morals had outweighed your better judgment for yourself. He’d learned why Elrond had hidden you for so long. You’d be a danger onto yourself more so than he could protect you.

You shook your head slowly, “My skills are needed in the battle and even you know that ernil nin (my prince).” Looking down you were almost afraid to look into his eyes at this moment.

He walked up to you before whispering a low, “We are not done discussing this, mellon nin.” Though his words were kind his tone was off. You gulped. But before you could even open your eyes the prince had stormed off. Likely to cool down. He’d made it clear he didn’t want you anywhere near the field yet here you were doing everything he wished you wouldn’t do.

When you finally looked up you saw the cheeky smirk of the red-haired dwarf staring right at you, “Gimli.” You bowed, “How long have you been standing there master dwarf?”

“The entire time.” He confirmed, “You have given our favorite elf quite the scare.”

You eyed him knowing that he was digging and pressing for something, “He will come to his senses.”

“Or you must come to yours.” He countered with a wicked smile. One that made you feel like you were missing out on something.

“What is that supposed to mean Gimli?”

He gruffed at you, “You cannot be that blind! I was lead to believe elves have some weird, enhanced vision or something.”

“There is no need to be so hostile young dwarf.” You smiled at Gimli letting him know you were surely playing along with him even though you were clueless to what he was actually insinuating, “I unfortunately do not know what you are attempting to tell me though.”

He shook his head with a swift movement, “The Prince of Mirkwood has feelings for you lassie.”

Simply blinking your eyes, you surely could not have heard him correctly, “Has feelings?”

He rolled his eyes, “Aye... are you going to make me come outright with it then?”

You nodded, "I am indeed. Elves are blunt and I am unfortunately very oblivious.” You smile only grew as he huffed and puffed almost looking embarrassed to have to say it out loud.

“The Prince of Mirkwood likes you lassie. He will not stop bringing you up whenever you are not around. He is driving me mad. Gold sickness isn’t even this bad.” As your cheeks grew a blush so did Gimli’s.

It was obviously all in good fun to tease him but what he had actually said struck a chord within you. How was that possible? He was actual royalty. You were a commoner for all intents and purposes, “He cannot.” You said not letting your hopes rise for you had liked Legolas deeply. From the moment your eyes laid upon him in your home all those days ago. What an adventure you had been on as you trekked across middle earth with the ellon you may have loved.

“Oi lassie! He can and he does. Did you not just see his reaction to you going into this battle?”

You shook your head, “Well, yeah but…”

“No. He likes you. Very much so. Drones on and on about how pretty you are. How smart you are. How sweet you are. It is exhausting Y/N.” Gimli dramatically sat down on the bench near the wall.

“I should be offended you find talking about me so exhausting master Gimli.” You raised your brows to challenge him as you sat down next to him.

“Nary the case my lady. It has been months you see. And he will not say a thing to you. Months of it lassie! You are lovely. He would be quite lucky to have you. I am simply tired. He will not listen to me. That is why I am telling you this now.” You only gave you a smirk as he leaned his head against the wall.

“Months is not a long time for an elf.” You giggled knowing how much it would set the poor dwarf off. He was almost too easy to poke and prod at. A simple action would result in an explosive reaction out of him.

He eyes lowered in on yours, “Insufferable. The both of ya. Truly meant for him aren’t you?” He got up before giving you a quick bow, “I will see you on the battlefield my lady.”

“I’ll beat both of you this time.” You grinned trying to lighten the darkening mood taking over Helm’s Deep. Time was of the essence now.

“You will not!” He boomed, “I will kill the most orcs!” He walked out of the room before you could object. With a deep breath you finished putting on the chain link armour. You’d wished Elrond would have prepped you a little more as you sheathed your sword. You could do this. You absolutely had to do this. You had to tell Legolas you liked him back. It was rare, to feel the connection you’d felt with him. Truly, time was of the essence.

You had lost him early on in the battle. You were holding Legolas’s hand before you had to dodge away from an axe being thrown. From there on out it was you and yourself against too many orcs to count. Terror began to consume you as you fell back in the crowd of men and elves. But you could do this. You had to do this. Legolas liked you! You could have a life with the most handsome ellon you had ever laid your eyes upon. You just had to kill every single disgusting orc around you. Easy. You could do it. For Legolas. For you. For a life you craved.

You hadn’t a clue what overcame you as you fought and fought for hours. You witnessed more death than you ever had in your life as the never-ending siege kept ticking on. You fell back and fought. Fell back and fought. Fight or die. Fight to live on with Legolas. You tried to search for his golden hair as you fought but begrudgingly came up short time and time again. It was only when dawn broke with Gandalf and the Rohirrim showing up did you feel a twinge of hope as the orcs turned to them instead of charging on into Helm’s Deep. You stood on guard as the Rohirrim charged on. It felt like you would collapse from the relief seeing the help pour in. Emotion truly overtook you as you saw that flash of golden hair on the war horse down the bridge. Legolas was alive and well. It was going to be okay. You were going to get to tell him that you liked him.

You watched in awe as the orc army was slain. Some tried to run but were devoured by the very forests that once protected them. Sheathing your sword and throwing your bow over your shoulder you found your way back to the dining hall turned emergency healing ward knowing they would need all they help they could get. You had a lifetime to tell Legolas how you felt, the men and defenders of Helm’s Deep needed you more now.

Despite your own cuts that were too deep to heal quickly you pressed on. Throwing some bandages on the worse ones you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. You were in your element as you ordered people around as efficiently as possible and got to as many men as you could.

But that voice broke your stupor. It always would, “You must give yourself a break.” Legolas. He had found you faster than you would have thought.

You spun around on your heal after patching the man up, “I am fine. These men and elves are not.” Holding out your hand you showed him the growing number of beds that were becoming occupied from small wounds to life threatening ones.

He shook his head agreeing with you, “I know I will not change your mind. But please rest when this is all over?”

You bit back the smile. Ever since you met him he had cared for your wellbeing more than you did, “You have my word.”

He gave you a once over with a frown and concern in his own eyes, “Will you also see a healer when you are done?”

“I am fine Legolas.” You persisted shaking your head before heading to the bed next to the man you’d patched up.

He was hot on your heals not believing you for a second, “You are bleeding through your bandages, mellon nin. Please?” Gimli’s words rang through you as he looked at you wish nothing but pain and concern.

“All right.” You weren’t sure what else to say as you looked over him in return. You really should see a healer but your wounds just felt so miniscule compared to the horror you were seeing now.

He eyed you looking for any lie, “I will check on you tonight to see sure of it.”

“I told you that I would, do you not believe me?” A smile rose to your face as you knew your words took him aback.

“You are stubborn. You will work until you collapse. Of course, I trust you. But I do not trust that you will see through to it.” He grinned seeing your expression clock what he was saying, “I will check in on you tonight in your room. How does that sound?” He tried again asking as if it were a question as you knew it was not. Legolas would be checking in on you whether you agreed with him or not.

He was giving you a chance now. You had to take it, “I will see you tonight.”

He gave you a quick bow before making way towards the door, “Please see a healer soon. And rest.”

“I will. Do not fret Legolas. My help is needed first.”

He nodded, “They are fortunate to have you.” He walked off before you could get another word in. You shook your head getting yourself back in the right headspace to see and heal the gruesome wounds left by the attack.

You kept true to your word as your own energy was depleting rapidly. As soon as the bodies stopped flowing in and you became overly exhausted you finally saw another elven healer who pulled the orc poison from your open wounds and patched you up. Legolas was right, a few too many orc blades had made it impossible for your body to heal them as quickly as it usually would.

