Requests are now open! I previously wrote on Wattpad where I got over 200K views but I have since deleted my work due to the data breach and the fact I wrote it years ago and I believe my writing has improved vastly. (Well I hope so, lol).
Unfortunately, I am a bit rusty, which means I will only write the minimum of one thousand words per request. I also enjoy writing in detail, sorry if you do not like that.
I decided to keep my Secondary Blog as a Middle-Earth/Tolkien one!
I previously took a break, for personal reasons, but I have mustered the confidence to return. I apologise if I did not write your requests before, I feel awful, and please FEEL FREE to send them in again - there appears to be an error with my ask box and most of my requests have disappeared.
What do I write?
I write ‘x readers’.
I will also write for ships - for example, Harry Potter (as I know the most about the couples in it). I will also write ‘Jily’, (for Harry Potter) because that is superior.
What fandoms do I write for on my main blog?
Harry Potter (all Eras)
Narnia
Netflix Bridgerton
What fandoms to I write for on this blog?
The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings
Pleaserequest here if you have any requests for these fandoms, same rules apply, or simply click on my blog on the ask button @daydreams-magic01-mrsdurin.
(You can ask me if there are any other fandoms I write for, but these are my main ones)
Rules:
I do have rules and limits, as there are things that make my uncomfortable.
:)
I write for all genders and sexualities, as well as body types, etc. Discrimination is not welcomed here.
No hate! If you don’t like my work, please don’t be rude about it. I have tried my hardest and whilst I appreciate constructive feedback, bullying and hate is just rude. I have never and will never attend to offend anyone or make them uncomfortable, I always try to put in the right tags also. If there are any issues, please put them in my ask box (however, it may be a few days until I reply as I don’t look in there until I have completed my current request) I apologise in advance and it is most likely due to an error or accident. Thank you :)
If I make an error, please message me privately - I once had an autocorrect issue where a tag went to ‘teddy lupin x male reader’ on my blog when it was for a female reader as I was in a rush and did not realise I had already done the female tag. I am sorry again and an issue like this will never happen again, and I shall always double check from now on.
I will never write anything underage so please request someone who is of age. I won’t mention anything triggering in too much detail as I don’t want to upset anyone. I will not write (describe) rape, it will always be consensual.
If there is anything triggering, I will mention at the top. Remember, I love you guys.
I am trying to improve my smut skills, but writing it does make me uncomfortable. I won’t write anything messed up, too graphic, dark, or kinky or to do with rape.
Please do not copy or share my work in your own books or on another website! This is my hard work, and my writing. It should only be found on this blog. So please don’t. I find it very annoying and rude. (This includes futures and previous works)
You will only find my work here. (I realise I emphasise this and I’m sorry)
Please include the gender, and which person you would prefer it in as I don’t want to annoy you if I make an error (I usually write in third person but if you do not prefer this, please say so). It can also be very difficult to write without this. Please include anything else which you find necessary to apply.
When you request I will make it time appropriate to the movie or show unless stated otherwise. However, can you please clarify when you want it, for example, if the show spans over a number of years. If it isn’t necessary then I will just set it after. :)
I will always try to use the spelling and slang from where it is set.
Unless if I say other wise, your request should be posted within the week.
Have a wonderful day. I can’t remember any other rules right now but it’s like 3am.
Thank you!
Author is always me on this blog: @daydreams-magic01and@daydreams-magic01-mrsdurin as I have decided to keep as a Tolkien blog for requests, and in that case only future Tolkien work should only be found on there, and all previous Tolkien work as well as all my other requests should only be found on my main blog. No where else.
Please say if you wanted to be added to a tag list.
Please feel free to request on my main blog unless you have any Hobbit and Lord of the Rings requests and wish to see me having a Tolkien blog, then do it on this one, haha. (That link is to my previous Lotr and Hobbit Masterlist).
Please say if you wanted to be added to a tag list.
The harsh winter in Mirkwood and the absence of a certain Elvenking do not leave you any other choice than hoarding all the blankets you can get.
Rating: General Audiences Fandom: The Hobbit Prompt: Imagine how Thranduil convicts you of late-night blanket stealing. Pairing: Thranduil Oropherion x Reader Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff Date: 16th February, 2015 Words:1977 Warnings: Pure unadulterated fluff. A way too cheesy plotline. Overprotective Thranduil. Grammatically questionable Sindarin: “my love” (meleth nîn), “sweet dreams” (elei velui) and “love of my life” (meleth e-guilen). A/N: This is the first and the only story that made it through my gigantic writer’s block. It is not more than an apprentice piece I wrote two years ago based on an imagine on @sindarinkisses, a now inactive Tolkien writing blog. Beta’d:@jezvontesse
You cursed under your breath as you finally managed to close the window made of heavy crystal glass with a thud and a clink. You exhaled heavily and watched how your clouded breath began to melt some of the frost tracery on the window panes. You were beyond tired. Wanting to close your eyes just for a moment, you felt how your forehead slowly met the cold glass.
A sudden shiver went through your body as the wind blew, causing the window to clink again as snow grains were sprinkled against the glass. The winter held the Woodland Realm hostage. As much as you enjoyed the peace and light the snow brought about that tormented forest, the icy cold winter nights in the caverns and great halls of the castle being delved deeply in the underground were something you could not get used to.
You have retired late for the night, but the private quarters you share with your husband, Thranduil, the King of the Woodland Realm, in the upper levels of the castle had not been prepared yet. The daily life in the palace has become subject to the council which the King was actually hosting. It was an urgently rushed meeting with delegates who worried over the recent signs of the darkness and the rumours about an upcoming menace from beyond the borders of your realm.
The cracking of a fire being lit by a servant at the fireside suddenly distracted you from your thoughts. Since the council began, you have taken over the duties of the King in addition to your tasks as the Queen. You were exhausted beyond measure. As the subtle, yet tangy scent of pine needles slowly filled the room, you felt weighted down with weariness. A maid entered to bring towels and herbs, and you did not wish for anything more than to immerse your body into a hot bath to warm up your cold muscles, your stiff fingers, your numb toes and to get rid of that frosty coat which seemed to separate your bare skin from the warming fabric of your winter dress. You shivered slightly from the cold and tried to supply your fingers with blood as you chafed your hands and followed the maid.
