#greenwood the great | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The average Tumblr user visits about 67 pages every month.

#greenwood the great

silvantransthranduiltrash · 6 months

Text

Ngl, obsessed with the idea that the questers know that legolas is, if not thousands of years, then centuries old, but it not regestering until he mentions having met their ancestor or a historical figure to them. It doesn’t help that legolas looks like a teenager.

Just like that scene with eowyn realizing aragorn is a legit grandpa but with legolas and the rest of the walkers instead.

Legolas: i never had the pleasure of having a conversation with the man, but from the brief glimpses of (insert boromir’s ancestor from 1000 years ago here) that i saw, he was an honorable man.

Boromir, bluescreening: yes, he was known as quite the chivalrous man. But for you to have met him you must be at least a thousand years old!

Legolas: *clicks tongue and doesn’t say anything with an amused smile*

Aragorn, who has gone through all these emotions already: older.

Gimli: Older?? Are you telling me that this beardless, pointy elf with a face of a teenager is, what? 2000?

Aragorn: more.

Gimli: MORE???

Merry: if he is close to 3000 years than he was probably born around the last war for the ring!

Legolas, enjoying this all immensely: i was old enough to fight in it actually.

Pippin: alright, so legolas is 3000 and a few centuries. That’s a lot older than i thought to be honest. He looked like the youngest elf in rivendale.

Legolas: i’m 4000, actually.

Gimli: GODDAMN IT! I knew we shouldn’t trust these babyfaced point ears! You can’t even tell their age!

Legolas: if it makes you feel better, other elves also have a hard time discerning the age of silvans. They’ve routinely thought of mine to be millenia younger that we actually are.

Boromir, having an existential crisis: what the fuck

2K notes · View notes

myceliumelium · 3 months

Text

I feel like the third age mirkwood elves deserve some more human inspired looks. I think they deserve to have made good friends with lake town and the dale folk before them.

#art #silmarillion #tolkien #the hobbit #mirkwood #greenwood the great #elves #silvans #lotr elves #thell's ocs

487 notes · View notes

g-m-kaye · 9 months

Text

Posting this sketch on its own at the request of my lovely friend @sotwk whose world building and love for Thranduil inspired this quick rendition of two Thranduilion riding in Greenwood the Great! 🌳 🍂

844 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 8 months

Note

Could I please request Thranduil with a breeding kink with the lavender field prompt? 🔥🔥 thank you so much!! Your writings lift my spirits!

Here you go!

"Lavender Haze"

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Greenwood the great

Themes: Smut | Soft

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary : A game of hide of seek take place in a lavender field. What price will the loser have to pay?

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

A lavender haze.

That was all you could see in the periphery of your vision—an endless haze of the richest lavender swaying with the wind. The blooms rustled, murmuring with a hushed voice of their own every time the wind rose. It was sheer happenstance when you came across this field of wild lavender. Thrilled with this new find, you made haste to ride back to Amon Lanc and tell its prince. Thranduil listened with rapt attention and insisted that you take him there. No one knew of such a field, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

The prince came. And he saw. And believed. And a merry chase then ensued. No one besides the two of you knew of this little slice of paradise, and Thranduil wanted to make the most of it. Others would learn of the field's existence soon enough, and the opportunities to be alone within it would grow sparse.

You ran and ducked behind tall bushes. Hid behind the thick trunks of gnarled trees with branches so low they kissed the soft grass that grew beneath them. And Thranduil chased you still, calling out for you and searching for you, the heady rush of the chase working its magic on him.

"Where are you, meleth?"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and kept still. Thranduil was close to the oak tree you were hiding behind. You could not hear his footsteps; the prince moved like a wraith, not making a single sound. You press against the bark of the tree, wondering if he heard you or if he knew where you were hiding.

"Meleth?"

It was as if he were further away now, but you keep yourself concealed anyway. When it sounded as if he had moved quite a distance, you peered around the tree, pleased to find him no longer there. You take off again, giggling and smug, confident you have thrown him off your trail.

"There you are!" Thranduil ran in from behind and threw his arms around you. He cackled when you squealed and squirmed and tried to free yourself from his hold. His moving away from where you were had just been a sly trick. He was there the entire time, hidden, waiting for you to come out into the open.

"Th-thranduil!" Giddy laughter ripped through you when you tried and tried, and he simply continued to carry you deeper into the field. "Let g-go!"

"No!" Thranduil's laughter mirrored yours. He listened to you grumble and plot your escape, and laughed again, louder this time. "Yield, meleth. Escape is futile. Surely you know this by now."

"Never!" That never lasted no more than a few moments, when you realized you would not be able to extricate yourself from his vise-like grip no matter how hard you tried. You give up and go limp against him.