You had only been settled in your room after bathing and changing for a few moments before a familiar knock rang out at the door. You had been given a room near the kings chambers for the time being as you were the only female in the company. And who were you to turn down such a luxury after months on the road? Certainly not you.

You opened the door to the smiling elf. He quite literally took your breath away. He was so handsome, “Legolas.”

His eyes traced you overlooking for any signs that you had not in fact taken care of yourself, “You look well.”

You moved to the side to let him know it was okay if he wanted to come in, “I am.”

He sighed bringing your eyes to look into his, “I was so worried when I lost you. I had broken my promise to you.”

All you could think to do was grab for his hand. A small sign of comfort as your laced your fingers into his, “It is not your fault Legolas. You know this. We would have both been struck had I not jumped away.” Giving his hand a soft squeeze, you pulled him in through the door. You didn’t want the prying ears of the company or some random elves hearing the conversation if you could stop it. You knew it was getting vulnerable fast. The adrenaline from the battle had long worn off leaving the raw emotion of what just happened to linger.

He looked down at your fingers intertwining his, “I was so afraid that I… I kept looking for you as the battle wore on but could not find you, I feared…” He could not say the words that kept binding on his tongue as it scared him the most. From the moment he laid eyes on you in Rivendell he too felt that pull you had felt so strongly that same day. He’d lived a couple thousand years and had never seen any ellith quite so striking as you. Legolas had been convinced he would never find the elf he was destined to love.

“I am here. I am alive.” You gave his hand another comforting squeeze you just looked at him. He was closer than he’d been before. The air between the two of you felt electrified as you looked up into his eyes. His blue ones met your own. The concern gave way to the happiness of the first part of this hell being over. As Gandalf had said. The Battle of Helm’s Deep was won but the War for Middle Earth had just begun.

His eyes met your smooth hair, fresh out of the baths, “You have no braids in?” He could not recall a time he had not seen braids laced throughout your hair. He had not known you for a long time, but it seemed jarring to see you without them.

You nodded, “You are correct. This is the first time I’ve had a comb since Rivendell.” You paused unsure of if you wanted to ask the next question or not. It was now or never really. Gimli had assured you he had felt the same, why would he lie?

He spoke before you could ask your question, “I must admit, I am envious.” He tried running a hand through his long, usually silky, hair that had been tangled in the battle.

“You can borrow mine.” You offered up without a second thought, “And uh…” You stopped once more having a hard time getting it out. It was now or never. You’d fought that hard for this. Why was it so hard to spit out?

“What is it?” He nodded, encouraging you along.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long breath, trying your hardest to regain some composure. His hand felt like it was burning in your palm as you decided you just needed to spit it out, “Do you… Would you like to braid it?”

Your ears were trained to pick up upon the slight falter in his breath, you’d managed to take him by surprise for once, “Are you sure? Are you asking me what I believe you are to be asking me?” He looked at you with a gentle desperation you had yet to see on his face before.

“Legolas.” You tried stopping him, but he just continued. Spiraling.

“I, of course, would gladly accept but I need to know if these are your intentions. If what you are asking is true.” He looked concerned that you might not be telling him exactly what he was wishing you were saying.

“Legolas!” You pulled your hand away from his before grasping onto his shoulders above you.

He stopped finally hearing you, “Yeah?”

“I like you. Quite a lot. More than a fellowship member probably should. And Gimli might have told me you were driving him a tad mad at all the mentions of me throughout the months.” Your smile grew as you saw his expression drop into shock. You had decided it was fun to surprise the Prince of Mirkwood. His face was the most precious you had seen it yet as it went through the uncommon emotion of being surprised.

“That dreadful dwarf! He promised he would not tell.” For the second time in a short period, you had seen Legolas in a panicked state. Legolas was best with everything under his control. You had often thrown his plans under fire when you came into the picture though. So often before he would be annoyed but he welcomed it with you.

“Him telling me that got me through it all. If he had not told me you had feelings for me I do not think I would have made it out alive. I was fighting for us. For a future with both of us in it. I know exactly what I am asking you for when I asked you to braid my hair.” You spoke freely for the first time in a while. It had been hard keeping the feelings you felt for him locked down and hidden away as you travelled with the fellowship.

He grinned taking your hand in his this time. He led you to the chair at the desk in the room and had you sit. He stood behind you as he brushed his hands through your hair slowly. You tried you best to fight the shiver and chills that erupted at his touch, “I am honored you asked me to braid you hair. If it was not obvious before, I do feel the same. My dwarf friend seemed to want to tell you that before I could.”

You laughed softly relishing in his touch, “We should thank him. Who knew how much longer we would have pined from afar.”

“I do not wish to give him credit. His head will grow too large.” His nimble hands began braiding small intricate braids in your hair. He’d decided he was going to take his time and make the perfect braid he had never had the patience to do before.

Giggles erupted from you at that. Watching Gimli warm up to both you and Legolas to eventually turning into one of your closest companions had been one of the most unexpected twists from the journey, “It does not feel right picking on him when he isn’t here to blow up on one of us. It is not as fun.”

You could see the grin on his face through the reflection in the mirror above you, “Enough about the dwarf. How are you? Truly?”

You closed your eyes thinking about his question, “I am tired and growing more nervous the closer we get.” It was the first time you had admitted it out loud and it felt good getting it off your chest.

He tied an elastic on the last large braid he laid down the center of your hair before letting his hands fall to your shoulders. Just the touch provided a comfort you weren’t sure you could express adequately, “I am keeping my promise. Nothing will happen to you. I will protect you through this. I promise you that.”

You turned your neck to look up towards him, “Thank you. For everything. And the braids.” You ran your hand along his work all too curious to see what it had actually looked like.

He brushed a hand along your cheek, “It is my honor. I should be the one thanking you. You look beautiful as always.”

Relishing in his touch you pushed your face into his hand, “Let’s not tell the rest of them until after this is all over.”

Legolas gave you a hesitant look, “We can try. Gimli will know immediately, and he does not have the quietest tongue.”

“Aye that is true. We shall try then.”

He knelt down to your level so that his eyes were staring right back at you, “Yes we shall. Now come, we must have some dinner and get some rest.” He held his hand out to you after he stood, not giving you another option knowing you would rather just jump into bed and snooze the night away. But Legolas being exactly who he was had made a promise to your father and he would protect you. And now he got the privilege of loving you too. He had no plans of losing this after he had prayed for it for so long.

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 2 months

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Kinktober Day 29: Breath Play- Thranduil

Summary: Thranduil punishes you in an unexpected way

Word count: 1, 887

The culture of the Woodland Realm held their royalty in high regard. If you were ever to meet the king and prince, let alone protect one of them, it would be a great honour.

You had strict orders to protect the prince while he went after some of the horrible spiders that infested the woods. King Thranduil doesn’t like his son doing such a thing but makes sure to assign his very best to go with him and keep him safe. Fellow elves had put in a good word about you and the king was convinced to let you go with him. Unfortunately for you, it seems you ruined that very lucky opportunity.

Though you were a skilled archer and fighter, you had failed to keep the prince safe. Returning to his home, he had to be raced to the healers, luckily he lived, but you were still in a lot of trouble. Your fellow elves didn’t want to tell on you, but they fear Thranduils wrath more than any positive feelings they had for you.

Standing in front of the very ornate doors of Thranduils private chambers, you knew you had definitely failed, and badly.

