Lord Of The Rings X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Lord Of The Rings With a Platonic, Child Reader From Our World

Characters included : Frodo Baggins, Legolas, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin ' Pippin ' Took and Meriadoc ' Merry ' Brandybuck

Note(s) : They don't have the time to turn around, so you sort of get roped into joining them, at least until they find a place for you to stay.

Also, in this the reader knows about the Jackson movies but never really paid attention to them, and they haven't read the books.

Frodo Baggins

Ah, yes, Frodo. Resident ring bearer and anxiety magnet. He was quick to defend you if any suspicion arouse of your random arrival, you're a human and can't even reach his height, the Hobbit that can't reach an elves or humans chest, so, you must be incredibly young. Because of this, Frodo can't help but want to help you, especially on the quest.

He's very sweet and caring with you and makes sure you get enough rest. Frodo can't exactly carry you, so if you get too tired to walk the most he can do is hold your hand and guide you along. Despite that, he helps in other ways.

Like how he's always giving you extra food and maybe even a spare coat or blanket that's laying around, he makes sure you get enough sleep even if it means he gets less. Given he's the most important part of this mission to destroy the ring, he's usually a bit babied and overprotected, not so much that's it's immediately noticeable, but it's there.

So, he understands how annoyed you can get when it happens with you, though he definetly thinks your situations are different considering he's technically an adult and you aren't even close to being one.

Frodo isn't too sure how to help you when it comes to you being afraid, or angry, or even just in a state of depression about your situation. He doesn't exactly realise how strange and overwhelming it must be for you, until or if you begin to start wearing down mentally. His solution is to try and read you stories, no, he didn't exactly bring any books with him, but he has certain books memorised.

It may help, it may not, but the thought is what counts, and he is trying to help you the best he can with the unfortunate situation he's in.

If you ever claim to know him or the fellowships story, maybe Bilbo's, or even accidently letting in on events to follow, he's stunned. At first given the fact you claimed to be from a land nobody, not even Gandalf, has heard of, the strange reactions you had to their foods and way of life, among many, many other things, he became convinced you weren't human. That, or you were from a different time, the future specifically, he'd never fully believe it or bring it up, but it's always a sneaking suspicion you aren't what you claim.

When it comes time to leave you at a safe village, you're clearly unhappy, wanting nothing more than to stay with the Hobbit who helped you through your toughest hours. Yet, he understands you mustn't come with him, it's far too dangerous for you. And so, he leaves, leaving you heartbroken.

When he eventually returns, the ring destroyed, Middle Earth saved, he can't help but feel empty. His time spent with you becomes short lived, a few months at most, before he decides to move on, leaving you alone again, I suppose it makes leaving Middle Earth to return home easier, but all the more bitter.

Legolas

Legolas understood how weak humans are compared to his kind, and to see a human child so alone made his heart break. He couldn't help but become your protector, especially when you seemingly had no idea how to function in this world. Sometimes, if you're too tired and the rest of the group isn't, he'll pick you up, it can make you feel a little weak, but he assures you it's just because you're young. He'd treat any other child the same.

I think he may be one of the few to actually understand in part what you mean when you say you aren't 'from here'. He won't clock in immediately, but after seeing just how different you viewed life and just everything in general, how you can't do the most basic of tasks without some help, or how you looked at him with such familiarity, there's just a lot he notices that makes him raise a brow.

If you tell him, Legolas may believe your making it up, you're a kid after all, one that's going through a lot. But, after realising you're dead serious he wracks his brain trying to remember if anybody has ever mentioned something like this happening. He wants to try and help you go home, and plans to bring you home with him so he can find a solution somewhere. And if he can't find one? He wants to help you find peace in your predicament as long as you stay there.

When it comes time to leave you at a safe haven, he is sad to leave you behind, you're a little friend, after all. But, he understands it must be done, and explains to you exactly that, which makes the ending a bit more sweet than bitter.

Eventually, he does return, and meets with you once more, he understands that in a blink of his lifetime you'll be dead, but, that doesn't stop him from being your closest ally during all of this. However, you do need to return to Earth. He finds himself mourning you far sooner than he expected.

Samwise Gamgee

Sam becomes a literal dad, you're a random human kid in this traumatic journey to destroy one of the most dangerous items in the entirety of middle Earth, and you claim to have no idea where you are. He's giving you extra food, holding your hand and picking you up, if you get too cold or scared in the night he'll try hugging you for a while and telling you stories of misadventures in the Shire. As plain as they may seem compared to a journey to destroy the most dangerous object in the entirety of Middle Earth.

If you're sad, the most he can do is offer comfort in the way of cuddling, or a story, sometimes he even has to ask Gandalf for help because he's just so lost. Anger is something he can deal with a little better, he holds your hand and tells you why you should be angry, but you shouldn't keep it bottled or use it unfairly against others.

I think at first Sam would just believe you come from a strange human place, and that's why your behaviour is so off. That's until he notices some things, when asked about things he'd consider basic knowledge, you are completely blank, sure, maybe you know what an elf is, but after that you sort of just stare at him confused at what he's talking about. You even believed him to be a dwarf at first!

He asks Boromir and Aragorn if they know any human places that you're talking about, neither know, so he's even more perplexed at what on middle earth you're talking about. He begins to believe you're making it up, he's not condescending like most adults, and he pretends that he understands if to give you some peace of mind, but all it does is make you more frustrated and scared. You just want to go home.

Your short time as friends comes to an end, he must leave further on in the journey, and you must stay behind, you both understand, well, he does and you partly do, all you can do is wait for the ring to be destroyed.

Sam returns, and he takes you back to the Shire with him, where he introduces you to everybody, you're almost like a child to him, but then you leave to go back to Earth. He can't stop his heart from breaking, even more so when Frodo leaves.

Meriadoc 'Merry' Brandybuck and Peregrin 'Pippin' Took

The fact you're incredibly young, found yourself in a traumatic and confusing situation, let's not even mention the fact there's little people with gigantic hariy feet and no shoes, you'll probably try and cope. Whether that's with humor or shutting down, Pippin and Merry are a package deal, no matter if you like them or not, a young and confused presence egnites their curiosity.

Besides, Gandalf specifically told them to not be overbearing and or overwhelm you, so what does Pippin, master of disappointing and angering the grey wizard do? That's right, he becomes overwhelming. And Merry, master of attempting to one up his dear friend, does the exact same.

How they do this depends on your mood, if you're depressed and very shy they'll try cheering you up, asking questions about your home, if that makes it worse? They begin acting even more childish than usual to make you laugh, to the literal pain and torture of Gandalf. But if you're trying to cope with humour, they are more so just tagging along, making jokes that distract you from your pain.

Neither will clock in that you're from an unfamiliar world, sure, you're weird, but so are they. Both assume your strange actions are simply just a result of you being a human, do Boromir or Aragorn act the same? No, but you're a human kid so, that probably factors in somehow.

Both laugh you off if you try to explain the truth, they don't believe you, and reduce it to a good story that they can give to Frodo to write about. You may get angry, sad, or just decide to go with it, neither really notice that you're not lying until someone else points out how dumb that idea is.

When it finally comes time to drop you off, you want to stay with the two, because while they're in part strangers and this is a strange land, they're at least familiar, unlike the place they're basically abandoning you at. Pippin and Merry feel the same, and so sneak you with them.

The situation may become dire, and you probably get incredibly unhealthy and sickly in your time with them, but when it's all over, you feel like you've gained two older brothers. Which will make it so much more painful when you have to say goodbye.

hardest of hearts - prologue

hardest of hearts masterlist

a/n: i suck at writing but i hope whomever is reading this that you enjoy it just as much as i do and feel free for critiques i need all i can get (in a nice way please).

chapter warning(s): death and explicit details of death as well

prologue: all good things must come to an end

song: and the sky turned red

Once upon a time in Middle Earth before the Battle of Dagorlad there was a group of elves known in later years to be that of just a myth, who had resided in the Grey Mountains. They were delicate creatures compared to that of their other elven kin, their eyes slightly larger than normal and it was said that they had the most beautiful voices in all of Middle Earth. Upon their group there were the warlike and peaceful, the warlike were known to be warriors who showed no mercy in combat and believed that others should have known better than to create an enemy of a superior foe such as themselves.

They lived by a complex code of honor and spent their lives defending their race as well as other races of elves. The peaceful were known to consist of scholars, philosophers, and artists who relied on their brains and diplomatic abilities including their magic power. They spent their lives studying the world, its history and creating works of art simply for the joy of creation. Despite their contrasting personalities, the two subcultures interacted surprisingly well.

Though as the saying goes all good things must come to an end, and soon it did just that. As Sauron got stronger, chaos within Middle Earth grew feral causing all to be on edge and constantly looking over their shoulder especially the elves in the Grey Mountains. Not much would attack them without them knowing, but one particularly cold night in the middle of the winter tragedy would strike..

It had been a daunting day as the temperature kept dropping causing the elves' bodies to work even harder during training, pushing themselves to the point of severe exhaustion. Many elves were sent back to their bed chambers earlier that day from either broken bones or hyperthermia. Soon the sun set and the stars came out of hiding winking in warning as if they knew what troubles lay ahead. As the hours passed mostly all were asleep in the comforts of their beds except for the few elves who were stationed guard outside the royal families living quarters and around the kingdom itself.