A sudden twinge of sadness hit your heart as your thoughts went out to Thranduil in the lower levels of the castle. You doubted you would get to see him anytime soon. It troubled you that you have not had any opportunity to talk to him since the council had begun three days ago.
The hot scented bath did not fail to have the desired relaxing effect on your body, but you still were dwelling too much on your worries and the events of the day to go to bed. You sighed with relief as you finally let yourself sink in one of the huge sofas surrounding the fireplace. You wore a simple, yet regal warm tunic and fitted trousers. You smirked as you wiggled your toes while thinking of Thranduil who often could not resist jesting on your utterly un-regal thick woolen socks.
Unfortunately, the socks were no remedy for your cold feet. Not long after you have grabbed a book and wrapped yourself up in a cozy richly quilted blanket, you felt your toes getting cold again. It was an annoying, but familiar feeling to you. You knew one blanket would not be enough to keep you warm over time, but you hesitated to call for a maid to get you another one. You were so tired of talking to others; you did not feel like asking for something or even give a simple order. You sigh. There were so many guests to play host to, it would be a pointless quest to even try to find a servant. You frowned and decided to ignore your cold feet.
Although the fire kept cracking and burning, the cold would not want to leave you. As the chills started crawling up to your knees, you tuck up your legs and cuddled up tighter in your blanket. As the freezing cold raised your hackles and sent shivers down your spine, you have not been able to focus on reading any more. You snapped your book shot and strode from the room, heading out for the nearest empty guest rooms to retrieve the additional blankets from the closets. You were going to just take one or two. You were aware your plan contained the risk of damaging the reputation of your hospitality, but you were not willing to freeze to death either.
Thranduil entered your private quarters swiftly and silently, eager to close the door and shut his obligations out. The council had taken a toll on him. Agreement had only been reached on conducting the negotiations without displaying any regalia of power and royalty: No weapons, no crowns. Thranduil needed quiet, but he doubted the realm was going to grant him this privilege for more than a couple of minutes.
Sleeping deeply, you did not hear the surprised chuckle he led out as he spotted your sleeping form in a pile of blankets on the sofa. You ended up hogging most of them in yours arms to use them as a body pillow while lying half on your side, half on your stomach. Your back was uncovered. Your feet and your legs were tightly wrapped up; the blankets looked all tangled up as if they intended to keep you their prisoner.
He would never tell you how much he enjoyed it to watch you lying there, peacefully smiling at the result of the battle of blankets which must have taken place some hours ago. You have been stealing blankets from Thranduil since your very first night together, and since then he has been bearing with you. He had tried a lot to avoid being robbed of covers and sheets every night, but you kept on outsmarting him.
You were too exhausted to wake up from the rustling of his robes as he gracefully paced across the room, a compassionate smile unfolding on his lips. You were too tired to feel the sofa dipping as he slowly settled at your side, careful not to startle you. He reached forward to tenderly stroke your face.
“Y/N….” Prickling trails from your temple to your jawline caused your features to grimace involuntarily. You switched from lying on your stomach to lying flat on your back.
“Wake up, meleth nîn.” His deep voice forced the sleep to retreat and pulled you out of its embrace. He continued to caress your skin as he cupped your cheek with one hand.
“T-thranduil…?” You muttered wearily. “I’m tired.”
“I know.” He stated while running his fingers through the strands of your hair. “Y/N, this is no proper place to sleep. You are going to feel uncomfortable soon. Let us get you to bed.”
“The council… any progress?” You ask low-voiced, not able to open your eyes. You tried to clear your blunt mind.
“It seems like I have finally convicted the criminal.” Thranduil stated this with all the sternness his voice could muster while trying to suppress a chuckle.
“A criminal? At the council?” Startled, your eyes snapped open. Feeling light-headed, you were giving your husband a puzzled look. He quickly reached forward to firmly press your shoulders down to restrain you from falling off the sofa.
“No.” He smirked at your confusion and loosened his grip on your shoulders. “Right in front of me.” He locked eyes with you. “You have stolen all those blankets from our guest rooms, have you not?”
“Hmm… guilty of that.” You mutter and slowly blink, eyelids heavy. Thranduil’s hands on your shoulders sent waves of warmth over your chilly skin.
“You must feel very cold.” Thranduil slightly tilted his head and removed his hands from your shoulders to gently stroke up and down your arms. The sudden loss of his warm touch made you instantly shiver and reminded you of how much you were freezing.
“Those blankets are sheer traitors.” You frowned, trying to catch the affectionate glimpse in his intense blue eyes.
“In what way?” Thranduil suppressed another chuckle and cupped your cheeks, not breaking the eye contact.
“They are collaborating with the cold. They let the frost… assassinate me.” You mutter against his chest as he leaned forward to plant a soft kiss onto your forehead. You smelled the warm and spicy notes of cypress and cedar in Thranduil’s scent.
A hurried beating at the door followed by a messenger entering the room and stammering his apologies interrupted your intimate moment. Startled and vexed about the bold invasion of his privacy, you felt Thranduil’s muscles tense up as he squared his shoulders.
“Lower your voice!” He hissed sharply through clenched teeth in direction of the door. With rapid strides, Thranduil approached the messenger. You closed your eyes as sleep dragged on you. You were too tired to focus on the spoken words, but you already knew your husband would have to leave you for all-night negotiations at the council.
Thranduil would never tell you that he sensed your discomfort like he felt every leaf moving in the forest of the realm. He would never let you know how it was subtly unsettling him. He could not bear the thought of leaving you there, all tangled up in merely useless blankets with your body still tensed up and uneasy. Before he headed back to the lower levels of the palace to attend a council being at risk to shift the main points from diplomacy to war, he wanted to assure that at least you were well.
“Meleth nín, let this go.” Demanded his deep sounding voice. His light hands and deftly fingers twitched the fabric out of your hands. “Leave those traitorous blankets with me.”
With swift movements, he started unfurling the blankets to get you out of the tangle. He needed to use enough force to set you free but had to stay gentle enough not to fully wake you up. Thranduil may be used to your blanket theft, but he never grew fond of talking down his startled grouchy sleep-deprived wife after reclaiming sheets, covers, and blankets too roughly.