“Come in.” His deeply kingly voice called out.

Fear coursed through your veins as you stepped into his large and lavish chambers, the door slamming behind you didn’t help matters. Seeing him sit in his large armchair by the fire, you couldn’t help the lust that also began to course through your veins. His eyes slowly made their way to yours, a silent rage on his face as he scanned over you. Trying to slow your speeding heart was no use when he looked at you in that way, you weren’t sure if he wanted to kill you or fuck you. Both options running through your head made your heart race, your body heat and unfortunately your pussy begin to quake.

You had failed to protect his son, of course it was death that he had planned for you. Though you knew that would be your fate, your mind couldn’t help but to think of the other option.

He stood so abruptly that you couldn’t help but jump, though when he began long and dominant strides towards you, your body froze. There was nothing you could do but stand stare as he approached you with anger in his eyes. Standing above you and looking directly into your eyes, you couldn’t help but tremble as you stare up at him.

“My son, my only child, could have died today and it is all your fault.” He spat maliciously at you.

“Yes, your highness, and I can not apol-“

“I don’t want to hear weak apologies from you.” He cut you off, venom laced in his words.

Unexpectedly his face began to soften slightly as his eyes narrowed at you. Though he seemed calmer, it frightened you even more. You had to force yourself not to flinch as his hand softly touched the side of your cheek. Confusion was etched onto your face from his gentle touch, it felt so warm and caring that you couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter shut.

The surprisingly sweet moment was cut short however as his fingers dug into your hair and shoved your head back. Your eyes fly open from shock and suddenly he’s standing even closer to you, his face inches from your own as his eyes stared into yours.

Your furrowed brows now shoot up and your eyes fill with worry as his other hand grips strongly over your throat and squeezes. His strong hand squeezes so tightly around your throat, you can’t breathe and you still can’t move.

You try to choke out an apology but his hand previously in your hair now makes its way past your lips and down your throat. Panic begins to set in as you choke down his long fingers, your lack of air making your head feel light. In this moment you should be scared, should fear for your life, but with the intrigue on his face and the bulge you can feel rubbing against you, you can’t help but feel extremely aroused.

Once your eyes begin to flutter again, your head feeling dangerously light, Thranduil removes his hands from your throat and mouth. Air begins to fill your lungs again as you gasp and sputter before the king. Your relief is short-lived however as his strong hand returns its grip to your hair and the other now has a bruising grip on your hip.

“No apology you could even attempt to muster would make up for what you’ve let happen today. Once I let you go, you will kneel before me and show me just how sorry you really are. Maybe once you’ve taken your punishment, you will truly understand.”

Your head was whirling. Surely this was just a lust driven illusion and really you’ve passed out. Perhaps he wasn’t going to do what your dirty mind thought he was anyway, he did say ‘punishment’ so maybe he still was going to kill you.

Feeling his grip disappear from your hair and hip, you instinctively dropped to your knees in front of the king, your eyes never leaving his. Gently his hand comes down to sit on your jaw, his thumb lightly playing with your bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” He orders dominantly, his steel stare not leaving your eyes.

Even though he’s ordered you to, you can’t seem to, your body frozen in shock as you stare back at him. Your confused state makes him smirk down at you. As he crouches down, his lips gently ghost by your ear, goosebumps raising on your skin and your pussy quakes.

“Come on now, y/n, I’ve seen the way you stare at me when you think I can’t see. I bet you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, haven’t you?”

Before you could reply he stood to his proud height again, smirking down at your shocked expression. His hand returns to your jaw, but this time with a harsher grip, his thumb pushing down on chin.

“Open.” He harshly orders once again.

Finally complying, your jaw opens wide for him. As your jaw widens, so does his smile. Staring up at him you wondered what he’d do next, though you’d not be left wondering long as his long fingers pushed into your mouth. Just like before, his fingers pushed into your throat, forcing you to gag and drool. Your body panicked again as you tried to breathe through your nose and you didn’t think Thranduil could be more cruel, until his thumb and forefinger pinched your nose, cutting off all air.

Your mind was whirling with both panic and arousal. The lack of air and the way Thranduil stares down at you makes your head feel light and airy. Mindlessly you begin to grind into the air, desperate for friction on your throbbing pussy.

Thranduils eyes darken as he sees the way your hips move. His fingers abruptly leave your throat, and before you could properly catch your breath, his hand grabs at your hair and was tugging your head back once again. His other hand comes around your throat, holding your head still and slightly cutting off your air.

“Don’t forget that this is a punishment, you little whore. I could smell your arousal the moment you came through the door. You almost get my son killed and this is the way you will pay your debt. Now be still and take your punish like a good little whore.” He growled down at you, accentuating his point by squeezing your throat pointedly.

Releasing both your hair and throat, you try to subtly catch your breath again. Never breaking eye contact with you, Thranduil makes quick work removing his robe and pulling down his trousers, revealing his very hard and very impressive cock.

“Now open wide and keep still for your king.” He commands confidently.

Not needing to be told twice you quickly open your mouth as wide as you can for his impressive cock. He gives you no time to prepare or adjust as he thrusts into your awaiting mouth and begins to thrust harshly. His hand returns to around your throat, relishing in being able to feel his cock inside you.

Tears and saliva fall down your cheeks and chin as you struggle to hold still and take what he is giving you so aggressively. He just smirks down at you viciously as his grip on your throat keeps you still.

Once again you thought your punishment couldn’t get any worse, until his fingers pinched your nose and again cut off all your air. You began to panic and started to move, but Thranduils grip on your throat strengthened.

“Be still.” He hissed down at you.

Not wanting to take anymore of his wrath, you did your best to stay still. As your head became light again, Thranduil appeared almost as a vision above you. His head was thrown back, eyes closed shut and mouth open in a state of bliss. Your punishment was to be used as a tool for him to masturbate and you tried not to enjoy it so much.

When your vision started to darken at the sides and you felt too weak, Thranduil was merciful enough to release his hands and his cock from your body. Finally being free, you choke and cough out, trying to get air back into your lungs. Thranduil simply chuckles as he takes your cheeks in one hand, staring at you as if you were a piece of art.

In your current state, Thranduil saw you as a vision. He once again took his cock in his hand and began to pump his length to the sight of you, if you weren’t so dazed and exhausted, you might feel complimented.

You were a sight to behold in your current state. Your face covered in saliva, sweat, tears and precum, with a dazed and obedient look on your face. You were a sweet face that he had corrupted, the look of your sweet face in his kingly hand making him pump himself faster.

“Open your mouth and hold your tongue out like the good little whore I know you are.” He panted out his order, obviously close to finishing.

Once again you obeyed, only slower this time in your dazed state. Your gaze continued to stare up at him as his cum landed all over your face and tongue, if you weren’t so out of it you might have relished at his taste. He pumps himself a few more times before he looks down at your gorgeous and sinful state. Smirking, he releases your face and gently pushes your chin up to close your mouth, with a nod he encourages you to swallow.

As you swallow his load, your eyes begin to droop and fall closed. Before they can fully close however, you feel Thranduil lifting you into his arms.

“You took your punishment well. Let’s get you a bath and you can stay here tonight, I’ll have the maids bring you fresh clothes. Perhaps I can give you private training so everyone is more safe in the future.” He smiles down at you with surprising warmth as he carry’s you to his private bathing room.

#Thranduil #Thranduil imagine #Thranduil x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit imagine

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sotwk · 1 year

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Last updated: 3/15/24. Newest entry is marked.