Unknowing to those in the mountain something wicked moved their way, sailing through the sky with ease, jealousy and bloodlust coating their tongues. And before they knew it the elves were ripped out of their dreams by the sound of a mighty roar and unnatural heat surrounding them. It was mayhem as smoke and flames surrounded the mountain, warriors jumping out of bed going to the source of destruction while some of the peaceful gathered the children and the others were fighting alongside the warriors with whatever magic they could conjure.

Nobody knows what truly transpired that frightful bloodshed night, only of the aftermath that was caused as the next day a select number of elves from Rivendell and Mirkwood traveled to the Grey Mountains to see if the rumors were true. Upon arrival the elves couldn’t believe what they were looking at, it was dead silent as bodies of their distant kin were scattered around.

Navigating through the heavy smoke that still lingered in the air, more and more bodies appeared. Some of children others of warriors with their eyes wide open in terror and the peaceful who had nothing of themselves left but their bones. And in the center of it all was a dragon the color of charcoal who seemed to be in the form of a statue, its mouth and eyes open wide as if to give one more lethal breath of fire to the kingdom that was submerged in ruins. All around lay death and it was just like that that the group of elves who were once known to be the superior of the elven races seemed now to be of nothing.

Thousands of years of history had become extinct overnight, turning one of the most ancient elven races into myth. To those in Middle Earth the Avariel elves, who carried angelic feathered wings on their back, were of nothing but falsehood the stories of their kin now told to younglings before bed. Though, it is said that if one looks to the north toward the Grey Mountains on the coldest night of the year they can still see the smoke, still hear the dragons roar along with the war cries of the Avariel, and still smell that of burnt feathers lingering in the air.

chapter one

hardest of hearts - masterlist

(the hobbit fanfiction)

summary: this is a story about an ancient group of elves who where known to be extinct, turning from legend to myth. until one day Gandalf finds a survivor and asks her to join an unexpected journey with a bunch of dwarfs and a lone hobbit. will this journey risk not just her life but her sanity or will she find her truth and finally confront her demons? after all she hasn’t been seen since the Second Age.

warning(s): will contain mature content and death, you have been warned and this is sorta slow burn

prologue

chapter one

i don’t own the hobbit or lord of the rings or avariels but i do own my own characters and their story lines of sorts. also all the information on the avariels i did get from the internet.

tags: @emrfangirl @nikkitc0703 @sugarandspicebutnonice

hardest of hearts - masterlist

(the hobbit fanfiction)

summary: this is a story about an ancient group of elves who where known to be extinct, turning from legend to myth. until one day Gandalf finds a survivor and asks her to join an unexpected journey with a bunch of dwarfs and a lone hobbit. will this journey risk not just her life but her sanity or will she find her truth and finally confront her demons? after all she hasn’t been seen since the Second Age.

warning(s): will contain mature content and death, you have been warned and this is sorta slow burn

prologue

chapter one

i don’t own the hobbit or lord of the rings or avariels but i do own my own characters and their story lines of sorts. also all the information on the avariels i did get from the internet.

tags: @emrfangirl @nikkitc0703 @sugarandspicebutnonice

hardest of hearts - chapter one

hardest of hearts masterlist

prologue

a/n: first all i would just like to say thank you to all who have liked, comment, reblogged, and read my story so far! and second of all, in this chapter you still won’t know that of the woman’s name (for reasons) which will sort of be addressed in the next chapter. okay, well please sit back relax and enjoy!

chapter warning(s): nothing much only that of sadness

chapter one: deep in the old forest

song: experience

Deep in the Old Forest bordering that of The Shire does live a woman who hides in the shadows, concealed by the darkness and tanglement of trees. She was never to step foot out of her small cottage in fear of the monsters that lay awake, listening to her every move. So when a knock sounded at her door late in the afternoon, her heart rate started to quicken as she had thought that of the worst. Not knowing what to do, she pulled her cloak tighter around her body with the hood covering the majority of her face as she made her way to the sound. Her hands shaking as she ever so slightly cracked open her front door.

Looking through the small crevice that separated her from the outside world, she didn’t see much, only that of the color grey. “Who’s there?” the woman’s voice that of a whisper.

“It has been a while since I have seen you last, but surely I am not that easy to forget. Am I?” the voice on the other side of the door responded with a slight chuckle.

Before she could stop herself her body acted on its own accord, pulling the door wide open. Casting her eyes on the man in front of her, she let out a shaky breath believing that this was just another trick of her mind. Hesitantly she raised her hand toward the man's face afraid that if she made any sudden movements he would disappear out of thin air. With the touch of an angel she laid her hand on his cheek, feeling his life running under his skin through her palm. “Gandalf, is that...is that really you?”

With a smile tugging at his mouth and unshed tears glistening in his eyes Gandalf responded, “It is I Mellon Nin.” In that moment no more words were of need to be spoken, the silence hanging between them said enough.

With a shake of her head followed by a dainty laugh she snapped out of the moment as she dropped her hand from the man's face, “How rude of me, please do come in.” Ushering him inside her home she quickly glanced around the forest making sure that somebody or something didn’t follow his trail. Locking the door behind her, she turned around dropping her hood letting Gandalf see that of a face he hadn’t seen since the Second Age. To him she had grown even more mesmerising than he remembered her to be.

Her eyes being larger and more expressive than the other features on her face, her irises shifting from a cloud grey to a sky blue as light bends around her. Her hair could be compared to the peaks of her once home in the Grey Mountains a white silver in tone, long like her former kin he presumed but couldn’t tell as for it was styled into an updo fashion. Her cheekbones sat high on her heart shaped face complementing the air of haughtiness that clung to her.

She bore the manner of grace and poise compared to thousands of years ago when instead she bore that of restlessness and ignorance. Ended were the years of childhood and adolescence as now she had grown into that of a woman, whose wings he had still not seen. Her wings, which he could only imagine were under the thickness of her cloak, must be even more exquisite than they were when she was just a child.

Before he could think upon it anymore his thoughts were interrupted by the woman's gentle voice, “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“Is there a place we can sit and talk? I have been on my feet all day it seems.”

“Of course, please follow me,” Gandalf trailed after the elven woman into a small kitchen where in the corner sat a small breakfast nook which he gladly took a seat at. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Red wine would be lovely, dear.” With elegance the woman poured the wizard a glass of wine, setting it down in front of him waiting for him to state his reason for the very unexpected visit. Downing his drink in three large gulps, he smacked his lips together before letting out a long breath followed by his answer to her earlier question. “Thorin Oakenshield and his company of dwarves are going to reclaim the kingdom of Erebor in part with the treasure from Smaug and in order to do so they need a burglar and a guide. The burglar will be that of a Hobbit, now the guide on the other hand I was hoping would be you.”

Dark eyebrows furrowed, the woman didn’t know what to think. “Out of all those in the land you could have asked, you chose me. To guide them to a dragon of all living things,” the woman slightly snarled before gaining composure. “You know what those creatures have done to my kin, but yet you still ask. Why?” Disappointment couldn’t help but shine on the woman's elven features.

“I know what I ask of you is difficult, Mellon Nin. Though you are the only one that knows these lands better than myself.” Lightly grabbing her hands in his, he continued. “You are the only one I trust to steer these dwarves in the right direction for I won’t be there throughout their whole journey. All I ask is for you to guide them and nothing more, just to get them to the mountain safely.”

Taking her hands out of his soft grip, the woman walked a few steps away from where the man sat trying to get a little bit of distance from him in order for her to clear her head and think. Upset, she turned her back to him and started gripping the kitchen sink causing it to creak under her palms. “It is getting dark. I think it would be best for you to leave now,” she couldn’t help but to dismiss him as all she wanted to be was alone.

Making a small humming noise in the back of his throat, the man got up out of his seat, collected his things, and started to head for the point of both entry and exit. Just as his hand came in contact with the door handle, the woman began to speak once more. “I-I’m not certain I can do what you ask of me, but I will sleep on it. I'm sorry it seems that is all I can give to you for now.”

Smirking lightly the wizard dressed in grey opened the door, but not before parting with a few last words. “Very well then dear, if you decide that you are up for the journey myself and the company of Thorin Oakenshield will be passing through Buckland sometime in the early morning. It was wonderful seeing you again and for I hope this is not the last time either as that red wine was quite delicious.” And just like that the front door slammed shut while a lone tear slid down the elven woman's cheek.

Later in the night, the woman couldn’t help but toss and turn in her bed, more tears escaping her eyes as a memory of her former life plagued her mind like a dream..

Her father had arrived earlier in the day, back to Forlond, after being gone for more than three days straight. And now with her siblings absent she was sitting on his left hand side as dinner was served before them, a question resting on the tip of her tongue but knew not to speak of it, scared that her father would get angry. Unfortunately for her she could never hide her feelings and somehow they most always made their way onto her face.

“Anna,” not her name, instead a term of endearment her father used whenever speaking to her. “What is it that is troubling you?” she was asked without so much a glance in her direction.

Wiping her mouth with the napkin laying in her lap, she asked the question that had been bothering her for days now with caution. “Ada, why is it that you do much for others what they don't do for you?” Silence echoed around the dining room, causing the young elven girl to retreat back in on herself, she knew she should have never asked an idiotic question to begin with. “I-I don’t mean anything bad by it Ada, I was just curious is all an-.”