“Uh-uh… no…” You muttered incoherently. Your hands were blindly reaching out to reclaim the blankets. “I got this … under control.”
Thranduil brought his lips close to your ear. “I do not doubt that. But given that this is a case of high treason, it is utterly my task to carry out the sentence.” He stated his voice comforting and warm like velvet.
“Please … stop it!” You plead while he removed the last of your blankets. “I’m freezing to death!”
“Do not be afraid, Y/N. It will be much better soon.” He tried to soothe. He loosened the clasp from his oversized red cloak and took it off before settling at your side again.
“Give them… back!” You were about to lose your temper, but neither your mind nor your body wanted to cooperate. “They are… at my mercy… you…”
Thranduil who was about to spread out his cloak over you abruptly held his movement. The rustling of the heavy embroidered fabric stopped immediately as he lowered his hands.
“I have always been… at your mercy.” He simply stated.
You only noticed his husky voice, but you did not catch the content. With one swift movement, Thranduil draped the cloak over your sleeping form. As he wrapped you up, you felt your body relaxing under his touch. The cloak had stored his body warmth as well as his scent. You recognized the familiar spicy notes of cypress and cedar and the fruity notes of cassis and red berries.
“Elei velui, meleth e-guilen.” Thranduil murmured, before he tenderly kissed your forehead. Sleep had finally embraced you, as he was taking his leave.
Okay wtf. I keep having a recurring dream where I’m at a banquet full of all sorts of Tolkien characters. I always start out chatting with Aragorn or Faramir or someone, but the dream always ends with me trying to find the Elven King. I literally just go around asking people where he is and exploring until I wake up before I find him. I just keep having this dream about Thranduil over and over again
I’m not making any of this up, I swear to you. I’ve had this dream like 5 times now and like ????
Is this some kind of omen?? Is this the beginning of a falling into Middle Earth fanfic and Thranduil is dreaming of finding me??? And one day I’ll find him in the dream and wake up in Mirkwood like wtf is this
Which Tolkien characters would date a Gardener/Botanist
This is so self indulgent I’m sorry. Also tagging @beenovel because I think they like Botany too and I love them(surprise babe I got it done tonight ha)
~~~
Sam
I mean, duh. Sam’s a gardener himself and basically the only working class Hobbit of the bunch, he would probably be ecstatic about having a fellow plant nerd with him. And it also helps that you’re really pretty but shhhh. You’d help him so much during his daily life - telling him all about proper plant care that even he didn’t know and introducing him to new species of plants that he can show Mr Frodo. You gave him some sunscreen once (because God knows we need that) and he still thanks you to this day for it. 100% leaves hints for you using the language of flowers, hoping the roses he gives you will say what he never dares to.
Frodo
Listen,, Frodo has a thing for gardeners. I can’t prove it, but you can’t disprove it either. Check mate. But in all seriousness, I can totally see him falling for a plant parent. Just imagine him watching you and his beloved Sam talk about plants together with the biggest darn heart eyes the Shire’s ever seen. Being the cute little nerd he is, he’d ask all about the meaning of different plants as a subtle way to communicate his feelings. He’s sweet like that.
Aragorn
He’d definitely be more into the field botanist type of plant nerd. Someone who can identify which plants are which, what not to eat and what tastes delicious. For instance, he was very thankful that you reminded him that creeping charlie is toxic to horses before he almost poisoned poor Brego. Sometimes, when you’re rattling off plant facts, he can’t help himself and kisses you for being so clever. At first he saw you as a wonderful traveling partner but that definitely develops into something more over time
Thranduil
Okay just hear me out. Mirkwood is so pretty and you cannot tell me they have interesting beautiful flora in there. Imagine a field botanist wandering into his lands and getting their ass kindly handed to them by the giant spiders (yikes) only to be saved by the Elven King himself.. who then makes them his personal gardener. That’s a fic I’d read in a heartbeat. He’d get only the finest seeds and bulbs for his darling little plant enthusiast, especially when his feelings grow stronger. Totally makes you cover up because he doesn’t want your “pretty little face getting sunburned”. He much prefers to make you red in other ways
Legolas
Like father like son. But, of course, he’s a little different about it. You want to go out foraging and studying? He’s right out there with you! Elves are in touch with nature in a way us Humans can’t even comprehend - that’s a field day for plant lovers. He probably knows all about plants himself, and would happily tell you all about the Elven uses and folklore of your favorite Flora. He’d be absolutely fascinated to hear about the human side of that too. He’ll protect you out on your little research expeditions and practically beg you to tell him all about plants. Match made in heaven.
Thorin
I know this seems weird, but listen. This is the dwarf who (clearly, in my opinion) fell in love with Bilbo flipping Baggins. I’m convinced he has a thing for cottagecore icons. I know it in my heart. A botanist would probably have a hell of a time figuring out what plants can grow best in Erebor’s mountain soil. And yes, he’d comfort you when you feel like ripping your hair out trying to do that haha. Absolutely sets apart an entire outdoor area for your little garden. He’d probably give you a window room (aside from his chambers ) so you can grow some indoor plants too.
Beorn
We’ve seen this man’s house in the movies. He wouldadore a gardener partner. He takes care of the animals and livestock, you take care of the blooms. He takes you out on rides around the forest, you sitting on his back while he’s in bear form, perfectly content to listen to you ramble away about the different kinds of trees. Beorn is very impressed that you know so much about plants. And if herbal medicine is your thing, that’d certainly come in handy with all the cuts he gets driving off orcs. Seeing you take care of him like that is actually a tad flustering, though he resolves to fluster you right back to hide the peachiness in his own face. You two likely met because he saw you checking out the plants around his territory, but he saw you meant no harm (and that you were cute) so you two became friends (and soon partners) very quick.
↳Growing Traditions, Thranduil x Fem!Elf Reader, fluff Warnings: None Taglist:@rainbowvamp A/N: My first try at writing for this fandom, so I’m pretty nervous of putting it out there. I do hope it’s enjoyable! As always, if there’s anything, let me know. Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!