Thranduil sets you down amidst fragrant purple blooms. "Now, tell me. What was our wager again?"

"If I win, you are to be my slave for the turn of a moon," you answer quickly, more than a little disappointed that losing the wager meant not having Thranduil wait on you hand and foot. Literally.

Thranduil smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And if I win?"

"I am to let you have your way with me. In whatever way you desire."

"A prospect that does not disappoint you, yes?"

You huff and cross your arms. How easy it was for him to read you! "It does not."

Thranduil smiled wolfishly and sat down, extending his hand to you. "Come, meleth. It is time to pay the piper, so to speak."

You narrowed your eyes and made yourself comfortable next to him, lying down on the grass as you did so. The sky was beautiful, all puffy white clouds against a field of the palest, clearest blue. You rest your head over your folded arms and watch while they stay low and move slowly. Thranduil is content to watch you. He lays down beside you, an enchanting smile slowly working its way across his face when you turn to face him. His eyes light up when you smile in return.

"I will pay," you reply with a grin.

Thranduil beamed and leaned forward, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into your throat when his mouth opened over yours. Deft, experienced hands worked on the clasps and lacing on your robes. Your gown loosened beneath his touch. The prince helps you out of your clothes, barely taking a moment to marvel at the sight of you exposed. Thranduil then sat up, his clothes rustling while he rid himself of his tunic and undershirts, belt and sash and boots. They all joined the growing pile by the side. He slipped out of his breeches, sighing in relief when his throbbing cock sprang free. He did not give you time to even think or breathe. He simply captured your lips with his.

Your nerves were aflame; every inch of you was heated and sensitive to his touch. And you were bold, reaching out to ghost a finger over the crown of his member. Thranduil moaned lustily and drew away, content again to watch, this time while you took him into your hands. He moved his hips, thrusting in time with your strokes. The warmth and frenzy of your pace were unceasing. It nearly undid him and almost made him cum all over your hand.

"Not like this." Thranduil loosened your grip and pushed you onto your back. "I would much rather finish inside you."

He was so warm when he lowered himself onto you—slowly and carefully—and tried not to lose control of himself and hurt you. He did not enter you immediately. Thranduil kept still while you touched his face and his hair, and ran your hands over his arms and chest and back. The prince was perfect, like an exquisite marble sculpture come to life.

"Mine," you declare without even hesitating. "All mine."

Joy welled within Thranduil's heart. "As you are mine," he exclaimed with pride before dipping his head.

He kissed with tenderness, then hunger, then fury, when your mouth parted for the warmth of his sinful tongue. Thranduil knitted his tapered fingers around yours, moaning into your mouth when your free hand slid around his waist and nails dug into his flesh.

"Naughty girl," he breathed wistfully. "Now open those beautiful legs for me."

He groaned under his breath when your legs slid open and hooked around his hips. Thranduil pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, sinking his shaft into your slit. The prince was built bigger than most, and you felt it in the pressure around your core. He kept still, his chest heaving and his heart racing wildly, while you adjusted to his size. Arousal pooled in your belly when even the slightest movement sent shock waves shooting up your spine like lightning. You no longer wanted him to stay still. You wanted him to move.

"I am ready."

Thranduil's pace was merciless. He rutted into you like a wild beast, growing drunk on your transported moans.

"Look at how well you take me," he cries against your throat. "It is as if you have been made for me."

All you could do was hold onto him while he bucked his hips against the insides of your thighs. "Perhaps it is because we were made for each other."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Meant for each other. You are mine, just as I am yours. We belong together."

His grip on your hand tightened. He plunged deeper and harder. It made you see stars. "More," you plead shamelessly. "More. Please."

Thranduil grunted softly. "Look at you. Listen to how desperate you sound. Should I deny you?"

"No!" you keen. "Please do not do that."

"Pathetic." Thranduil hissed hoarsely, his hips now undulating every time he thrust. "But I suppose I will concede to your plea. I am going to finish inside you, so you know who you belong to."

"Please." The knowledge of him filling you with his seed unraveled you. "Do it. Please."

He nearly fell apart when he heard. Thranduil let go of your hand and gripped your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He wanted to see how your words could undo him. "Are you ready?"

You did see. You saw how his eyes had darkened and how raw, unbridled lust flashed in them. And you were so ready for him.

"Yes," you sob in relief. "So ready."

Thranduil ran his tongue along the curve of your throat. It made you tremble beneath him and whimper against his shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic and relentless. It sent you spiraling and made the world grow dark in your eyes. Thranduil gasped sharply while your walls contracted and milked his cock. It shattered him and made his orgasm rip through him. He glanced at your belly, his thoughts running riot with visions of his spend filling your cunt. It heightened the bliss he was already drowning in. With one last, satisfying grunt, he came to a stop, his arms and body trembling from the exertion.