Before she could continue on her rambling, her attempt at extinguishing the lingering silence was interrupted by that of her fathers calm soothing voice. “No it is fine Anna, no need to try and explain yourself.” He set down his utensils, resting his forearms on the table in front of him turning his gaze to that of his daughter.

“When I was your age I asked my father, your grandfather the same question once,” her father chuckled to himself, his obsidian colored hair slightly shaking intandem. “And in turn he asked me, why not give to those what they don’t have? Just because we are different from our distant land bound kin from all others on this land and in the skies does not make us mightier than them, it does not give us superiority over them. We help those who need help.”

It felt as if his eyes were piercing through her seeing that into her soul, “Would you rather spend the rest of your days helping others in need or live the rest of your days knowing you just stood by and did nothing?”

Before her younger self could respond, she jolted awake from the memory that had taken the form of a dream. Only to curl in on herself and weep, not in sadness but instead in shame. If her father could see her now he would be disappointed, not at all happy with how she handled yesterday's company. Wiping the tears off her cheeks, untangling from bed, she stood on shaky legs knowing that if she didn’t do what was right she wouldn’t be able to live with herself at all.

Snapping out of the thoughts that clouded her mind, she grabbed a bag and began darting around her living quarters packing only that of her essentials. At last she secured her cloak around her body, pulled her hood over her face and made sure her wings were hidden from view. She took one final look around that of the place she had called home for the past couple hundred years, turned around and stepped outside of her small cottage just as the sun was beginning to rise. Silently she started her trek to Buckland, hoping and praying that this journey wouldn’t lead her into that of a lion's den.

★ ✩ ★

elven translations:

ada ➝ father

anna ➝ gift

forlond ➝ avariel kingdom

mellon nin ➝ my friend

Mirage ✷ Aragorn

Pairing: Aragorn x Rohirrim!Fem!Reader

Words: 1.8k

Description: Amidst the Battle of the Hornburg, Aragorn sees a mirage cast up by the Valar⏤for it is impossible for a lady to fight as valiantly as the one in front of him.

( SILÉAS says ... ! ) This is just a little something, take it as practicing writing LOTR fanfictions. I'm not really satisfied with it but, oh well, whatever. Basically, this is just Aragorn being a simp and thinking he's crazy.

THE SURROUNDING CHAOS made the worst vices of Creation flourish on the scarred plains, obliterating any notion of race in their filth. Men and orcs alike had left behind quiet hatred for bloodshed and horror. Suddenly, the hitherto unspoken presence of Sauron materialised in Saruman's army before the helpless but resolute gaze of the nation of Rohan.

War, a destructive invention that endured despite the thousands of souls it took across the Ages. If War—in all its terribleness—were to have a name, the Battle of Hornburg would be the embodiment of it. Before the eyes of the Innocents, Helm's Deep had become the cursed resurgence of Angband. Legend and reality had merged, and, within them, the violence endured.

The rain poured down in torrents, blinding the warriors who, as best they could, struck their swords in general confusion in the hope of killing enemies.

Faced with Orcs howling for death, the men cried out for their homeland, for the courage that dwindled as their companions fell one by one.

Saruman's army had invaded the fortress not long ago. A strange concoction had resounded and sent the impenetrable defences of the stone city tumbling. A flood of monstrosities, weapons in hand, had colonised Aragorn's vision and had not left since then. Not even the arrows of the Elves seemed to stop the haemorrhage of suffering and torture.

They had been fighting for hours and the fatigue was beginning to show in the blows and the morale of the troops. The Ranger himself could do nothing against the despair that was gradually eating away at his heart and, with it, his hopes of Dawn.

Would he one day be made king, or would he die here without knowing if Frodo had succeeded? Was the race of Men doomed?

His cloak, saturated by the torrential rain, weighed him down, but not as much as the weight on his shoulders which, with each cry of pain from the men around him, became less and less bearable.

Amid this desolate spectacle, a glimmer of light caught his eye. Not far away, facing three enraged orcs, a figure was fighting fervently. Each blow was returned with tenfold strength. Hatred and determination moved this singular being and caused the enemy's blood to flow.

A play of shadows hid their face, but the length of their hair, flattened by the rain, gave one clue as to the identity of this valiant warrior.

It was a woman.

Disturbed by this sight, Aragorn narrowly avoided his opponent's club. Propelled to the ground, he miraculously managed to avoid being crushed by the fighters around him, far too blinded by adrenalin to pay attention to their surroundings. The Orc, encouraged by his vulnerable position, raised its weapon again and brought it down on him. It crashed against Aragorn’s shin, making him grunt in pain.

Even when his sword finally pierced his opponent's skull—in a last-ditch effort to defence himself—Aragorn's gaze wandered back to the strange sight, unable to believe it—for all the women were safe in the fortress. It was impossible for any of them to be on the battlefield. Eowyn herself, despite her warrior's heart, had stayed behind.

Time, as if manipulated by Vairë, stopped. The bewildered Ranger stood motionless in the middle of the vengeful crowd. His eyes, like a dragon's when faced with gold, couldn't move off the woman glinting in the moonlight.

The still-lit torches cast an orange halo over the side of her face. The lines of her body, shifting as she fought, faded at times into the darkness. It was as if she was one with the night but illuminated those who deigned to lay eyes on her—like Varda herself. You could have mistaken her for a star, for she looked so divine amidst this epic painting.

An Orc's head rolled at his feet and roused him from his torpor.

Only a few steps away from him, the rest of the body lay in a puddle of foul-smelling black blood. Above the dead man, Her. Triumphant. Her sword painted with murder. The shadows that had previously hidden her features had disappeared, revealing a face of great beauty, albeit bloodied.

She had just saved his life.

Aragorn was speechless. He did not really know what to think. Perhaps the battle and fatigue were starting to play tricks on him and making him lose his senses.

“Do not give up, my lord,” she said in a gentle voice. “All is not lost.”

Her soft tone pierced his doubts and softened his fears.

Assuredly, the lady was a mirage, cast up by his troubled and tired mind.

She was a vision of Tulkas, sent to guide the troops. She had this aura. They were dazzling, here and there, all those reflections that, on her armour, left behind a trace of the moon. This creature had been sculpted by the hands of the Valar who, at this tragic moment, were sending the army a good omen.

She embodied hope. The sign to persevere. Her very presence heralded Dawn.

This mirage—for he believed her to be such—made him redouble his efforts and his strength. Minutes and hours passed, and Orcs, Trolls and other of Sauron's filth fell in his path. Throughout the night, the enchanted vision continued to exist in the corner of his eye and to fight, leaving behind the disfigured bodies of their enemies. They fought in tandem, always close to each other but never speaking again.

When, at last, Rohan's horn sounded and Gandalf appeared on the hill, just as the first rays of the sun began to warm hearts and lands, the Ranger gave himself the right to breathe fully, to allow himself this moment of respite—the brief second of calm before the storm. Charging up behind King Théoden, Aragorn took one last look around.

She had disappeared.

Disappointed but now full of hope, he pounded his fist against his heart.

The Valar had delivered their message; their harbinger, now gone.

ROHAN WAS CELEBRATING. Warmth and light once again filled the halls of the city. There was no better proof of victory than the return of laughter and hearts filled with the joy of simply living.

Legolas and Gimli had been caught up in the euphoria and were drinking glass after glass—as always, driven by their competitive spirits—in hope of seeing the other give up.

At the other end of the room, near a table where food of all kinds was piling up and didn't seem to be diminishing despite the hungry citizens, Éowyn was conversing with someone. He could only see the back of them, but Aragorn was seized by a strange feeling of déjà-vu that made his heart clench. Yet, the figure in the trousers did not look familiar.

It was only when she turned to grab a bunch of grapes that the Ranger understood the feeling.

The Mirage.

It couldn't be. And yet there she was, tangible, real. His mind, clear again, no longer tormented by the spectre of death, had conjured up this vision once more.

As on the battlefield, she was ethereal. While the other women wore the traditional robes of Rohan, she could have been mistaken for a man with her trousers. And though she differed from the others in her provocation, she was nonetheless the most enchanting of them all.

She exuded a certain poise. Her features were delicate, showing a certain youthfulness, but what troubled him most were her eyes. They gazed out at the world in such an intense and magnetic way that it was impossible to look away.

“This is Y/N, the stable master’s daughter,” Éomer's voice startled him. As during the battle, the mere sight of this woman had plunged him into a trance. “She runs the stables with him, although her heart is shaped after a sword and not a horseshoe.”

“I didn't know it was the custom of Rohirrim women to fight.”

“It isn't. Y/N is stubborn. Too much so.”

“You speak of her with familiarity,” remarked the Ranger.

“We all know her here. She looks after our horses,” he shrugged.

It made sense. The sacred bond between the riders of Rohan and their mounts naturally elevated all those who cared for them to an influential and crucial role.

“Y/N has wanted to join the army ever since she was a little girl. She taught herself how to use a sword.”

Aragorn turned his face towards her, but Éowyn was now alone and looking at him strangely. He immediately looked away.