[ Imagine being a Dunedain vagabond taken in by the Elvenking ]
Part 1
Alternatively :
Of oaths with hearts and swords
A/N : In this tale, my dear reader, I grant you the body of Ithilwen Lionheart- a vanguard of the Elvenking, an estranged Dunedain vagabond. A mortal warrior with hair of autumn wildfire and eyes of watery turquoise,
Shall you wish to take in a different form, that you shall- for this dream is yours to conjure and merely for your humble Minstrel to tell.
__________
Work Text :
“
There’s a calm surrender
To the rush of day
When the heat of a rolling wave
Can be turned away…
”
The clash of metal against metal rang throughout the battlefield as shields met axes, daggers crashed against chest plates, and swords pierced through chain mails.
Haunting battle cries of orc, men, and elves echoed and joined the weaponries in a chaotic pandemonium that had painted so vividly the memories that scarred the hearts of whichever few had survived The War of the Last Alliance.
The air laid thick with the smell of Death and smoke as the lands were bathed in crimson carnage and the blood of more than a half of the elven-kind of Mirkwood- that of the fallen, the wounded, and those whose souls are beyond salvation.
It is in this battle, The Battle of Dagorlad, that the Mirkwood elves were faced with a foe that had taken the life of their king and a great many of their kin.
They had achieved naught but blood and death upon themselves, naught but the coronation of a young prince who had watched his father die before him in battle.
A prince whose childhood had been lost to war and had grown to fit the crown of a wise king way beyond his years, a king that had led what few remains of his people through land and forest in search of a place to call their home.
A king with no ring of power. No jewel to pronounce his kingship. One that leads his people and cares of his kingdom with naught more but sheer will, industry, strength and wisdom.
“Take arms, Ithilwen!” a deep voice bellows in Sindar and she follows the command, the bearer having delivered her time and again that her heart and mind recognizes it so. Eyes of the brightest turquoise snaps open, pulled out from recollection of tales of old and back into the time where she existed.
Where the flames burned in bright scarlet and taunting oranges and yellows as it consumed her vision and reduced the woods she’d grown to cherish into nothing more but splinters and char and ashes.
Where her vision was blurred by grey smoke and embers that danced amongst the falling leaves as if to mock her fate before searing the skin on her face and setting the ground ablaze.
A time where she’s fighting in a battle of her own under kindled trees and anguished cries, armed with little else but her short swords, and whatever is left of her battered armor and her wearying strength.
Laying witness to her comrades’ brutal massacre, the number of what she fell of their wretched enemies seemed nothing but a pale attempt at what would not even pass as valor-
-not so of the king’s most trusted warrior.
Ithilwen finds herself unable to accept such a fate. Not when she sees their ringless king remain as he had always done. Leading his armies unto war with every will to emerge victorious with yet another battle scar to recount solemn memories of what honor had once again obtained, and what honor had once again lost.
Swinging swords that glinted of elvish intricacies, the warrior charged forwards.
The elves perished as their lands did, little by little they met their end in the most grotesque imageries and yet still they tarry,
Hacking her way mercilessly through the foulest of scums and the chiefest of opponents. Taking blow after blow as she reciprocated with a might stronger than what she was dealt.
Be it broken, wounded, or dead, in their land they will forever remain.
“And these lands we will reclaim!”
__________
“
An enchanted moment
And it sees me through
It’s enough for this restless warrior
Just to be with you….
”
The trees were still crumbling and burning around them in blackened splinters when the first droplets of rain started falling and it is a memory that Ithilwen swear will remain with her for until the day that she perish.
T'was as if the Valars had heard the prayers of spilled blood and beleaguered hopes and had granted the skies the grace to mourn, if only for the approaching aftermath- the desolation of their forsaken lands.
Each drop that doused the earth and vanquished the flames are nothing but dull compensation for the dread the Valars had bestowed upon them, Ithilwen thinks gravely. They had lost good soldiers and in the slaughter she recognized the faces of many a great ellon she had trained and sparred with.
Each disembodied elf taking with them a part of her life as they faded. Her strength wavering as she continued to fight while recollections of fond memories with her fallen comrades plagued her mind.
The Battle Under The Trees is nearing its conclusion and yet the one ensuing within the Dunedain is a fight her spirit is yet to prevail.
All that remained in her soul are doubts. Thundering uncertainties aimed at her abilities and strength - as a general, a warrior, and as a kin to these elves she had failed to protect.
Lightning tore the elusive skies open, urging the deluge with a cruelty that blinded what few combatants remained and had struck Ithilwen dead in her tracks.
Posture slacking and arms falling, an addled head tips towards the skies.
What am I still here for? Comes a lost inquiry to the unforgiving skies, the bearer’s hair matted to her scalp by grime and rain, dull and pitiful–a far cry from the fiery locks of the warrior who fought so bravely once upon a time.
Weapons collided in tune with thunderstrikes and the onslaught of rain and yet to Ithilwen it all fell on deaf ears, for her woe is at its loudest with each second spent in breathing the very air her men had lost.
However so, her despair is of no match to the laboured grunts of a familiar baritone and of a wonted sword being swung, both having torn her sight off the forlorn skies and back unto the lands from where she stood.
In the midst of it all was him. Gallant and steadfast, fighting off the last of the orcs with unyielding vigor. Hair flying about like the palest of spun golds turning tainted rain into shimmering diamonds as he twirled underneath the cataclysm in gracile danse macabre.
Tall and strong he is, like the elder trees that thrived in his realm, elegant and sturdy as storm and war threatened his alabaster form and the embers crackled beneath his feet. The makings of his glorious elvish long sword glinting the same glacial fire that burned within his orbs of the desire to finish this battle and the cleansing of the scum that desecrated his land.
Theringlessking.Her purpose.
The one who - by the Valar’s most twisted hand - was betrayed by his knowledge of his surrounding.
A stumbling boulder of ragged clothes and filth came at him, deadly and maladroit- an orc chieftain bearing the white mark of Saruman- sword coated of the blackest tar and ready to strike.
It does not take Ithilwen two beats to realize that the cursed blade is poisoned-
And it is about to make its mark across her unknowing king’s back.