Welcome to my Masterlist! I write exclusively for Tolkien, specifically the LotR and The Hobbit series.

For more information about my writer preferences and specialties, please refer to my Fanfiction Request Guidelines.

All my works are also posted in my Ao3 Account.

Sins of Our Fathers (Thranduil x OC Elvenqueen - ongoing series - Second Age 1358) Over the course of a century, Thranduil and Maereth meet and develop a friendship that is destined to become Mirkwood's greatest love story. In Progress.

The Crown (Thranduil x OC Elvenqueen - one-shot - Second Age 3441) Thranduil’s queen comforts him as they prepare on the evening of his coronation. Completed.

A Stab to the Heart (Thranduil & Royal Family - 2-part fic - Third Age 1012) The Elvenqueen is injured in a surprise orc attack, and Thranduil gathers their sons to discuss the ramifications. In Progress.

Yuletide in the Elvenking's Realm (Thranduil & Royal Family - 12-part fic - various years, Third Age) Collection of 12 ficlets in chronological order; stories of Yuletide celebrations in the Woodland Realm through the eyes of Thranduil and his family. In Progress.

Greenleaf's Tree (Child Legolas & Thranduil - one-shot - Third Age 248) Six-year-old Legolas goes on royal progress with Thranduil for the first time. Completed.

Greenleaf’s Day Out (Child Legolas & Family - Complete Series - Third Age 250) On a single day in 8-year-old Legolas’s life, he shares bonding moments with each of his 4 older brothers. 6 Chapters. Completed. Full work on AO3.

Unnecessary Guardian (Legolas x Reader - one-shot - Third Age 1254) Legolas wants to guard his friend in her new role as a Mirkwood Spiderhunter. Completed.

The Best Gift (Legolas x Reader - one-shot - Third Age 556) Legolas wishes a "dear friend" a Joyous Begetting Day--but anonymously. Completed.

Transformed (Gelir x Reader - one-shot - Third Age 1554) A Mirkwood huntress is attacked by a dark beast and begins a slow and gradual transformation into a monster herself. Completed.

The Baker from Lórien (Haldir & OC Mother - one-shot- Third Age 246) A visitor from Lórien brings some excitement to the kitchens of the Elvenking's palace. Completed. [New!]

Dandelions (Boromir x she/her - one-shot - Third Age 3015) Boromir brings flowers to his lady love. Completed.

Breathe (Boromir x Reader - one-shot - Third Age 3008) You have harbored a deep, secret crush on Boromir for years, and have now been asked by him to dance. Completed. (Will be continued in an upcoming long fic.)

Taken (Eomer x Reader - 3-part fic - Third Age 3019) A shield-maiden learns her hidden love for the Marshal of her Eored, now the King of Rohan, may not be unrequited as she had always assumed. Completed.

The Broken Shield (Thorin & Frerin - one-shot - Third Age 2791-2799) The young Princes of Erebor forge a surprising alliance with the Elves of Mirkwood to fight together in the War of the Dwarves and Orcs. Entry to the Thorin's Spring Forge 2023 event. Completed.

The Task of Living (Thorin x Reader - one-shot - Third Age 2943) The re-throned King of Erebor returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago. Completed.

The Only Gold (Fili x OC) - ongoing series - Third Age 2941) Fili, heir presumptive of Erebor, befriends a mysterious elf-maiden during the Company's sojourn at Rivendell. Their bond will shift the courses not just of their individual destinies, but that of their peoples. In Progress.

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Headcanon Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk #thranduil headcanons #thranduil oropherion #thranduil fanfiction #sons of the woodland king #the hobbit #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #thranduil x reader #original work #lord of the rings #lotr elves #tolkien #thranduil #king thranduil #lotr fanfic

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lamemaster · 1 year

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The Curse of Bloodlines (Thranduil x Feanorian reader)

Thranduil x Feanorian reader

Genre: angst (shit ton of it)

Summary: You wonder if your child would be born before the passing of Spring or if they would be born in the creeping days of fall. 'Not long now,' you whisper to your belly.

Part 2: The Curse of Heart | Part 3: The Curse of the Uncursed

Day 475th of staying in your room. The air carried hints of creeping spring. The cloying fragrance of blooming flowers made its way into your room from wide open windows that were never closed. You could not bring yourself to close them. They were the only reminder of the world that existed outside your room.

The afternoon sun left you feeling drowsy as you huddled closer to your favorite nook next to the windows. Resting your head on the wall, you stretched your back to alleviate the hovering ache that rarely left you these days. You gently massaged your swollen feet, or at least tried to with your belly getting in the way.

You wondered if your child would be born before the passing of spring or if they would be born in the creeping days of fall. "Not long now," you whispered to your belly.

"You would be the prince of the Woodland Realm. Everyone would love you like they do for your father. You would grow up with so many people looking after you," you sniffed as you felt the butterflies of your child's movement under your hands. "Your father would give you anything you could wish for. He is an ellon who cares immensely for his people."

You tried to focus on the little flutter that tickled your palm or the cool breeze. You tried to ward away the thoughts that plagued your mind. They had been frequent these days. A premonition of what was to come. You avoided those thoughts to protect your child from their shadow.

However, a sense of mourning clouded your heart. It was the realization that you would not live to see your son. You could feel it in your soul and your body. Long ago, your great-grandmother Miriel had been the first-ever elf to die on the blessed lands, and now you felt the same fate looking back at you.

You were a Finwean, the granddaughter of Feanor, and the daughter of Celegorm. You hadn't known it for the longest time. You had grown up with a single mother who never spoke of your father. You didn't dare stir the grief that lay heavy on your mother's heart. Your father's name was never uttered in your household.

Maybe that was the reason why you assumed your silver hair to be from your Sinda mother. You simply did not fathom the possibility of it being a paternal trait. You did not care for your green eyes, which seemed to be a gift from your grandmother Nerdanel. Never had you ever thought of belonging to the cursed bloodline of the Noldor. The Silmarils had never called for your soul, you were not oath-bound, and your soul didn't long for your home beyond the seas.

It fooled you and Thranduil, who once loved you. He truly did, at the beginning of your courtship when every second of your existence was spent next to him. You both had wed early, and none had objected. You had once been the crown princess of Greenwood the Great.

Then it had come. A letter from your uncle who wandered unknown shores. It was a letter that shattered your world. And the beloved crown princess of Greenwood the Great became a kinslayer's daughter. Child of an ellon who had once slain the King of Beleriand.

All was lost when you learned of your father. Your people were no longer yours. Your mother, an unknown elleth who had picked you up from an abandoned camp. Most of all, your husband and all his love were gone.

You should have resented your uncle or your father, yet you could not bring yourself to. It would have been easy to deny the claim in the letter. It could have saved your marriage, but how could you? It seemed as if it was meant to be. How else could your father's name find you despite all that had happened? How else could your uncle, whom many called a wraith, remember you?

So you bore all the hate, anger, and resentment that came towards you. It was all you could offer these people. All that you could give your husband, who refused to look at you.

Thranduil had waited for you to deny the claim in the letter. He had expected it to be a lie. You would have too if not for everything pointing to one truth. Your silence had been the only answer you could offer your husband, a fact that broke his heart.

Your bond stretched thin with the barest presence lingering. It lingered on the edge of snapping. Had Miriel felt the same way too? You seemed to share a fate similar to your great-grandmother's. Maybe someday you would get a chance to ask her.