"I don't see why I shan’t," intervened a voice that startled both men. Neither of them had heard her coming. “I love the nation just as much as any other soldier present that night. I belonged on the battlefield.”

“Yes, Y/N. If you say so.”

The king's nephew's condescending tone made her scowl. She let out an angry groan, obviously having little respect for decorum, and marched towards the hall doors. This seemed to be a regular occurrence, judging by Éomer's blasé look and the lack of reaction from the other citizens close enough to hear the conversation.

Aragorn watched her walk with difficulty, avoiding putting any weight on her right ankle as she zigzagged between the revellers. Suddenly she was human, as fragile as all the other Men, as fragile as he. She was no longer this divine creature—although she had the features of one—but a wounded and, above all, frustrated soldier.

He caught up with her without difficulty, reaching into his pocket.

“This balm should help your ankle, my lady.”

Her eyebrows were furrowed. A drop of sweat beaded on her forehead from the pain, but she made no move to take the remedy.

Y/N did not reply until they had left the room and were isolated from the collective joy. The woman dropped onto one of the many cushions in the corridor. In silence, her gaze wandered over the untouched plains of Rohan.

“Would you have given this concoction to a man?” she said at last. Her voice was no longer soft but hoarse, damaged by combat, fatigue, and anger. Tired of having to justify herself. Anger at having her sex interpreted as a sign of weakness.

He hesitated for a moment: “No, but a mighty warrior like you cannot decently fight with a broken ankle.”

A shy smile softened her face. Aragorn's heart clenched at the sight and missed a beat when a hand—hardened by combat and blacksmithing—closed around his own.

She took the container.

“Thank you, son of Arathorn. I shall use it with gratitude.”

He seized her hand and kissed it tenderly, avidly tasting her skin. Always, a man driven by destiny, Aragorn for once gave in to happiness—however volatile it might be. The warmth spreading in his chest was worth all the hardships.

“We shall meet again on a battlefield, envoy of Tulkas.”

The promise to see each other again bloomed as the mirage became a reality.

Hi! I’m not sure if u do smut or not but I was wondering if u could do a Legolas smut with fem!human!reader, like a enemies to lovers kind of thing. Maybe hate sex? <3

too close

legolas greenleaf x reader

summary: legolas has his doubts about who you really are, but is that really why he can never meet your eyes with anything else but anger in himself.

warning: afab reader, nswf, smut 18+, etl, legolas being a jerk, probably bad description of mirkwood

a/n: soo sorry i took ages, I've been taking new meds, also i havent written smut for a while so im a bit dusty, hope u like it<3

○○○○○○

Summer is barely a real season under the protective courts of Mirkwood, you could barely feel the heat or see the sun through giantic starfall tree and at night, the chill through the strong winds gives a hint of winter in its air.

You loved it. Training at night feels easier when your not already sweating through your tits ten minutes in warm ups. And the quiet around you, save the crickets and owls hooting, gave you the solace you seeked for each existing day you lived through.

But despite finding everything well with want you asked for, the universe seems relentless with making sure you'll always be keeping your guard up and your annoyance up higher, with the ever consistent appearance of Prince Legolas Greenleaf.

He stands by the corner near an entrance to the castle, watchful of you while thinking he's quiet. His lack of trust in you makes him believe that you somehow lack in the specialties of elf abilities, like for example, your keen hearing.

"I could hear you for a mile away, prince." You also caught onto his snort, before his footsteps sounds louder. "How did you lnow it was me then?" He asks, less snobby than usual.

He must be drunk, you tell yourself.

"You have that pompous, all knowing kind of stride, it has its own beat when you walk." You expected him to roll his eyes like he usually do, belittling you like a child being reprimanded. But suprisingly he laughs. "That sounds a lot like you're projecting, after all, only pompous, all knowing arseholes are the ones who isolate themselves and train alone."

Ah, there it is. He's sobered up then.

"And what humble, kind enough of an elf, would waste his time stalking other people just to throw insults like a 7 year old?" You snapped.

If he had found your irritants amusing before, now his smile fades altogether,  and he looks the same as when he's about to pull an arrow on an orc.

"The kind of an elf who's trying to protect his kingdom and father." You laughed honestly yet mockingly before dropping your sword altogether to look at him. "You think your doing the king a favor? His majesty has his own mind, he trusts me, so I'd suggest you drop your savior facade and trust him." He shook his head and looks away for a second, as if deep in thought. "My father doesn't trust anyone, let alone random rogue elves who comes out of nowhere."

You raised you brow at his bravery in speech. 'This random rogue elf is the reason your father is alive, if I had even a glimpse of malice in me, I wouldn't have done nothing but serve him well for the last 10 months." You say matter of factly.

And before he could argue again, you wave your hand at him annoyed, and turn your back at the prince. "I practise better when im alone, and now you've ruined my peace, if you don't have anything new or smart to say-"

"You are a witch." He speaks. You actually freezed for a moment, forehead frowned in confusion. "Excuse me?"He repeated his impossible words. 

"Im a witch...because i saved your father's lives?" You ask him, slowly. He looks more frustrated then ever, as if you're the one patronizing him.

"No, you are a witch, because you have bewitched him." You could laugh if you didn't want to punch him. "And how have I bewitched him?" You almost yell. "I don't fucking know!" He yells first.

"My father has never trusted anyone, except for me, yet i see he'd put his life in your hands if he has to. And you know that, you know what you are doing. How you win his praise and trust when you fight, and when you put yourself over him, over the other shooters, martyring yourself."

Your mouth was wide open, your brows furowing, but no words escape you as he continues, inching closer with every word, untik you're both a step away from eachother.

"And you know exactly what you do to me." He was hovering over you, with a glare so intense you've never seen from the mirkwood prince. "I've done nothi-" He cuts you off when you've just gained enough control to speak. "You've bewitched me."

His breath was steady even in such anger, fanning your face gently as he inhales and exhales.  "I don't trust you, and i shouldn't care too much of another fighter in our army, another stranger i shan't waste my time on. Yet one glimpse of you, and you're stuck in my head, like a memory i can't seem to forget."

he was silent after the last confession ends, and you have the stubborn urge to answer to him. "That sounds like a you problem, not mine." He gives a short bitter laugh, looking up to the sky for a second, as if praying to the stars for guidance. "What have you done to me, cruel enchantress."

The rage seemed to lessen in the glare he still holds at you, but something more hungry lays in his gaze. "I've done nothing. Im no witch." You answer, so over all of this cat and mouse game. "And if I was, I wouldn't waste my time on someone so frustrating like you, and your stupid perfect nose, going around acting like you're-" He cuts you off, closing the small space between the two of you with his lips.

It was persistent, the way his mouth pushed over yours, like a strong wave crashing over sands, forcing it to feel the same surge it's being held againts.

When your hands finally found its strength, you place them againts his chest, pushing him off, he startles and moves a step, eyes locking with yours.

His hands that were once on each sides of your face, falls down to his side, fingers flexing as if too empty now. "I hate you." He says. His eyes saying the opposite. Your mind repeats over and over of what he had done and you tell yourself that it can't get any worse or better than this, so you took a move yourself forward, standing on the ground he was on a second ago.

"Then why don't you show me how much."

You don't hesitate to pull his face towards yours, recreating the similar scene as before. His hands move to wrap around your waist, while yours tangle themselves in his untied long white hair.

You gasp when his tongue licks over your bottom lip, giving him what he wanted, your tongues clashes as you two continue kissing eachother like you're out of air. You don't flinch when he backs you up until your back meets the flat of a wall.  His right hand starts to fliddle with the laces tying your leather top on. You help him take it off before your own fingers helps him take his breeches of while he moves his lips to your neck.

"I like you better with your hair down." You manage to gasp out while he's sucking on your neck. "And I like you better with your mouth shut."  Legolas replies before his hands easily turns you around your face meets with the wall.

You barely hold on to the wall when his grip on your hips tighten, your own training tights pulled down before you felt him againts your back.  You squirm and let yourself grind againts his hardness when one of his hands move to your front to squeeze your breasts, flicking your nipple, gently moving lower then from your chest to yoir stomach, grazing your scar filled abs until it gets lower to where you want him the most.

He's still squeezing your left hip while rubbing his hard cock againts your ass.

Finally as he sinks into you without notice,  receiving  a loud whimper from you, his hand over your hips move to grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back againts his chest. His right wandering fingers were still againts your front, rubbing circles on your thighs.

You're too speechless, feeling yourself filled up to the brim by him. He doesn't move at first, head laying low by your neck, hot breathing againts your cheek. You almost cry when he slowly pulls out, until he pushes himself in again, harder tham the first thrust.

He doesn't stop them, pushing into your hole repeatedly, his hands moving up from your thighs to your clit, rubbing over it with a pace that wanted to make you scream.

Legolas finally regains enough strength to start biting and sucking on your neck, marking you, while he doesn't stop pounding into your wet cunt.

The fullness of his cock and pressure of his fingers makes your cunt tighten againts him, he lets out a growl you've never heard if the elf prince before he bites down your sweet spot harshly, making you scream out his name. "Fucking hell." He groans out, fucking out all his pent up anger and tension over you.

.Your hands feels slippery againts the wall, gripping againts nothing while he takes you like a ragdoll, manhandling you take his cock over and over, watching you turn into a crying and moaning mess.