It started as a slow burn. Like molten gold coursing through her veins and steadying her limbs, granting her with newfound vigor before consuming her entirely in a frenzied blaze.
Rage.
“For the king!” Her voice echoes above nature and metal, body lurching forward in its own accord, wielding her swords and - armed with the impetuousness of her youth- ready to take the blow should need be.
It was in unison with the Elvenking’s final strike to his current opponent and that of which was hers to his possible assailant as she moved to place herself in between him and the charging orc.
That ethereal gaze turned towards her and she caught it only for a brief moment, however so, she savored the recognition in them for it had not been so lightly earned. She had gone unto the fray and back, sustained pierces from blades and arrows, cuts that run beyond flesh and blood, and scars that marred her heart and soul.
Just like so.
Ithilwen hissed in pain as the foul scum managed to deliver a slash across her chest before she managed to stab it right across its heart. She knew it will reap drastic consequences, but she will rather deal with it herself than allow such a fate to befall her king.
She had not overcome the king’s initial distrust of her true intentions just to fail him in a situation as dire as such.
Ithilwen knew of the Captain the Elvenking had been most generous enough to shelter for 600 years after she had lost her family and home.
Her name was Tauriel, the former Captain of the King’s Guard, the one the king had bestowed arms to - the very ones she had used to insolently point at him as she spoke so defiantly of how the king knew naught of love.
Tauriel. She who had betrayed the trust of her king and went directly against his orders.
It was this that almost lead Ithilwen up in the dungeons upon her first arrival in Mirkwood. The king need not to spare her a second glance for he already had his fill of betrayal from his years of existence.
The thought alone was enough to make her pierce deeper into the carcass of her foe. To have been given such kindness out of charity was something she had been short of for the entirety of her life because of the body and the life she had been born into.
As a Dunedain who bore neither the dark locks nor the grey eyes of wisdom bestowed upon her kin, she was estranged. A descendant of Numenor, lost in the line for she was not born to be king and does not amount to anything more but a mere orphan.
An orphan who knew not of her parents or her lineage till she presumed she had reached the age of 20 albeit looking no less then a child of ten years.
An orphan who knew not of her purpose, one who so seeks it from the world above all else as how kings would seek gold or glory.
“A purpose, you say?” the Elvenking’s deep and mellifluous voice echoes from the past, slow and with a lilt of consideration.
The girl announced herself as a Dunedain, a lost descendant of Numenor, not as young as he perceived her to be, however so, he finds himself with doubt for she does not possess the physical traits of her presumed lineage.
Instead of dark hair, hers is of burning flames, and her eyes not the usual grey of profound wisdom but of blues and greens of turbulent emotions and youthful curiosity and passion.
“Yes, your highness.” she looks up at him, lost yet unafraid, with honor and not pride, and it was these that had coaxed upon him a nod of the head.
“Very well then,” her face lit up yet he felt it necessary that he quell high hopes especially from a stranger he is yet to trust, “If you are to prove yourself of worth both value and trust, then you may find your purpose.” the Elvenking announced with utmost regality, his head held high.
His entirety and the words he spoke promised no worldly recognition in exchange for her services and yet a smile that is bright and honest greeted his icy stare.
A smile that was thankful if only for having been given a place to stay for as long as she proved herself of use.
“I swear my allegiance to the Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm. Be it to him that I surrender my very existence to, for his glory I shall fight with my swords, for his life I shall lay down my own, and on his kingdom may my heart be laid to rest.”
The first sword she took for him marked the beginning of her oath, of a thousand more unto her very being should it mean she be able to remain by his side.
This was like any other she had taken, bourne out of duty and of a passion her soul would never dare speak of.
-and yet the hand that laid on her shoulder noted its significance.
[ to be continued on the next chapter]
__________
A/N : I must share with you, dear readers, of a counter that exists to tell the time for yet another story- 20 post likes and shares, a coveted comment and you may continue to dream serenaded by this song and these humble minstrel’s words.
May your dreams be of dandelions
Until our paths cross once more and I may give you daisies-
rewatched TDoS and decided to finish up one of my wips from ages ago. hope you guys enjoy!
Moonlight spills upon Dale, spills upon its people and its treasured guests as they engage in dance all around you. Music fills the air – the music of lute and harp and voices, raised in song and carried in laughter. It is a sight fit to steal one’s breath away, human, elf, and dwarf alike joined in merriment and celebration, for the days are alight with hope and the future gleams bright.
You are a guest here, for you have not called any human city your home in quite some time. You no longer belong within stone walls or among the winding streets of Men, but within the depths of a great forest alongside the elves of the Woodland Realm. Though you are not one of them, they have welcomed you into their midst and call you friend, kin.
Love.
As if guided by your thoughts, your eyes drift through the crowd, seeking out your heart as a wanderer seeks the brightest star in the night sky.
Only to find that his eyes are already upon you; moon-bright, they peer at you over the rim of his glass, piercing through you as keenly as any blade.
Stifled laughter echoed in the hallway followed by sounds of feet tapping against the ground in hushed movements as Thranduil occasionally paused his strides to pull you into an affectionate kiss before resuming his quick walk with you flush against his side as he guided you.
It was late evening, the kingdom was hushed and sleeping with only the occasional guard posted on night watch, yet Thranduil and you carefully dodged them, taking secret hallways and unused service stairs to get past them.
Being the daughter of a king’s advisor, it was taboo to be with the prince, and yet here you were now. Escaping to a long-forgotten garden overran with vines and weeds.
Old statues of elvish deities decorated the garden, dirt covering their cheeks and vines crawling up their legs. Despite it being so poorly maintained, it was still like something out of a storybook as Thranduil guided you two into the old gardening shed. It was remodeled by him through the use of Elvish magic that he was learning, the art of mirage. The outside was seemingly destroyed and looked like it was going to cave in, but the inside was a true masterpiece.
As you two lay beneath the skylight, droplets of moonlight pouring on your cheeks, your heart felt truly at peace. After all, it was just the two of you in your secret garden- your hideaway from life to rejuvenate your souls.
Thranduil pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, bringing a smile to your lips as you looked at him. And in that moment, as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, his hair serving as a curtain to hide the two of you from the world- This was truly all you needed to feel whole.