You would bear it all for the sake of your child. Even the confinement of your room was an acceptable fate to persevere for your and Thranduil's child.

It had been an unspoken sentence laid down by Oropher. You were banned from the gardens and woods you grew up in. Stables, lakes, halls, kitchens...you were prohibited from them. It started with guards following your every step and ended with the room you had not left for the past year.

It could have been a prison cell if you had not been carrying the heir of the Woodland realm. Or maybe you would have been kicked out of your home. You would have accepted it. Maybe that would have appeased all those who had been wronged by your father.

Therefore, you did not mourn the weariness that lay heavy on your soul. Whatever doom awaited you would free Thranduil and your child from your existence. None in Greenwood would burden them with your family's wrongdoings.

#the hobbit #the silmarillion #tolkien elves #noldor #thranduil x reader #Feanorian reader #celegorm #angst #middle earth #two shot #thranduil x wife #thranduil

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queer-ragnelle · 9 months

Text

Excalibur (1981) | Directed by John Boorman

Arthurian Film List | Arthurian Show List | Movie review below the cut ⤦

Star rating: 10/10 Content warning: multiple rape scenes, heavy gore throughout, elements of horror, nudity, animal brutality (horses in battle are treated roughly) Overview: Writer and director John Boorman understood the assignment. It's evident this film was a passion project. Both of his children are in it (his daughter as Igraine, his son as young Mordred) and he had been working with J. R. R. Tolkien back in the 70s on an adaptation of Lord of the Rings which fell through, and much of those elements were revived and put to use here. The script, acting, score, and cinematography meet the epic demands an Arthurian film requires to succeed. Synopsis: The film opens with Uther before he meets Igraine and goes on to detail the entirety of Arthur's reign and life. Arthur's beginnings with Ector and Kay are very sweet and culminate in his pulling the sword in the stone and meeting a fun, quirky Merlin. The wizard trains Arthur up and he's eventually knighted by Urien and makes an ally of him while defending Leodegrance and Guinevere's castle. Arthur falls in love with Guinevere and intends to marry her, but first meets and battles Lancelot, wins his loyalty, and sends him to pick Guinevere up for the royal wedding. Meanwhile Morgan learns magic from Merlin and uses it to conceive Mordred with Arthur. After the royal wedding, the love affair between Lancelot and Guinevere begins. While staying away from Camelot, Lancelot meets country bumpkin Perceval, who follows Lancelot back to Camelot from his secluded woodland home, then takes up the mantle of Gareth Beaumains by working for Kay in the kitchens and champions Guinevere against Gawain until Lancelot can arrive. After the affair between he and Guinevere is found out, Lancelot runs off mad into the woods, and Arthur's prosperity declines. Perceval begins a decade-long quest in search of the Holy Grail to restore Arthur/Fisher King's health so he can reclaim his lands now ravaged by disease. Mordred has grown up in this time and been taught by Morgan to hate Arthur. Once Arthur has been cured, he goes to find Guinevere in the abbey where she had been living, and retrieves Excalibur, which she had been keeping safe for him all that time. Arthur then goes with his remaining knights to battle Mordred, where he is mortally wounded, and Perceval fulfills his final act for his king by returning the sword to the Lady of the Lake as Arthur is spirited away to Avalon. Final thoughts: This movie is so damn good. Nobody's doing it like Boorman. It's my favorite version of the grail quest. Very horror, as it should be. (Monty Python is a different tone, not a worse one!) I love everyone's acting here, the casting is so rich, I love the look and vibe of everyone, the Shakespearean line delivery. All of it. The gaudy green lighting is so 80s but it works, it sets a tone, it commits to the bit, illuminates every magical scene. And the armor is obviously incredible. I won't hear criticism. Either you get it or you don't. You can watch an entire mini-series about the armorer, Terry English, produced by Mythbuster's Adam Savage on YouTube, here. And if you want to learn more about Mordred's cool helmet specifically, watch here. Anyway please watch this, you won't be disappointed.

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middleearth-polls · 8 months

Text

Please see each moment quoted below the poll under the cut.

1. Sam finds Frodo in Cirith Ungol:

‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Frodo, clutching him. ‘There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?’ ‘It was indeed, Mr. Frodo. I’d given up hope, almost. I couldn’t find you.’ ‘Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,’ said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

2. Aragorn finds Boromir near Parth Galen

A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet. Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. ‘I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. I have paid.’ His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. ‘They have gone: the Halflings: the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.’ He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again. ‘Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.’ ‘No!’ said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. ‘You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!’ Boromir smiled. ‘Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?’ said Aragorn. But Boromir did not speak again.

3. Pippin finds Merry in Minas Tirith:

Pippin’s face was anxious. ‘Well, you had better come with me as quick as you can,’ he said. ‘I wish I could carry you. You aren’t fit to walk any further. They shouldn’t have let you walk at all; but you must forgive them. So many dreadful things have happened in the City, Merry, that one poor hobbit coming in from the battle is easily overlooked.’ ‘It’s not always a misfortune being overlooked,’ said Merry. ‘I was overlooked just now by – no, no, I can’t speak of it. Help me, Pippin! It’s all going dark again, and my arm is so cold.’ ‘Lean on me, Merry lad!’ said Pippin. ‘Come now! Foot by foot. It’s not far.’ ‘Are you going to bury me?’ said Merry. ‘No, indeed!’ said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was wrung with fear and pity. ‘No, we are going to the Houses of Healing.’

4. Bilbo reunites with Thorin after the Battle of Five Armies

‘Farewell, good thief,’ [Thorin] said. ‘I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.’ Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. "‘Farewell, King under the Mountain!’ he said. ‘This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils - that has been more than any Baggins deserves.’ ‘No!’ said Thorin. ‘There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!’ Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket, and, whether you believe it or not, he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse. He was a kindly little soul.

5. Beleg and Túrin reunite in the woodlands

As night drew down they were all gathered about him, and Ulrad brought a brand from the little fire that was lit in the cave-mouth. But at that moment Túrin returned. Coming silently, as was his custom, he stood in the shadows beyond the ring of men, and he saw the haggard face of Beleg in the light of the brand. Then he was stricken as with a shaft, and as if at the sudden melting of a frost tears long unshed filled his eyes. He sprang out and ran to the tree. ‘Beleg! Beleg!’ he cried. ‘How have you come hither? And why do you stand so?’ At once he cut the bonds from his friend, and Beleg fell forward into his arms.

6. Gollum finds Frodo and Sam asleep

Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo’s knee – but almost the touch was a caress. For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.

7. Húrin and Morwen reunite at their son's grave

But suddenly her eyes looked into his, and then Húrin knew her; for though they were wild now and full of fear, a light still gleamed in them hard to endure: the elven-light that long ago had earned her her name, Eledhwen, proudest of mortal women in the days of old. ‘Eledhwen! Eledhwen!’ Húrin cried; and she rose and stumbled forward, and he caught her in his arms. ‘You come at last,’ she said. ‘I have waited too long.’ ‘It was a dark road. I have come as I could,’ he answered. ‘But you are late,’ she said, ‘too late. They are lost.’ ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you are not.’ ‘Almost,’ she said. ‘I am spent utterly. I shall go with the sun. They are lost.’ She clutched at his cloak. ‘Little time is left,’ she said. ‘If you know, tell me! How did she find him?’ But Húrin did not answer, and he sat beside the stone with Morwen in his arms; and they did not speak again. The sun went down, and Morwen sighed and clasped his hand and was still; and Húrin knew that she had died.