"Legolas, please- uh." You mewl out to him He hears you, pleased he is as he lets out a grin againts your neck. "Please what, my love?" He asks huskily.  Love, thats a new one.

"Need to come-" You beg out to him.  And Legolas, for all his false pretense of hostility before, could never say no to you.

He pushes your face againts the wall again,  both of his palms now back to each side of your hip, tightening againts them as he plunges himself harder inside of you as you scream out his name, shameless of who could've heard them. Your nipples grazes againts the hard bumpy walls, oversensitive to everything now,  you clench againts him so tightly that you could hear him curse out in elvish as he holds on to your bruised sides.

You feel tears brimming in your eyes as he continues fucking you while you explode all over him, your orgasm leaking out of your cunt, all over his leg. "Argh- im going to-" He doesn't finish his words as he finally cums after you, his hot cum leaking into your hole and then lower lines on your arse.

His head leans on your back, his breathing rapid and sweat glistens you both.

Legolas pulls you back by your breast, letting you rest on hus chest while the two of you try to regain some air. His fingers grazing the valley of your tits, head stuck on the side of your forehead. Once you've calmed down from your high, you tilt your head towards him, relishing his warm arms around you.

He leans forward, letting your forehead meets. You let out a small smile.  "Now what?" Your voice gentler then expected. "Now-" He answers, voice hard. "-I'll take you to my chambers, and I'm fucking you again."

Y’all are too good at writing! Stop I might start simping for another fictional man!

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: my apologies for taking so much time to update: graduate school is a tornado, plus getting sick and the craziness of holidays season didn’t help. Anyways, thank you for your patience and your continuous support! I literally read all your comment in order to inspire me to write again!

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 5.7k — listen, yes, I STILL have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The following day, (Y/N) waited in the depths of the Anduin River by the entrance of the Minas Tirith castle. Sure enough, the captain, decorated in silver, came out upon his steed. Though he did not have the cheer he normally held—despite his recent struggles—he seemed….different. (Y/N) had hoped that he didn't remember what he saw under the lake. Maybe he figured he was too drunk and his mind was playing tricks on him? Maybe he would forget it all together? However, that fearful look in his eyes when he glanced at the river told her otherwise. It appeared Faramir failed to convince his brother that the mer-folk were just a myth.

Boromir deviated from his routine as well. He did not go to the market for the breakfast that he seemed to love. No, no. Instead he went out towards the edge of the city–towards the docks. And (Y/N) went with him. He passed his horse off to another and walked upon the wood, passing ship and boat, until he came upon a small fishing vessel. (Y/N) swam around it and took to the surface upon its side, far enough to not be spotted, but close enough to see and hear.

“Iwar,” Boromir called out. “You there?”

“Oi!” the old man replied, emerging from the sails. “What can I do for yer?”

“You have a moment?”

“For ye? Of course I do, lad. What is this about?” Iwar stated, squinting in the sun.

Boromir huffed, and pulled something from his pocket. He lightly tossed it to the older fellow. “What do you make of this?”

Iwar frowned, holding the whale up before his face by the string Boromir had used to make it into a necklace. “Where’d ye get it?”

“In a pond. One that connects to the Anduin River.”

Iwar sent him a strange look. “Do ye know what this is made out of?”

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s bone, Boromir,” he replied tentatively.

At this, the captain’s lips parted. “Bone?”

Iwar tossed the whale carving back to him. “Aye, couldn't tell ye what it came from. Whittled too much away for that. Ye said yer got it from a pond?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Could’ve washed up from the currents.” Iwar stated, nonchalantly, returning to the tasks of his sail. “Some trinket someone lost to the sea.”

Boromir dipped his head, his anxiety present as he fiddled with the whale.

Iwar glanced at him. “Something else, boy?”

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Iwar, do you–do you really believe those tales of the sea-folk?”

The old man sent a weary look at the captain as he tied off one of the ropes upon the fabric. “Aye. Saw one of em’ when I was just a lad. Nearly lost my life.”

Boromir focused his gaze upon Iwar. “I think–I think I saw one last night.”

At this, the older man froze. Slowly, he turned his full attention to the captain, dread slipping from his face.

Still, Boromir continued, trying to justify his sighting. ‘Though, I don't know. I was very drunk. Had a couple ales too many. My mind could’ve—”

“You were out on the sea last night?” Iwar interrupted, confused.

Boromir shook his head.

“The shore then? Never heard of em’ venturing so close.”

Boromir released a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was in the pond by the Minas Tirith castle.”

Iwar’s form stiffened as he walked toward the captain. He nodded at the bone carving in Boromir’s hand as he spoke in a tone that held so much anxiety that it radiated through the air around him. “The same pond where ye found that?”

“Yes.”

Iwar’s eyes widened wildly. “I’d tell ye what, lad. Ye have been marked by em.’ And that—” he dipped his head at the whale once more. “—I reckon that's human bone.”

Blood drained from Boromir’s face, replaced with sheer panic. His fingers clumsily grappled with the carving, uncertain of how to handle it. Reluctant to make direct contact, he hesitated before settling on gripping the string, allowing the whale to dangle. Disgust etched across his brow.

“I’d get out while ye can. Stay away from the sea waters, boy.” Iwar warned.

….

That night, Boromir didn't go to the pool of water by the white walls—nor the following night. He, quite frankly, didn't go near the water at all. He stayed far from the beaches and from the Anduin River. He took longer paths to where he needed to go in order to avoid such circumstances that put him near what Iwar had described to live in the sea.

And this—all this broke (Y/N)’s heart. It stirred up a tumult of emotions—sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. Therefore, on the third day, she sought solace in a secluded nook along the Bay of Belfas. Hoisting herself onto a warm rock, she sat, enveloped in her misery. Her once-vivid fantasies of the land-people and Boromir now dissolved into sorrow and regret. What lingered was the haunting image of Boromir's disdainful expression when Iwar speculated that her gift was crafted from human bone. Any mer-folk would be delighted to receive such a heartfelt gesture! But Boromir wasn't of the sea, now was he.

(Y/N) stayed upon the rock for hours, hoping the sun would soak up her melancholy mood. However, that is not what the golden beams absorbed. Her skin dried, her hair lightened and billowed freely, and the scales on her tail lacked the moisture they once held. It was at that moment discomfort struck. Excruciating, searing pain surged through her tail, a relentless agony that prompted a deep cry from her lips. Every nerve seemed to flare with an intense, burning sensation, rendering her nearly paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the pain. She couldn't move, only shake and claw at the rock she perched upon. It felt like hours as she laid there, praying to the gods to make it end. And when it did, she instinctively reached for her scales. However, to her surprise, her hand met no such thing; instead, flesh had replaced the once-familiar tail.

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

Emotions swirled around her naked form as she stared at the strange extension that replaced her glimmering scales—legs. Anger, irritation, sadness, regret, frustration, excitement all ran through her blood.

Slowly, she stood. As she took a wobbly step upon the rock, a loud, breathy giggle escaped her lips.

Was this a dream?

(Y/N) took another uncertain step, and another, and another—until she stumbled, her hand reaching out to break her fall. However, a splash came from that, for her palm struck where water had gathered in a dip upon the rock.

Immediately, she felt it.

Her skin tingled, then burned and stung, stretching and pulling in a painful dance. (Y/N) cried out as the pain intensified. With scales attempting to form on her dry legs, the tugging became excruciating once more—tears streamed from her eyes as she desperately scrambled towards the water.

Her form slipped and rolled, right off the rock and into the ocean.

Immediate relief enveloped her. Scales continued to knit together without a hint of pain. The water soothed her. It coated the soreness into nonexistence.

(Y/N) allowed her form to sink, adjusting.

There she floated, letting her body and mind adjust to what had just happened.

It was then when one of the turmoiling emotions overtook the rest of them. It coursed through her gills and surged through her veins.

How dare he…

With a decisive flick of her tail, she propelled herself toward her father's palace.

The anger granted her remarkable speed, causing other merfolk to whip their heads around in confusion as she barreled past them.

She swam directly to the grand chamber, where she anticipated her father perched upon his throne, and busted the door open with her tail.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

Heads turned instantly—her father’s, her sisters’, the guards’.

“HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME, FATHER. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME I HAD THE GIFT?!”

Her father rose, signaling the guards to leave. They swam away quickly, avoiding the impending wrath of the sea's king and his children.

“You lied straight to my face,” (Y/N) stated.

“(Y/N), what are you talking about?” Anahita interjected, appalled by her sister’s tone.

Mareena added to her statement. “That is no way to speak to our father!”

(Y/N)'s tail flicked with irritation as she focused her gaze on the man before her. “I have the gift to walk among the land-folk.”

Una gasped. Seria’s mouth dropped open. Rana’s eyes widened. Nerida’s brows shot upwards.

Their father swam towards (Y/N). “You went to the land?!” he growled. “It is forbidden.”

“I DID NOT GO ONTO THE LAND!” She snapped back. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “I was letting the sun warm me upon a rock when it happened—the tingling, the splitting, the pain.”

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

“I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE OF THIS!” He yelled. “Because I knew the minute you would figure it out, you would want to test out your new form. You would put us all in danger.”