*Everyone making plans for my surprise birthday party*
Me, opening the front door: i’m home!
Stephen: Quick, start a normal conversation !
Everyone:…….
Loki, to Bucky : and then I let Thanos snap my neck-
Thor:*cries*
Clint: *climbs into the vents*
Sam: *starts watering the pavement*
Tony: J.A.R.V.I.S play a song -
Jarvis: *plays country road *
Peter,Scott and Morgan: *screaming* COUNTRY ROAAAADDDD TAKE ME HOOOOMMEEEE-
Mobius: I’m taking the fish for a walk *runs away*
Me: we don’t have a fish….. WAIT FISH DON’T-
Natasha, Steve, Bruce and Wanda: *sigh*
*at Middle Earth*
Me: ugh I hate birthdays! why is it even made such a big deal. I didn’t even expect to live past 15 i sm just going to go sleep all day. why do you want to celebrate getting closer to death-
Legolas and Haldir: we picked you your favorite flower
Elrond and Lindir: we brought you your favorite books from Rivendell
Bilbo: i brought you cake and your favorite food on behalf of the hobbits
Thorin: i had my people craft you a necklace as a token of my appreciation…
Thranduil *kicking Thorin out of his way*: my love! it is time for your birthday hugs and kisses-
Bard: do you not give her that everyd-
Thranduil: THIS IS DIFFERENT! WE SHALL BE SPENDING THE ENTIRE DAY TOGETHER AND I SHALL BE SPOILING YOU THE WHOLE DAY AS YOUR HUSBAND!
Legolas: ADA DO NOT STEAL HER! I HAVE PLANS TOO!
Thorin: I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE KICKED
*que chaos and hands being thrown*
Me*Thranduil engulfing me completely in his embrace as I stand in stunned silence*:….. it’s my birthday for a whole month on Earth-
*at 221 B*
Me:………
John:……….
Mycroft:……….
Moriarty:………..
Sherlock:………
Me:……… what is this James?
Moriarty *excited*: it’s your gift!
John: it’s a severed hand……
Mycroft: of the person who looked at Sherlock’s girlfriend the wrong way…..
Moriarty: anything for my favorite nemesis’ girlfriend!
Me: you didn’t have to do this, i would have….. appreciated a watch or someth-
Sherlock: i personally love the sentiment you are the best enemy ever
John *flipping the table*: SHERLOCK IT’S A SEVERED HAND-
Avengers:
Me in middle earth on the idea of celebrating birthdays:
*When I still lived at Rivendell and “absolutely despised” the caterpillar browed bitch *
Me, standing in front of Thranduil holding a dagger : does this make me look threatening? are you threatened?
Thranduil,raising an eyebrow : absolutely not
Me,cornering him against the wall, menacing: what do you feel now?
Thranduil, breathing heavily : very aroused
*After getting married to the carterpillar browed beautiful man*
Me, backing up my husband into a wall : How are we feeling right now ?
Thranduil, kissing my forehead softly: Abosulutely in love. I would not even feel bad if you stab me because you probably did it for a reason and that is okay I will always love you.
Me, on the verge of crying: Goddammit I’m gonna- I’m gonna punch you with my lips
Legolas, across the corridor with a camera I brought him from my world and a tad bit watery eyed : Disgusting. I AM TAKING A PICTURE
Most LOTR characters appearing in the story for the first time: “I am here to fight evil. For honor, for freedom, and for the good of all creatures.”
Tom Bombadil appearing in the story for the first time: “YO HOBBIT BOYS GET OUTTA THAT DAMN TREE IM GONNA TEACH YE SOME SONGS AND THEN YOULL MEET MY HOT WIFE AND-“
A/n: Ok I am almost sure this is how the mansion will look like because why not. And also if this sucks then I’m so sorry.
Being Thranduil’s daughter means you get special treatment.
Wether you’re older than Legolas or younger.
You would be spoiled rotten. (obvi)
You like reading?
You got a library.
Drawing? Painting?
Your father will get you the best supplies.
Do you like archery like your brother?
He is now your partner in training.
You would go to a prestigious boarding school.
Most likely to be friends with Elrond’s children along with Gimli and Aragorn.
I feel like your father daughter relationship is a very close bond, especially after he lost his wife (your mom) when you were at a such a young age.
He loves you and Legolas so much.
He gets protective tho.
He also taught Legolas that if any being tries to harm you in any way, he has the authority to eliminate, finish, take out, execute, terminate, which ever form you prefer, that person, but then again it depends.
It nearly happened once when a boy was holding your hand in a park when you were six.
Somehow he has the audacity to kiss your cheek.
In front of Thranduil.
Rest in peace to that random boy.
Thranduil glares, and if looks could kill that poor boy would have been dead over thousands of times.
So you get the idea.
Y/n’s future boyfriend/ girlfriend beware of the dad. And the big brother.
Overall, the three of you are the sweetest, family even if there is a missing piece.
- Fluff with no additional warnings ⚡️ - Angst, possible triggers - Humor, not to be taken all too seriously - NSFW content (as soon as there’s more than a kiss, I’m using this) - Gender neutral fic ❤️ - Personal favourite
Fandom: The Hobbit, The Silmarillion Relationships: Thranduil x Wife Rating:T Author’s notes: This is my take on one of the decisive moments in Thranduil’s life and I interpreted the canon quite loosely here, with a bit of the inspiration from The Hobbit movies. Please bear with me
Warnings: Canon character death. Oh, and there is angst. You have been warned.
Summary: Medieval AU - Forced to marry Thranduil, you have to learn to tolerate each other
Warnings: Forced marriage Tarot prompt will appear in bold
My father was calling for me first thing in the morning, which likely wasn’t a good omen.
“He’s here!” he says in an excited whisper once I come to my bedchamber door.
“Who is here?”
“Your future husband, the King of Mirkwood.”
My stomach dropped through the floor. I had thought my family would’ve stopped persisting with their arrangements for marriage when I very clearly took the stablehand into my room in a show of defiance. I didn’t want some pampered royal to wed, I didn’t even want to be married at all, least of all to the King of Mirkwood.