8. Isildur's son encourages Isildur to leave

Elendur, not yet harmed, sought Isildur. He was rallying the men on the east side where the assault was heaviest, for the Orcs still feared the Elendilmir that he bore on his brow and avoided him. Elendur touched him on the shoulder and he turned fiercely, thinking an Orc had crept behind. ‘My King,’ said Elendur, ‘Ciryon is dead and Aratan is dying. Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you, as you commanded Ohtar. Go! Take your burden, and at all costs bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!’ ‘King's son,’ said Isildur, ‘I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.’ Elendur kissed him. ‘Go! Go now!’ he said.

9. Lúthien finds Beren in Tol-in-Gaurhoth

Then side by side from stone to stone o'er Sirion they climbed. Alone unmoving they him found, who mourned by Felagund, and never turned to see what feet drew halting nigh. 'A! Beren, Beren!'came her cry, 'almost too late have I thee found? Alas! that here upon the ground the noblest of the noble race in vain thy anguish doth embrace! Alas! in tears that we should meet who once found meeting passing sweet!' Her voice such love and longing filled he raised his eyes, his mourning stilled, and felt his heart new-turned to flame for her that through peril to him came.

10. Eärendil is greeted by Eönwë and asks the Valar for help

Therefore he turned back at last towards the sea; but even as he took the shoreward road one stood upon the hill and called to him in a great voice, crying: ‘Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning!’ That voice was the voice of Eönwë, herald of Manwë, and he came from Valimar, and summoned Eärendil to come before the Powers of Arda. And Eärendil went into Valinor and to the halls of Valimar, and never again set foot upon the lands of Men. Then the Valar took counsel together, and they summoned Ulmo from the deeps of the sea; and Eärendil stood before their faces, and delivered the errand of the Two Kindreds. Pardon he asked for the Noldor and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.

11. Galadriel shows Gimli understanding and kindness

‘[...] If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and would not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons? ‘Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.’ [Galadriel] looked upon Gimli, who sat glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the names given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer. He rose clumsily and bowed in dwarf-fashion, saying: ‘Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth!’

12. Merry, Pippin and Sam tell Frodo that they will stick to him

‘It all depends on what you want,’ put in Merry. ‘You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin – to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours – closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid – but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds.’ ‘And after all, sir,’ added Sam, ‘you did ought to take the Elves’ advice. Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you can’t deny it.’ ‘I don’t deny it,’ said Frodo, looking at Sam, who was now grinning. ‘I don’t deny it, but I’ll never believe you are sleeping again, whether you snore or not. I shall kick you hard to make sure. ‘You are a set of deceitful scoundrels!’ he said, turning to the others. ‘But bless you!’ he laughed, getting up and waving his arms, ‘I give in. I will take Gildor’s advice. If the danger were not so dark, I should dance for joy. Even so, I cannot help feeling happy; happier than I have felt for a long time. I had dreaded this evening.’

Quote sources

J. R. R. Tolkien – The Lord of the Rings

J. R. R. Tolkien – The Hobbit

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Silmarillion

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Children of Húrin

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth

J. R. R . Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Lays of Beleriand

#LOTR #The Lord of the Rings #The Silmarillion #Middle-earth #Tolkien #tumblr polls #middleearth polls #I know this is an evil one #it took me a looong time to find comparable ones #(more or less)#category: pick something #category: quotes

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flower-cage · 8 months

Text

The Wolf and The Dragon | Chapter Six

by @flower-cage

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: The war between the Greens and the Blacks has begun and the youngest of the Stark heirs is sent on a secret mission to King's Landing. In its course, she will learn to accept the power that was never meant to be hers and the love she never thought she deserved.

Chapter Six: The Wolf and The Dragon I

Chapter summary: When you show no signs of recovery, Aemond is forced to face his own heart.

Words: 4,039.

Warnings: 18+ only; gore, mentions of blood, cursing, near-death experiences.

A/N: uhhmmm this one is really different and I'm not sure about it but I can't wait to post it any longer!!! Will definitely go back and edit it later though lol.

Although this chapter does not contain smut, later chapter will. Minors do not interact.

For the most part, he recalled the blood — your blood. It had been everywhere: on the boat where you had fainted, on his hands that had bandaged you, on his chest which had supported you, and on his hair, his cheek, his nose. The pungent odor of iron was stronger than that of the salt of the sea and insistent, ruthless. Though it had been everywhere, it had never stopped pouring out of your rapidly cooling flesh for as long as you had been within his eyesight.

And the sight had been the most terrifying he had the displeasure of witnessing - that of your limp body fastened haphazardly to your loyal wolf as it emptied itself of life. More breaths it had stolen than even Vhagar when she had threatened to set him ablaze and more hopeless yet than the first look at his bloodied, deformed reflection over a decade in the past.

He was well accustomed to the sparkling sensation that bloomed in his chest, stretching along his arms, into his gut - an evil inherent to second sons, his mother would often say, a burden of the dutiful, of those who relentlessly pursue perfection to find only disappointment. Except, this time, it settled in his gut like a dreadful, innate truth rather than on his shoulders like a reminder of damnation, triggering not frustration but fear.

The decision to send you off had been like an omnipotent calling in his state of shock. He had weighed neither alternatives nor risks as he strapped you to Shadow in a hurry. Criston had been yelling from the shore still, the wooden vessel dragging behind him.

“What are you doing?!” he had screamed, his voice scratching through the silent night. “She’ll never make it!”

It had been too late, then, for the mighty direwolf dashed off with a speed abnormal for any woodland animal, taking you far into the darkness. Their matching, piercing blue eyes had locked in what he could only hope had been understanding - of the urgency, the gravity - and she had darted away.

The image – the blood - stayed with him on the ride back on that first night and lingered still through the second stretch of the journey home. Criston had followed him as he pursued the crimson trail as far as it veered into the woods, into roads wild and unbreachable.

The moment they finally dismount their horses at the Red Keep, that persistent smell and the urgent ringing in his ears become stronger as if his flesh knows you are close by, as if it had developed a sense that is attuned to you only. His cloak goes flying when his feet hit the ground and the cold grasp of the Stranger tightens around his heart when he spots a large, wet stain of red by his feet. It nearly topples him over.

Knights and lords cry for him, asking where he has been and blessing the Gods for his safe return, but he pays them little regard as he sprints through the corridors of the castle on his way to Maegor’s Holdfast, on his way to you. Each step that shortens the distance between you is yet quicker than the one previous and, once again, though his mind is indeed determined to find you, his body reacts faster yet than its commands, urging him on by an instinct he knew not.

He finds his strength in his clenched fists and in his misplaced anger as his tired eye blurs his vision. Though his dried lips evince his thirst as his choppy breath does his weariness, naught falters his severe pace, naught but the red-soaked towels servants carry out your quarters.

His powerful steps disturb his mother’s pensive state when he turns into the passageway that houses both your apartments - until that bloody sight stills him body and soul. She rises from the chair by your door where she sniffles into a handkerchief, gasping his name, wide, red-rimmed eyes spilling fresh tears. But the Grand Maester pops out of your room and recaptures her attention, shaking his head in shame, in defeat. The gesture rekindles the dread in his stoned, black heart, and like an explosion at the end of a trail of oil, he bursts renewed into an urgent stride.

He does not make it past his mother, for she envelops him in a firm embrace, holding his face between her palms to inspect his health, her eyes running across his face disorderly.

“What happened?” she chokes out rushedly, swallowing her despair. “Why were you separated?”