“YOU HAVE PUT ME IN DANGER. YOU HAVE MASKED YOUR PROTECTION IN LIES THAT HAVE ONLY CAUSED ME PAIN. HOW DARE YOU!” (Y/N) retorted.

With that, (Y/N) swam away. She twisted through the reefs and the grass. She slipped through the schools of fish and their bubbles. She slithered through the rocks and caves. She did so until she was back in the Anduin River, where the lively markets and the hustle of people's households awaited. Breaking through the water's surface, she emerged with a cautious awareness, ensuring she remained unseen.

She swam along the edge until she came upon a line of clothing strung between two buildings. On it hung sheets as bright as a lemonpeel angelfish, a skirt holding the vibrance of an orange clownfish, a flowing wrap the hue of a blue tang fish, a pair of trousers the color of a brown leafy sea dragon, a top shaded like that of a pink fairy wrasse, and a flowing dress the cream color of a stingray’s belly.

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

The people were on the other side of the clothing line—all mucking about in the market. None even bothered to shed a glance behind the fabric. All were too busy going about their day.

Therefore, with little regard for the forbidden nature of her actions—because, really, fuck the forbidden—(Y/N) decided to defy the rules that had once controlled her life.

Originally, she hadn't intended to act in such defiance, but the anger coursing through her veins urged her forward into impulsive urges.

Hauling her form out of the water, (Y/N) manipulated the water clinging to her, using her fingers in twisting and rippling motions. She gathered the liquid into a cohesive ball and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the sphere dancing through the air before it plopped back into the river.

The tingling sensation began, followed by the excruciating pain, and soon enough, the transformation into legs commenced.

Anxiously, (Y/N) stood. Her shaky legs wobbled as she adjusted to their unfamiliar form. Her trembling fingers swiftly seized the cream colored dress—she didn't want to stand out, she needed to blend in—and she clumsily slipped it on. Her gaze then fixated on a brilliant blue wrap. The color resonated with the deep seas she hailed from, and she couldn't resist. The mermaid grasped the silk and yanked, winding it around her hair in a manner she had observed from land women when peeking from the river. Letting some of her locks cascade out of the twisted band, the blue fabric draped over her shoulders. She smiled.

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, where her necklace adorned with shells, sea glass, and bones encircled her skin. A frown crossed her face. She couldn't part with it—this cherished gift from her since passed mother. Therefore, she let it remain, finding that it didn't look too out of place.

(Y/N) ventured into the market, nervously navigating the bustling city of Minas Tirith with her new, wobbly legs. The vibrant atmosphere teemed with life and excitement as diverse groups came together to weave the people into the human race. So many men, women, and children—all different sizes, all different shapes, all different skin tones—bustled through the streets.

Young children ran through the tents playing games and tricks on one another. Often enough, a woman was pursuing the chase while yelling for their halt of mischief. Men were not involved in this matter. Instead, they loudly called out the names of what they sold, along with prices, at the busy passerbyers in hopes of getting a customer. Never had (Y/N) seen something so brilliantly enthralling and engaging—not in her time under the sea with the mer-folk.

As she moved through the people, she discreetly snagged what she needed. A pair of sandals disappeared from a rack, and she swiftly turned away before anyone noticed. Vibrantly colored bracelets caught her eye at a vendor's stall, and she couldn't resist snagging a few. Additionally, she plucked food from bins and baskets. She didn't know what it was—but oh how delicious it tasted when it was not dunked in the salt of the sea.

Here, (Y/N) stayed, exploring the thrill of humanity and letting their culture enrapture her senses. So much so, that she failed to notice a soldier adorned in silver until she collided with his metal-plated chest.

Her form tumbled backwards, taking an extra moment to steady.

“Are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice inquired.

(Y/N) slowly raised her head to meet a familiar face: Faramir.

Unable to find her voice, she could only nod in reply. Shyness and anxiety filled her as she backed away from the unexpected encounter.

He acknowledged her reply with a dip of his own head before turning to another soldier a little ways away. He made way towards him and gently touched his arm. “Boromir, we should get going. Father is expecting us.”

(Y/N) went still. Her inquisitive gaze shifted towards him, and indeed, there stood Boromir. His dark, sandy hair brushed upon his forehead, tousled slightly from the refreshing breeze. Vibrant blue eyes held a sternness, concealing the sadness she knew resided in his heart. His pink lips pressed into a firm line, refraining from the warmth of a smile. Boromir was clad in the silver armor and the metal weapons that she had seen him in nearly every day. He looked fit for his position as captain, his authority nearly radiating from him. Now that she was upon the land, he seemed so much bigger—so much stronger. So much more important.

(Y/N)’s cheeks began to heat, prompting her to quickly ducked behind the fabric of a tent. After giving herself a moment, she peaked out.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself following them. At a safe distance, she mimicked every turn, accentuated every step, and utilized every path they took. And when the Steward's sons crossed the threshold of Minas Tirith Castle, so did she.

Instantly, she was met with just as much business as the market. Servants flooded the halls, carrying trays of fruit and platters of meat. Maids held onto neatly folded laundry and finely pressed sheets. Guards bustled about, their steel clanking as they moved through the halls, to get to their next shift, meal, or rest.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed that she failed to notice a group of soldiers rounding the corner. As they pushed past her, a heavy shoulder slammed into her, the edge of the metal plate catching her forehead. The impact sliced the skin open, causing her to tumble backward against the wall.

Surprising her, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, holding her steady. A soft voice that she knew all too well, that spoke words all too similar to his brother’s, filled her ears. “Are you alright, miss?”

In a daze, (Y/N) looked up at the dark sandy hair, vibrant blue eyes, and perfect pink lips of Boromir. Too stunned to speak, she merely stared at him, every thought that had occupied her mind vanishing in the moment.

Boromir turned towards the group of soldiers who had caused the commotion and knocked her down. With a tone infused with authority and anger, he snapped at them, “Watch where you are going!”

They turned, initially confused and uncertain of Boromir's reprimand until they spotted the frightened and injured girl beside him.

“What kind of soldiers are you that you let your steel hit a woman!” Boromir added, his irritation even more obvious. “Keep better track of your things—and your forms!”

The soldiers nodded, though their indifference was evident, and they shuffled away without much concern.

Boromir turned back to (Y/N), repeating his prior question, his tone gentle once more. “I apologize for the actions of my men. I will reprimand them later, but right now you are more important, yes? Miss?”

She looked up at him, blinking. He didn’t recognize her, did he?

“You’re bleeding,” he stated softly, his finger pressed gently upon her forehead.

A quiet gasp of pain escaped (Y/N)’s lips and her expressions distorted slightly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to make your pain worse. May I take you to the infirmary? We can get that treated.”

Unsure what to say—and what an infirmary was—she nervously dipped her head.

“Alright,” he began. “Let’s get you moving.”

Gently, he helped her move away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her waist. However, with a couple steps, her vision swirled and she stumbled.

Boromir caught her quickly. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Just a step at a time.” His brows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Are you dizzy? Is the room spinning?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. “Y-yes, uh, sir.”

He released a heated breath from his nose, the anger at the men who had harmed her simmering within him. However, he pushed it away, ensuring his attention remained on her. "How about you sit back down? Lean against the wall to keep you upright, yes?"

(Y/N) nodded, allowing him to help lower her to the stone floor. As the coldness rushed through her bones and the stillness began to steady, she looked up at him. “T-thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, sir.”

The captain smiled softly. “You may call me Boromir.”

She nodded slightly.

Boromir looked up and stopped a passing servant. “Could you please fetch me a medical kit from the infirmary? Just basic supplies.”

The man nodded, accepting the order, and rushed off. Moments later, he returned with various materials in a small box.

Boromir expressed his gratitude as he opened the kit. Without hesitation, he took hold of a soft cloth and gently swiped it upwards, collecting the blood that was now trickling down (Y/N)’s forehead. He then pressed it against the cut that was bleeding rather heavily. "Hold this there," he commanded gently.

The woman reached up to follow his instructions, and Boromir proceeded to lay out an array of little bottles and scraps of cloth. "What is your name?" he inquired as he doused a cloth in the liquids of one of the containers.

Her eyes followed his motions nervously. “(Y/N),” she replied timidly.

The Captain smiled, attempting to provide some comfort. “Are you from around here, (Y/N)?”

She shook her head.

“No? What are you doing in these parts then?” He asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Boromir frowned, looking up at her from the medical supplies. She appeared more disoriented than he had initially expected. Perhaps the blow to the head was more substantial than he had thought?

“You don’t know?” He questioned, no alarm in his tone. Meanwhile, he began threading a needle, preparing it for the task of stitching her forehead. “Have you come with anyone? A husband? A father?”

She frowned, a blush creeping into her face at the implications of his words. “N-no. Alone.”

Boromir pressed his lips together, a sudden loneliness hitting him—one that he knew all too well—as he placed the threaded needle upon a clean cloth.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can worry about that.”

Boromir took the cloth from her forehead, his hand brushing upon hers as he did so. He then began bringing a damp cloth towards her face.

Instantly, her eyes went wide and she ducked away from the material. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s just alcohol.” He replied, lowering the cloth.

“N-not water?” She whispered, almost fearful.