The little I knew of him was from maids who’d fled his service to come to my family’s estate. They described him as cold, callous at times with no interest in any kind of romance beyond the need for release. He simply had no time to properly woo a queen, nor did I think he had the inclination.
“Then he shall be sorely disappointed when he has to return. I will not be marrying him.”
Summary: Thranduil reminisces over the time you had together
Warnings: Angst, grief
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work anywhere*
The decades and the centuries have gone by and still I cannot bear my memories of you.
Time has healed nothing, soothed nothing and the wounds carved by grief bleed their tears of loss even now. I remain hollow, toughening the exterior to hide the void beneath because a king must lead, a king must serve and a king must never show weakness.
A single statue showcases to Mirkwood your face but the stone is lifeless, the eyes blank and the pose stoic. That was not you. That was never you. The Queen of Mirkwood was famed for her spirit, her fire and her passion. I almost tore it down but it is the only thing that remains to remind me of your features.
The years erode my recollections of your appearance like those waking moments after a dream. Our son bears more of myself in his face than you so that is denied to me also but he carries your smile, not that I have given him cause to smile for some time.
Summary: Thranduil reminisces over the time you had together
Warnings: Angst, grief
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work anywhere*
The decades and the centuries have gone by and still I cannot bear my memories of you.
Time has healed nothing, soothed nothing and the wounds carved by grief bleed their tears of loss even now. I remain hollow, toughening the exterior to hide the void beneath because a king must lead, a king must serve and a king must never show weakness.
A single statue showcases to Mirkwood your face but the stone is lifeless, the eyes blank and the pose stoic. That was not you. That was never you. The Queen of Mirkwood was famed for her spirit, her fire and her passion. I almost tore it down but it is the only thing that remains to remind me of your features.
The years erode my recollections of your appearance like those waking moments after a dream. Our son bears more of myself in his face than you so that is denied to me also but he carries your smile, not that I have given him cause to smile for some time.
Summary: Thranduil reminisces over the time you had together
Warnings: Angst, grief
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work anywhere*
The decades and the centuries have gone by and still I cannot bear my memories of you.
Time has healed nothing, soothed nothing and the wounds carved by grief bleed their tears of loss even now. I remain hollow, toughening the exterior to hide the void beneath because a king must lead, a king must serve and a king must never show weakness.
A single statue showcases to Mirkwood your face but the stone is lifeless, the eyes blank and the pose stoic. That was not you. That was never you. The Queen of Mirkwood was famed for her spirit, her fire and her passion. I almost tore it down but it is the only thing that remains to remind me of your features.
The years erode my recollections of your appearance like those waking moments after a dream. Our son bears more of myself in his face than you so that is denied to me also but he carries your smile, not that I have given him cause to smile for some time.
I treat him as my father treated me, too cautious, too protective but he is all I have left. The single member of my family, my sole legacy. The greatest gift you ever gave me.
I remember the day I met you very fondly. I had already rejected many elven maidens that my father had presented to me. I was too sheltered, too used to be alone, too comfortable in my own company. I was arrogant.
I needed no one by my side so no person could ever meet my standards.
It was an ambassadorial visit when I discovered that someone could achieve the impossible. My father and I were in Rivendell, meeting with Elrond but my attention wandered and instead I found myself drawn to an argument nearby.
That was the first time I saw you and I never told you I fell for you instantly in that moment.
You were nobility, that was obvious from the way you carried yourself but from a smaller kingdom. The shade of your skin was unusual this far north and not many of our kin remain in the turbulent south.
I leaned behind an archway to listen to your ire, withering a White Council member with words as sharp as blades. I gave myself away when I laughed at the poor councilman’s ineptitude in the face of your fury. At first you mistook it for mockery but I gave you cutting words of my own that we parried between us until I believed you held some interest for me also.
Our courting was not proper, not traditional. In a single day and night you gave me your favour by the great waterfalls and honoured me with a kiss. You did not even care I was disfigured by dragon fire, caressing the scars so reverently I felt truly loved for the first time in my life.
I had never felt such strong emotion, as though my chest might burst and so, I asked for permission to marry you, you who had stirred this unmoveable heart to song.
My father was against it at first but, when he saw the depth of my affections, how I pined at being apart from you, he relented. Under the weight of the adoring letters we sent to one another, he could not refute we were a good match.
So I married you and made you the Princess of Mirkwood.
It took time for my people to warm to you, the Woodland Realms were mistrustful by nature but your unerring kindness, devotion to your role and witty tongue won their affections. Children would give you woven bracelets they had made, flowers they had picked and you wore them all as much as you could. When each would fade or collapse, you would mourn each gift and just when I did not think I could love you more, my heart would grow.
The kingdom no longer had an arrogant prince, an overly practical politician, now they had a gentle ruler who would make time for their worries and the festivities in our lands.
When my father passed, you held me for nights on end, allowing me my grief and giving me comfort also. As the king, I had duties that needed my attention but the sorrow I felt kept me from them.
My dearest one, my forever heart, you shouted at my council when they demanded I listen to tedious matters. You defended me, bought me more time to accept my new position and took care of the middling tasks in my absence.
I had always known you’d be the perfect queen.
We ruled for many years, the envy of the elven kin with our love that burned as bright as the sun. So many happy years that only became happier once you told me you were carrying my child. I cried such tears of joy that members of our own council wept with me.
From that moment on, I never left your side. My father’s paranoia had seeped into me, infected me and I was desperate to make sure our child would be unharmed, that you would be unharmed now you were vulnerable.
That is the biggest argument I can remember I had with you.
“You are overbearing and suffocating! Give me peace, husband!” You hissed at me, throwing cushions in my direction. “I am with child, not infirmed! Get out of our chambers and do not come back this night!”
The indignity of a king having to sleep on his throne but I would not have changed a single thing about it. Your comfort always came before my own.
It was on that night that the dark creatures of Middle Earth showed their true intentions, sneaking into our realm, ready to strike at me as I slept. It is only good fortune that our son was restless and thus, you were restless also, wandering the halls in the early morning to soothe him within you.
You saved my life, fought even though you were less gainly in your state. You did not even have a weapon. Such skills I have never seen and will never see again.