“I am not hurt,” he says instead of answering, to soothe her nerves and save himself from explanations.

He does not mean to dismiss her, knowing she had likely worried herself into near insanity when you arrived half-dead and alone, but he is the one who now nears derangement with the anxiety that burns and boils inside him like fresh, angry lava.

“How is she?” he asks without preamble, without the façade of coldness and propriety he commonly wears so well.

His mother clamps her teeth shut, then, and exchanges nervous looks with the maester in place of soothing him as he had her. He nearly topples to the ground again.

“How is she?” he presses on, gripping her elbows sternly to hold himself upward, to hold himself together.

“My Prince,” the maester starts, treading lightly, meekly, avoiding his penetrating gaze, “we have, at this time, exhausted our expertise.”

He pushes off his mother’s hold then, takes the maester by the collar and pulls him close, hoping that if the grime and gore that clings to his skin do not disgust him into talking, fear of his fury will.

“I asked-” he growls between gritted teeth. He hears his mother chastise him in horror but it does not deter him in the slightest. “How is she?”

“W-w-weak, your Grace,” the maester shivers in his grasp. “Barely breathing,” he adds quietly. “We have tried all-”

As if invaded by the realization that he can reassure himself of your state, he strides into your bedroom in a heartbeat. Shadow lies at the end of your large bed, fur hardened and matted by your dried blood. She perks up as he barges in but allows him to come near you, heavy head dropping back down onto the cushions as if its very weight were unbearable.

You look far too small where you lie swallowed by too many blankets, making him stop in his wild track. He approaches you timidly now, fearful of what he shall witness should he come any closer. Each step reveals another truth he wishes to unsee.

The covers are pulled to your chest, and your shoulders are wrapped in gauze stained a dark red, nearly brown. There is blood on your pillows and your bedding. Much like it clings to his hair and face, it does yours too. The once-white cloth of hand towels is marred in your blood, thrown in haste over a tea table. A bowl rests on it too, water so red it hides the bottom of the recipient entirely. He becomes nauseated so quickly he has to look away from all the carnage, but the sickness does not leave him – it is not the gory sight but your hopeless fragility that turns his stomach upside down.

He has come to know the color of your lips well enough to notice they bear an unfamiliar, frightening hue of purple. He cannot hear your quiet breathing, and neither can he see the rise and fall of your bandaged chest, or simply discern a single trace of life in your still form. Lifeless is how you look.

His legs fail him finally, and his body falls down onto your mattress as his fingers brush lightly against your wrist, afraid of what they might not find. It lacks the warmth he has grown accustomed to. If not for the faintest heartbeat, he would have taken you for dead. Lifeless is how you feel.

“We have stopped her bleeding and nourished her body with lamb’s blood,” the maester explains from where he stands just past the threshold. “All that can be done now is wait, and hope she will find the strength to heal her way back to us.”

“Her bandages look putrid,” he accuses though he dares not turn away from you, no matter how direly the sight aggrieves him.

“I am afraid the wound has begun to infect, my Prince. A wound this large requires diligent care-”

“Are you telling me,” he spits, his breath threatening to burst his lungs apart, his heart forcing its way through his ribcage, “she’s just been sitting here with an infection, worsening-”

“Aemond, the maesters were only able to treat her once before her wolf attacked them,” his mother interferes, her tone denouncing her vexation. “The only reason she is not laying outside on the dirt in the manner in which she arrived is because her wolf passed out shortly after their arrival.”

“And she hasn’t allowed any of us near since she awoke,” she finishes.

He glances at the direwolf behind him. She blinks slowly as she fights off sleep. What had prompted her to allow him close? Was it his scent on you, or yours on him? Or had she noticed the recent shift in your intimacy?

The thought warms him from the inside, provoking racy memories to resurface, but he is quick to shake them off and stop them from clouding his mind.

“I will do it, then,” he announces. “Bring me what it is I need and I shall do it.”

As he rises, in part to be taken seriously, in part to disturb his inopportune musings, he notices the perturbed look on his mother’s face, without a doubt a result of his allusion to improper intimacy. He shoots her a hard look to deflate her dismay. Some things, such as your safety, were more important than decorum.

“I-I beg that you bathe first, your Grace,” the maester urges.

He finds himself by your side again at nightfall. Anxious had he been to rid you of your infected bandages, he had done as the maester instructed and returned to his own chambers for a proper wash. Twice he had to order a fresh fill of water, so murky and red it had become with the blood that melted down his skin, through his silver strands.

Though he had not the heart to deny his poor mother’s worried, wet eyes when she herself came to fetch him for supper, he had quickly returned to you afterward. In the moments you were parted, his legs wished for nothing other than to jump up and take him back. His knee bounced underneath the table with the effort of restraint. His mind raced through the evening in the hopes it would accelerate the course of the meal in consequence, but the only effect it had was aggravating his own impatience.

Under the guise of changing your plasters once more, he had left promptly after dessert, though he suspected his mother’s keen eyes saw clearly past his excuses. Now he has naught to guise his presence here, by your side. Nothing justifies it when he puts more logs into your dying fire, nothing justifies him taking a seat by your bed, within arm’s reach, and nothing justifies his eye’s unwillingness to part with your image.

He had been careful to wipe the dried blood off your skin where it lingered in sight still, but it did not take away the semblance of death like he had hoped it would. And your lips remain shut and lifeless when they had once been both eager to insult him and pliant to his taste. He thinks he would delight in either response, as long as you were to wake again.

Lifeless, yes, is how he sees you in this moment, and yet sublimely serene. He had only seldom seen your brow without the crease of a frown, so often in response to his actions. You are a hard woman, led much like him by duty and loyalty to your own in a world that opposes your very nature. Although you had been remarkably brave to soften in the face of your wrongdoings, extending your sorrow even in the face of his unjust antagonism, your tenderness now resembles surrender. It does not ignite in him that same bright, undeniable pull either.

He is unable to discern what it is that courses through his veins in its stead, only that it is bitter. And bitterly his mind’s eye takes him to the moments when he delivered spite, only to paint distantly how he could have instead prolonged the joy he has learned is your company. Alas, the reality is that he wasted your interactions with his envy, and he might not now be granted a second chance.

He cannot stop his fingers when they reach for yours, for an urge to feel you, know for certain that you are living and that your heart pumps blood still in your flesh, simmers inside him. He has no shame in bringing them to his lips, either, only to let them rest there when not even your own eyes are there to witness his vulnerability.

It grants him momentary relief, even if he still longs for you to rise at his touch. But your skin does not smell of iron as he had expected, nor does it smell like you, and the general lack of responsiveness disheartens him so that he lets your hand rest on your mattress in defeat.

He is startled from his place of misery when the doors to your chambers open as if expecting his worst nightmares to materialize, as if expecting the very faceless face of the Stranger to stalk forward and retrieve you from him. Instead, it is his mother’s soft, tired semblance that greets him. He only realizes he has reached for his dagger when his shoulders drop and his grip on it slackens.

She walks in hesitantly, glancing at a sleeping Shadow before resuming her pace.

“You, too, should be resting,” she murmurs as if the raising of her voice could disturb you, as if you had been merely asleep all along, rather than holding on to a feeble thread of life.

Her casualty comes from a place of relief for her son’s well-being, he knows, but inside he boils already so much with his tightly concealed musings and sensations that he cannot reasonably extend her such empathy. He fixes his eye back on your gloomy face and hopes the action is enough of a statement that leaves no room for insistence.