He shook his head. “Nay. Water would not clean it properly. This will prevent any infection, though I’m afraid it will sting a bit. Is that alright?”

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

Boromir pressed the cloth to the cut and, instantly, she hissed.

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

Gently, he cleaned the wound, being careful to not make any sudden movements that may startle her. When he was certain it was clean, he moved to pick up the needle.

“I will have to stitch it back together so it heals properly.” He looked into her worried gaze and he instantly felt guilt tugging at his heart. It appeared she had never experienced such an injury, or perhaps she had but never received proper treatment for one.

Cautiously, he used his other hand to pick up her own. Her soft palms brushed upon his hardened calloused, gentleness upon her touch. Placing her hand upon his knee, he spoke softly, “If it hurts too much just squeeze really really hard, and I will pause, alright? It is important that you keep your head still, yes?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip upon his knee, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes.

Slowly, Boromir began the delicate task of stitching her skin back together. Her grip tightened upon him, only slightly, as she adjusted to the strange sensation of tugging on her skin.

"You are doing beautifully, (Y/N). We are almost done. I promise," the Captain reassured her. As he finished the last stitch and skillfully moved the thread to knot itself, he breathed out, "There we go," placing the needle back upon the cloth. He smiled gently, a reassuring warmth in his eyes, as he carefully cleaned the area around the stitches. "All finished," Boromir stated before leaning back, (Y/N)’s hand slipping from his knee.

“It will be sore for a bit,” he said. “But it should heal in a week. The stitching will fall out on its own, so if it starts to come out, do not worry. Though, I would advise you not to get it wet.”

At that last sentence, (Y/N) smiled softly. She wasn’t planning on getting wet—not anytime soon.

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

The woman nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking Boromir’s hand when he offered it.

“Let’s find you a place to rest while you heal. And I would like to apologize for my soldiers’ actions once more. You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith as long as you would like. I will make sure you get everything you need.”

(Y/N) looked up at his kind expression and spoke with that same nervous hesitancy. “Thank you.…Boromir.”

The captain guided her through the castle, arriving at a room. He opened the door and gestured inside with a soft smile. "It is yours to stay in. I will ensure the maids are alerted to provide you with adequate care. If you need anything else, my chambers are just down the hallway to the right, the second door."

She nodded in reply.

He bowed his head. “I will leave you then, miss.”

With that, he was gone.

(Y/N) moved to the center of the room and slowly spun around taking it all in. It was massive and airy. The windows were wind open, the sea breeze rushing in and caring hints of the city. The white curtains blew with that gentle wind, dancing in its whispers. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting only what she could assume to be the legendary tales of the city. They were woven with beautiful silver and turquoise thread, catching the light so delicately. A bed sat in the middle of the room, soft white blankets and comforters piled on it. (Y/N) walked towards it and gently sat upon the fabric. It was….strange. Very different from the large shells she was used to curling up in.

Feeling a sudden tiredness take over her form, she laid down with ease. Resting her head upon the pillow, she allowed sleep to consume her.

…….

When she finally woke, the sun had set, and the stars took their place among the blanket of the sky. Cautiously, she pulled her legs from the cage of blankets and let them dangle off the side of the bed. They looked so….strange upon her form. She was used to her glimmering tail that collected light to share among the waters. Not—not this. She lowered her feet upon the stone floor, almost startled by the coldness that greeted them.

Hunger settled into her stomach as she moved towards the door. However, she found herself at a loss, unsure where to find a meal at this time. The markets were long since closed and she knew not where the kitchen in the Minas Tirith castle was. Of course, she could wander down to the tavern that Boromir frequented regularly—she knew the way well enough, but she didn't have any means to pay.

(Y/N) shifted on her feet. Boromir did say she could come to him if she needed anything….

Almost as if it were an excuse to see him again, she slipped through the door and began following his directions to his chambers. With every step, her heart pounded harder. She would get to see him again—and it wouldn't be through layers of water.

Upon arrival, the door stood ajar, allowing a whisper of cold air to drift from his open windows. Cautiously, she peered into the room. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon reflecting upon the vast room—oh, and what a beautiful room it was. The room eluded a captivating chaos, in the most exciting way. Tablets and shelves were filled with various items—maps, books, stones, germs, inventions, and trinkets. The room held a multitude of objects, each beckoning to be looked at, studied, and pondered—igniting a sense of wonder and an urge to guess the intention. Oh, it was a captivating sight.

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

Slowly, (Y/N) stepped in. She let her feet carry her throughout the room, her hand brushing upon every object that her eyes could consume. She picked things up, examined them, then put them down for another. She did so continuously, urgently, the thirst for knowledge of the humans’ customs eager in her blood. She did so, until she came across something familiar—something she was surprised to see.

(Y/N) picked up the bone carved whale from the shelf that it rested on.

He had kept it.

A little grin formed on her face, for after his conversation with Iwar she didn’t think he would.

“Does that one interest you?” A soft tone asked.

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

Boromir chuckled lightly, stepping into the room. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She glanced down at the whale carving before looking back to him.

“I am not quite sure how that one came into my possession,” he continued as he moved to stand beside her.

She frowned, looking up. Her eyes were now direct at him, focused and stern—for the first time since he had met her. He would be lying if he said it didn't startle him a bit.

“You don't remember?” she asked, her tone strong.

“Well, no it’s not that. Of course, I remember how I got it. It just was a bit peculiar.”

(Y/N) tilted her head, not understanding.

Boromir sighed, his tone was distant as he spoke, his blue gaze not wavering from her curious eyes that suddenly seemed so bold. “A friend of mine says it's a dark omen, ment to mark me for death.” His vision trailed across her face. “He says it is made of the bone of my fallen brothers, urging me to follow them to their deaths.”

“Do you believe that?”

He blinked, his gaze lingering upon the whale. “I do not know what to believe.” Boromir looked at her expression. “What are your thoughts on such a statement?”

(Y/N) shrugged, placing the whale in its spot upon the shelf. “I believe people don’t understand other cultures and customs. I believe they make their own assumptions out of ignorance and fear.”

The captain raised a brow at her intelligence. “You are feeling better then?”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) hummed in question as she moved to another object.

“Well, that is the most I have heard you speak since I met you. You are wiser than you appear to be.”

She only shrugged in response, picking up a telescope and looking through its glass—by the wrong end.

“Though,” Boromir continued in a teasing manner as he plucked the object from her grasp, turned it the correct way, and placed it back in her palms. “That wisdom seems not to extend to everything.”

She frowned, looking through the glass once before placing it down. She then went for a music box, her confused expression deepening. “We do not have all these….these things where I am from.”

Boromir reached across her and twisted the little lever, releasing the gentle music from its hold. “And where is that, may I ask?”

At the twinkling sound, her smile, born of pure delight, extended from her expression. Her response to his question, however, was only that of a simple word, “Far.”

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

(Y/N) shot him a strange look, placing the music box down and picking up a crystal sphere instead. “You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He grinned playfully. “You do not seem to give many answers, Miss (Y/N).”

She glared at him.

With that playful smile, he spoke again. “Would it help if you got to ask a question?”

(Y/N)‘s eyes crinkled with thought as she placed the object down and turned towards him. She saw how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, how the circles under his eyes appeared so dark, how his expression was so hollow. Softly, she spoke again. “Why are you so sad, Boromir?”

Taken aback by this, his lips parted. “I—I do not know what you mean.”

She took a step closer to him, a step that nearly eliminated the space between them, and her piercing gaze burned up at him for the truth.

Hesitantly, he whispered that truth, as if she compelled it right out of him. “I—I recently was in a shipwreck. I thought, well, I thought I was dead—left for the watery graves below.” He paused, just for a moment. “But yet I am here and I do not know why. And, I am beginning to question things that I know, well, thought I knew, for the world appears different now.”

Silence.

Boromir's soft voice then picked up again, his breath warm upon the woman’s face. “Why are you so sad, (Y/N)?”

At this, her shy nature returned. (Y/N) turned her head away, not wanting to look at the source of her sadness.

Gently, Boromir tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You implored me to tell you such a truth,” he whispered. “May I not ask the same of you?”

(Y/N)’s tone was soft. “My truth is complicated.”

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

With that, she withdrew from his grasp—a hold she desperately craved—and created enough distance between them, leaving him to wonder if such closeness had occurred at all.

A loud grumble then echoed through the dark room—splitting the darkness with something else, something much for lighthearted.

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

He chuckled, offering her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you some food. I can take you to my favorite place.”

“But I—I have no coin,” she whispered shyly.

“You are a guest of Gondor, Gondor will see you fed.”

(Y/N) smiled, that innocent gaze returning. She hesitantly took his hand and he led her through the castle and towards the tavern.

The two arrived at the tavern rather quickly. Urine, stale ale, and sweat flooded (Y/N)’s nostrils—familiar aromas reminiscent of her vigilant watch over Boromir along the Anduin River. The lively atmosphere enveloped the pair. In the corner, a bard sang to the patrons, his melodic voice resonating throughout, enticing some to join in. Drunk men, tapping their feet along to the beat of the tune, howled in laughter and glee as they clinked their ales together and shoveled food into their mouths. Requests for additional drinks prompted maidens, adorned in long skirts and aprons, to gracefully deliver brimming glasses, the foaming liquid sloshing about.