It was me who needed comforting, shaken by the blatant attempt at assassination, terrified I could have lost you and our son. I was desperate for closeness as the sun rose and I would not stop touching you, caressing you, being inside you like I needed to remap your body to prove to myself you were unharmed.
“Thranduil, if you do not stop, you are going to make me expire,” the words twisted from your lips into delicate moans.
“I will never stop, hiril vuin,” I remember telling you. “Every day we are alive I will never stop.”
That morning was the first time I let you braid my hair. I had never seen the need to do the elaborate hairstyles of my kin, the extensive upkeep of it. The second you wielded that comb against me I was yours utterly.
You had found a weakness I did not know I had.
From then on, you would comb my hair whenever I was in a foul temper, when I was ired beyond belief but those gifted hands drew the rage from me. In return, you were able to style me whichever way you pleased.
You started new fashions in our kingdom based on the whims of your hands in my hair.
Now it remains untouched, unbraided, unwoven. I cannot even bear the thought of myself trying to replicate your artistry and I would give all of Middle Earth to feel your fingers brush against my ears just once more.
The birth of our son was difficult but you bore that burden with grace. Our perfect little prince. Our little “Green Leaf” as you named him, a reminder of the unusual pairing between us in the language of his name.
Legolas.
I was a fretful father and I am a fretful father still. The more dangers I heard about from the South, the more I trapped my people in the woods, the more I guarded my family.
You had less troubles on your mind, would provide Legolas with the revelry he desperately needed as a child while I prepared for the worst should Dol Goldur strike unexpectedly. It is no wonder he took to you more but I was never resentful of that.
Strains on our marriage came when he reached the age of training. I was insistent he learn the sword and only the sword. You were insistent he add archery to his skills.
I wanted him to be a master of one weapon rather than spreading his focus but you went against my wishes, on your own path as you’ve always done and taught him the bow in secret.
I caught you once, though I never made a sound as I watched you help our son hit his very first target and I watched the confidence in him grow until he rarely missed. I was proud, incredibly proud of you both and I am sure you wondered why I was more affectionate that evening, why I was more attentive with Legolas.
It brought us together, your act of rebellion.
He still has the bow you made for him. Far from being a master of a sword, he became a master archer and I should imagine you would’ve laughed at that turn of events.
My family flourished, even with the constant threat of battle and our trade with Erebor and Dale only increased. I gave the dwarven king Thror the White Gems of Lasgalen to make into a necklace for you, a token to show my love and gratitude for your steadfastness for the people of Mirkwood.
You did not even suspect, even when I had the line of Durin in my meeting halls. Now those gems lie under the belly of a great fire drake, hoarded and forgotten.
I can never retrieve them.
The attacks increased and came from the North also. Unbeknownst to myself, you had been leaving the kingdom with your troupe of loyal warriors and purging the threat from our borders. Each time you would range a little further, drive the enemy back.
You didn’t even receive a scratch as you did this and so, I was none the wiser until the day you never returned home.
I have replayed that moment a thousand times and I will play it a thousand times more in my long and cursed lifetime. It was my failure that led you to Gundabad and the failure was small with fatal consequences.
We had argued that morning about arranging a match for Legolas. You were adamant he find someone naturally, as we did. I wanted to secure more alliances for us because I could see we were being surrounded.
“His life is not something you can barter for armies!” you lost your temper, pushing me into the wall of our chambers. “I will not force him into a loveless marriage. Why should you escape that fate only to bestow it onto your son?”
“Because our love is a once in an age affair!”
“You are above such petty arrogance! Ours is not unique! Our son can have that if you will just let him!”
“I do not wish to speak any further on it,” I closed the conversation down. “I am only trying to save this kingdom and our family.”
“You will destroy them both if you continue to grasp too tightly.”
It was a spark, a moment of clarity that has since eluded me. I was too protective of everything in my life and I knew it. I resolved to work on my faults the next day.
“Now kiss me, Thranduil. I do not like to start a morning on bad terms. You know this,” you demanded.
I am glad you did. I am glad the last moment I had with you was a kiss goodbye or I would’ve ended my long life out of shame.
I had believed you were speaking with Thror about materials for their forge in Erebor that day but it was not until one of your warriors came limping in my halls bloodied and nearly dead that I found out what happened to you.
In your anger you had taken them to Gundabad, intent on rooting out the orc leaders, intent on providing us safety from the North so our land and son would stand a chance of leaving this wooded prison we keep ourselves in. I was the reason you were killed, I was the reason our son is motherless. I stoked your pride and fierceness so much that you thought this was the only option.
You saved as many of your forces as you could, a true Elvenqueen but fell to the Pale Orc to give them the chance to flee. For many days after that I tried to retrieve your body but was beaten back every time. I chose to accept defeat and I chose to strengthen the borders, trapping us once more behind forest walls.
My beloved, my hiril vuin I was a shell of myself. Our kingdom suffered and Legolas suffered. I was selfish in my grief and could not share my emotions with him, support him. I grew distant, even though I could see he was desperate for affection, approval.
I remained in a widower’s shroud for years, decades, centuries slowly forgetting the bad memories, gilding the ones precious to me. I barely remember your flaws.
Though you may not approve, I have never loved another since, never even entertained the idea. My heart only bloomed for you and now the petals lay withered, curled and blackening. They are destroyed beyond repair.
I see our son becoming close to another, an elf of no nobility. I can hear you saying to me that he deserves love, the chance to choose but our kingdom is under further siege and could face ruin when Thorin Oakenshield wakes the great dragon Smaug. There is no time to afford him the luxury of romance.
I fall further and further into isolation and there is no way out but to hope Thorin is successful, that he takes back the Mountain and rebuilds Dale. Perhaps then I can seek to rebuild myself, to be the king you believed I was, the elf you believed I was.
I am not a callous creature, a cold one. I have warmth, I have kindness and one day I might find that again, just like I found it when I met you all those years ago.
For now, I will write you this letter, as I do every decade to remember you, to remember our story. I never want to forget, I never want to lose the memory of you.
In ten years, I will write another, I will tell you what became of Erebor, I will tell you what became of Legolas and Tauriel and I will tell you I miss you. With every breath I miss you still and that will never change, not even until my last gasp.
My dearest heart, my beloved, the only elf I will ever love.