She ignores his petulance, coming around him to stroke the back of her hand against your forehead. Her fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from your face and his own twitch in their envy. Then he presses his lips together to soothe the itch when he watches her murmur a short blessing against your brow.

“So beautiful, don’t you think?” she whispers, his heart clenches. “So strong.”

Had he been a lesser man he might not have recognized the sweet inquiry for what it was - a test. A test of his dignity, a test of his duty to his family, to House Baratheon, to the kingdom. But he is not a lesser man, and he knows his mother, no matter how quick-witted, well enough to know the right answer is to forego his opinion, no matter how heartily he wishes to divulge what has quickly become devotion.

“She saved my life,” it escapes him, unsure if he meant for it to reach his mother’s ears and noting that his adoration is distinguishable, unavoidable.

“Will you not tell me what happened?” she sighs, coming to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and carding her fingers through his long, tamed hair like she had done since he was but a scared boy. They hold still the same soothing effect on the scared man he has grown into.

“I was a fool,” he murmurs. “Daemon found us, and I was a fool to answer his taunts,” he hesitates, “and engage him in combat.”

Though her caresses falter and her hand squeezes his shoulder a bit tighter at the mention of the Rogue Prince, she neither chastises nor patronizes him, for which he is grateful.

“I’d be the one abed if not for her,” he concludes, “perhaps far worse.”

They sit in silence in the face of his somber acknowledgment, watching you sleep, until she at last coaxes him with gentle words and motherly wisdom to take rest in his own chambers. He leaves when a trustworthy guard is poised inside your room, and Shadow is once again alert in his absence.

The next couple of days, he sits alone and with his thoughts. You remain unconscious and eerily quiet, and he takes upon tending to your fire, tending to your wounds, attentive to your breathing and your pulse. He sits by your side, watches the days pass through your large windows, and reads and writes. He leaves for council meetings in the mornings and retires to his bedroom in the late evenings.

His mother joins him in the afternoons, sometimes with Helaena, always with Ser Criston, and though she joins in quiet activities - reading, sowing, praying - she does also all the things he wishes he had the liberty to do: brushing your hair, kissing your forehead, muttering words of tenderness. She blesses you with holy passages when she leaves, and Criston’s get well soon, Captain’s never fails to warm his spirits.

On the third evening, Grand Maester Orwyle is who joins him. Though Shadow allows him in, finally, she snarls still when he threatens to approach the bed. What he says turns him ice–cold again:

“If she does not rise on the morrow-” he hesitates, cutting himself short at the murderous looks he gets from him and your wolf. “She needs nourishment, and soon,” he finishes solemnly before retreating in the wake of his desolation.

Shadow rises, clearly distressed. He cannot tell whether she understands his words or if she senses his desperate grief, but he too is perturbed to the point of pushing off his seat. In dire need of the cold night air to clear away his worries, he opens the doors to your balcony, your wolf following in her eagerness to greet the night.

He breathes in the crisp, dewy air, eye closed and head low as he supports his weight against the metal handle. His forehead rests on the cool glass but it too fails to distract him from his anguish. His flesh thrums now he has his back to you, afraid you shall again befall victim to lethal damage. However, when he awards himself another glance he is not appeased in the slightest, for his fears weigh renewed in his chest, stealing his breaths, stalling his heartbeats. Had he felt more comfortable in the skin that prickled and burned in your presence, perhaps he would not be standing here, mourning every kiss and tender touch and gentle word he never gave you.

It is Shadow who startles him out of his torments with her deafening howling at the bright full moon.

“Damned dog,” he hisses, quick to step back inside and shut the doors.

“Direwolf,” says a faint, feeble voice behind him.

He turns on his heels, thinking he has finally gone mad with longing when he finds you yet asleep. Then you squeeze your shut eyes harder and a precarious breath escapes him. He steps warily towards you, half thinking still that he is in a dream and, if so, wishes not to disrupt it.

But you move your head sideways unhurriedly, tentatively awakening your body which surely still aches in the aftermath of the violence it endured. His heart is light and bright to see you alive, undoubtedly alive, attempting to break free from his chest for entirely new motives.

“You fool,” is what escapes him instead, though his voice trembles, not bites, and the insult strains as it gets caught in his throat. Once a habit, now his body rejects it when his mind tries to place you in that spiteful sentiment you haven’t belonged to in quite some time.

Your eyes fall open finally, blinking rapidly and fighting against the light, no matter how dim. He rushes to your side when you propel yourself forward only to be driven right back by your pain, wincing as you go. He propels a second pillow behind your head, silent as he struggles to hold the second insult that so easily gets trapped behind his teeth. Your eyes are closed again, and the frown on your brow evinces your discomfort.

“Are you alright?” you beat him to the question.

“I am,” he bites and wishes he had the bravery to express such care. “Since you’ve used your body as a shield against Dark Sister like a damned fool.”

He curses himself inwardly, taking advantage that you cannot see him raise a disappointed palm to his forehead, tired himself of his constant antagonism, but you smile despite his discourtesy and he can breathe again.

“Are you thanking me, my Prince?”

He breathes out a strained laugh - one which likely sounds more like a scoff - at your misplaced, mocking formality. You are safe and healthy enough to satirize him still. He does not stop his fingers when they brush against your hairline. He has long tired of inhibiting them.

“You need water,” he murmurs when your lovely eyes meet his.

He helps you sit up and lean against the headboard. Carefully, he cups the back of your head, his other hand bringing a chalice to your chapped lips. He wills himself not to break from your gaze as much as he stills himself not to shiver. The effort of restraining his care is just as great as embracing it, for it awakens a thrill and a pull that thrums in his heated flesh too strongly for him to veil behind cold eyes.

He leaves your side when his heart fills to the brim with a bursting light, threatening to expand beyond what he is capable of enduring. He tells the guard outside your door to fetch the masters and your maids, then lingers for another moment so that he may catch his breath and his reason.

Thankfully, when he approaches you again, Shadow scratches at the glass of your balcony and he does not have to meet your eyes and risk baring himself anymore. In a pathetic moment of weakness, he bypasses your bed to let her in, then takes a seat by your side and fixes his gaze on your direwolf as she moves restlessly about you.

“You know-” he starts, if only because the need to conceal his vulnerability chokes him. “She brought you here, strapped to her back.”

You don’t answer him, and he finds himself talking still against his own better judgment.

“I had no need to tell her what to do,” he continues, fingers fiddling with one another aimlessly. “Had not a clue whether she would understand me if I did. She simply knew to bring you here.”

He meets your gaze, finally, unnerved by your silence and finding you ready as ever to retaliate his next statement.

“She saved you.”

“I think you saved me,” you insist immediately, will never stop trying to break his stubborn façades.

“You saved me first.”

He steadies his gaze, hoping it is cold and unforgiving as usual, yet he positively feels his softness, his devotion slipping through every crack in his mask of cruelty and propriety that so stubbornly refuses to remain resolute. Too easily, what was once hardened for self-preservation now reveals vulnerability, at this moment when you each quietly admit to your reciprocal appreciation. You stare at one another and he is certain your stunned eyes match his, startled by your shared, timid divulgence.

He knows not what to make of the revelation other than sit with it, with you. Although, before he can understand it, an entourage of maids and maesters walks in to fuss about you. You are helped off the bed so quickly, he only narrowly manages to turn around for your privacy and rush to the door.

He stands there in the dark hallway, gripping its handle and feeling all of those cracks bleed profusely. He feels, he cares, he burns - and he cannot hide nor deny it.

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