(Y/N) smiled, taking in the environment.

Boromir cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a tavern.”

She turned to him, her grin unwavering. “We don’t have taverns where I am from.”

He raised a brow. “And where is that? You never said.”

She shrugged. “Far.”

(Y/N) moved deeper into the tavern, with Boromir following suit. He motioned towards an available table, and they both took a seat. Before long, a serving maiden approached. Boromir signaled for two meals and two ales, and they promptly arrived.

The woman wasted no time and eagerly indulged in her food, swiftly emptying the plate.

Boromir tried to suppress a smile as he saw this, for he was glad she was getting proper nutrition after her likely long and hard journey. He, of course, wished to know more of her origins; though, he could see she wasn't quite ready to discuss such things. Instead, he opted to answer any and all questions she had which began with her curious tone.

“Boromir, would you be willing to tell me of your city? How you live in these parts? I wish to know.”

His soft gaze made contact with hers and he nodded, chewing his food and swallowing before he spoke. “What would you wish to know?”

“Everything—its structures, its people, its culture, its history.”

Therefore, Boromir spoke of such things. He described the White City's towering architecture, the valor of its people, and the complexities of the various beliefs held. He relayed its history and tales, showcasing the values of the Gondorian people.

His narratives ignited a spark in her eyes, drew laughter from her lips, and filled her heart with joy.

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

As the hours stretched on, Boromir’s friends joined them. (Y/N) could see the gleam in their eyes and catch the less-than-subtle teasing tones as they whispered about Boromir bringing a lady to their tavern. Faramir, arriving shortly after, seemed prepared for a night of dealing with his drunken brother, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by his brother's apparent sobriety and the joy the unknown woman seemed to bring to his melancholy soul.

Yet, amid the cheerful atmosphere, a pair of shifting gray eyes belonging to an old man that (Y/N) recognized as Iwar, kept her uneasy heart alert.

…..

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Modern Girl in Middle Earth

Thorin Oakenshield x Reader Pt. I

Modern Girl in Middle Earth

just for fun, please don't be disappointed

The girl had originally come from the modern world, but by now had spent quite a few years in middle earth and was accustomed to it. She grew into a strong warrior, conquering many great evils throughout the three films with her willpower and prowess.

These days, she was recognized by many dwarves, elves, and men for being a skilled warrior. Many days were filled with conflict, but in times of peace it was different.

In times of peace (Y/n) enjoyed more mundane activities, such as touching up her manicure, keeping up her snapstreaks, and watching Dr. Pimple Popper.

Imagine the reactions of the fellowship when Y/N took the blade for Frodo on Weathertop (Amon Sûl)

Elrond: My dear child you would have died. You do not possess the gift of immortality, must you be as reckless as you are? You are not of this world!

Y/N: *grinning* Nah she'll be right. I'm fine aren't I?

Legolas: *walks in* You look terrible. As you would after a near death experience.

Y/N: You call it a near death experience. I call it a vibe check from God.

Aragorn: *Bursts into laughter*

Gandalf: *Stares pointedly* Yes.. not of this world.

Legolas: *is visibly confused* Are we talking about her recklessness or her beauty?

Y/N: >_> Ummm anyways, when are we leaving?

Incorrect quotes #1

Boromir: Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king.

Y/N: *whispers* Mad cause bad.

Legolas and Aragorn: *suppresses grins*

Incorrect quotes #2

Boromir: One does not simply walk into Mordor. It's black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep.

Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn: Neither does Y/N, what's your point.

Y/N: *Sarcastically* Oh no you got me!!

Imagine Y/N sitting at the council of Rivendell while everyone is arguing

Y/N: *quietly singing the McDonald's theme song*

Gandalf: I don't suppose you want to break this up for us?

Y/N *whispers* Nah, you and I both know that's Frodo's thing. Don't ruin his big moment.

Gandalf: Very well

20 seconds later

Frodo: I will take it!!

Gandalf: I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins. As long as it is yours to bear.

Aragorn: If by my life or death I can protect you.. I will. You have my sword. *turns to Y/N*

Y/N: *whispers* Do I have to? Can't I stay here with the pretty elv-

Aragorn: *shoulders Y/N* Yes.

Y/N: *sighs* And I will follow, but only if I get to call Legolas and Gimli, Elsa and Anna.

Legolas: Again the young maiden speaks words that I do not understand. *Turns to Frodo* You have my bow.

Gimli: And my axe.

Boromir: You carry the fate of us all little one-

Y/N: *interrupts* Alright yadda yadda can we go? I didn't eat breakfast.

Imagine Y/N giving the answer to the riddle at the doors of Moria

Gandalf: *muttering spells at the door*

Frodo: Can Gandalf open the door?

Legolas: If not Gandalf then who? Surely the dwarf knows the key to his kin's door.

Gimli: *grumbles*

Merry and Pippin: *throwing rocks into the water*

Aragorn: *hurriedly* Do not disturb the water.

The Hobbits: *turns to Y/N*

Y/N: Don't touch the water little ones. You need not disturb it. You know not what the depths of the abyss holds.

The hobbits: *surprised to see Y/N serious*

Frodo: It's a riddle is it not?

Y/N: Correct my dear.

Legolas: Then pray tell what is the answer.

Y/N: *grins* Mellon

Legolas: *frowns* Are you talking to me-

The doors open

Y/N: Try to be more obvious about how you feel hm? *smirks*

Legolas: I know not of what you spea-

Boromir: *interrupts* Enough of the flirting. Quickly, I am not eager to find out what the waters of this cursed place holds.

All quickly walk inside

Legolas: *grins at Y/N's back*

Gandalf: *Shakes his head* Young fools.

Imagine you were hiding in the throne room when Thranduil and Legolas questioned the orc about Thorin's company.

Orc: Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you!

Thranduil: *slices It’s head off*

Legolas: Why did you do that.. You promised to set him free.

Y/N *whispers from behind the throne* Oop

Thranduil: And I did. I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.

Y/N *tries to suppress laughter*

Legolas: There was more the orc could tell us.

Thranduil: There was nothing more he could tell me.

Y/N: *about to burst*

*Legolas leaves*

Thranduil: Was it really that amusing Y/N?

Y/N: *Falls over in a fit of laughter* Did you see?! His face? *Imitates Legolas* Why did you do that *falls over in laughter*

Thranduil: You know you cannot keep your presence a secret for much longer. The scriptures have stated that he will meet a ranger, one that was not seen in stories foretold, a ranger who defies the hands of time, the one who appears when there is great need.

*Y/N pauses, and lays still on the floor*

Y/N: A life time, it has been. Yet still I have not found the reason nor purpose for which I was sent here. Old friend, will I ever return from whence I came?

Thranduil: You will find your purpose, whether it be here in middle earth, or where you came from. It matters not whether you return.

*Thranduil strides back to his throne*

Y/N: Well, I will see you again soon.

Thranduil: Hopefully not.

Y/N: You love our chats.

Thranduil: Do not push your luck Pethryn. *Smiling slightly* Go do what you must. I shall await for when fate will bring you back to my halls.

-----------------------------------------------

Pethryn means narrator in Sindarin I think >_>

Also, PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU LIKE THESE!!

Incorrect Quotes part 3

Legolas: Do not think I won't kill you dwarf. It would be my pleasure.

Y/N: *Quietly* I could give you pleasure.

Everyone: What?

Y/N: What?

Hey!

I really liked the lightness of writing posts, I have the idea that I really liked the lightness of writing posts, I have the idea that y/n He saw legolas with his hair and only his boxer shorts and is now blackmailing him into giving it back.He saw legolas with his hair and only his boxer shorts and now he is blackmailing him into giving him back (y/n) His blanket in front of the team His blanket in front of the team?

I would be grateful❤️❤️❤️

Alrighty righty, I'll try my best! (this will probably come in the form of Incorrect quotes since this wont be cannon to my time line!

Legolas: Y/N my dear, it seems as though you've lost something.. *smirking as he holds out a pair of undergarments*

Y/N: ... Alright pretty boy what do you want for 'em

Legolas: *grins wider* Whatever makes you think you can bribe an elven prince?

Y/N: Cause i have a pretty face? Give it here Elsa- *lunges at Legolas's hand*

Legolas: *smiles and raises his hand higher* Nuh Uh, you must try harder than that Mellon Nîn.

Y/N: *frowns* Well in that case..

Y/N clambers on top Legolas with a grin

Legolas: *splutters* What on middle earth are you doing?

Y/N: Nothing *grinning*

While Legolas is flustered Y/N Takes back the piece of clothing from Legolas.

Y/N: Y'know, if you wanted me on you, you could have just asked me Ernil Nin.

Legolas: I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about.

Y/N: Your words do not agree with the redness in your cheeks. Like I say so often. Try to hide your feelings better Mellon Nîn.

-------------------------------------------------------

Ernil Nîn= my prince I think

Stay the fuck off my computer and my Microsoft word and get your ideas elsewhere.

The Glass: What? Is this an actual threat? Am I famous enough to have haters now or something? XD

Gandalf: I’m not so sure it was a threat my friend.

Legolas: Sounds like a threat to me. I’m ready to fight.

Gimli: Sounds like a human thing to say.

Aragorn: I wonder why it’s anonymous.