Nothing could be heard save for the wind rustling through flowers and leaves and the deeper sound of ragged breathing. Thranduil slowly moved onto his back, taking you with him. You sighed in contentment while he held you against his chest. When you moved, he stopped you.

"Keep me inside you a little longer," Thranduil insists. "Just a little longer, then you and I can go for a swim in that pond nearby."

#thranduil #Thranduil smut #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil imagine #greenwood the great #x reader #x reader insert #reader insert #reader requests #reader insert request #💫a world of whimsy writes

968 notes · View notes

sotwk · 4 months

Text

We don't talk about Eryn Galen enough.

I think the fandom might not always consider or imagine how BEAUTIFUL Eryn Galen must have been in its prime (Second Age 750 to Third Age 1,000). In its true, natural state, before the Necromancer invaded and spiders and filth settled in.

Have you checked a Middle-earth map lately?

Do you see anything in Middle-earth bigger than Greenwood the Great? It is a magical forest inhabited and kept by Elves who are essentially the best wildlife experts of that world. Think of the thousands of different, gorgeous plant and animal species that must have lived and thrived there! The little streams and ponds and glades and dells and cottages and dwellings!

Maybe it's a good thing Silvan Elves were seen as "dangerous", because it's a wonder other races didn't just straight up try to invade it. Sauron knew what was up, and so he targeted it.

Just saying, I think Greenwood the Great (not just Mirkwood) remains criminally underappreciated. It's sad that not even Professor Tolkien told us much about it; he who could wax on about trees for an entire chapter. We can probably use more fics and artwork for Eryn Galen.

#we dont talk about eryn galen enough #greenwood the great #woodland realm #mirkwood #lotr #the hobbit #thranduil #tolkien #middle-earth

200 notes · View notes

tigerlii · 8 months

Text

"Such is the nature of evil. Out there in the vast ignorance of the world it festers and spreads. A shadow that grows in the dark. A sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was. So will it always be. In time all foul things come forth."

#thranduil #thranduil oropherion #mirkwood #woodland realm #greenwood the great #middle earth #tolkien #jrr tolkien #tolkienverse #the hobbit #tolkien elves #lee pace

280 notes · View notes

vigilantegreen · 7 months

Text

Imagine the elves of Mirkwood forming an alliance with the spiders and using them like horses because the thought of domesticated giant spiders makes me giggle.

#lotr #the hobbit #lord of the rings #middle earth #creepy elves <3 #wood elves #wood elf #lotr elves #tolkien elves #tolkien books #j r r tolkien #mirkwood #greenwood the great #thranduil #the elvenking #legolas

276 notes · View notes

forestials · 1 year

Text

Festivities in the Greenwoods

On a long list of things I would love to finish 🍂

#thranduil #legolas #mirkwood #greenwood the great #the hobbit #the silmarillion #my art #forestials art #the silmarillion art

670 notes · View notes

roguesdelight · 2 months

Text

winnie the pooh au but replace christopher robin with young legolas and the hundred acre wood with the greenwood, whilst all the forest animals are his childhood friends.

but instead of focusing on pooh the narration would be centred on legolas and everything he does with and thinks of his friends.

#someone needs to write this asap cause i cant...#legolas #legolas greenleaf #thranduil #greenwood the great #mirkwood #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #the hobbit

38 notes · View notes

silvantransthranduiltrash · 7 months

Text

What most elves thinks it’s like talking to the trees:

Silvan: mighty oak tree, is there some trouble of which you would like to warn us?

Tree: no, my kind silvan. There is no darkness of which that can cause you harm.

What a silvan talking to a tree is actually like:

Legolas, cackling, landing on a tree branch: babe, you’ll never believe what happened!

Tree, lighting up and shaking their leaves: Legolas, my good bitch! I got news!

#lord of the rings #silmarillion #lotr #the hobbit #lotr elves #thranduil #legolas #mirkwood #greenwood the great #silvans #talking to trees #trees are gossips and the silvans regularly have bitch sessions with them #incorrect lotr quotes #incorrect tolkien quotes #oropher

1K notes · View notes

sophiegreenleaf · 7 months

Text

Wild, Tender Thranduil...

I don’t write the Thranduil that most people write. I write the young, wild, brooding Thranduil who never even entertained the idea that he might someday be a leader, much less a king; who rejected the sociopolitical paradigm of Doriath and went (along with his father) to search for his peace amongst the forests and the scattered Avari tribes in the wild; who would disappear in the forest for weeks until his father sent soldiers to look for him; whose father would always check his arms for freshly-artificed cuts when he was gone a little too long; who would try to do right by ordinary people but, at the same time, chafed under the rigid, elitist, patriarchal structures of his own people and, because of that, always felt like a failure; who fell hopelessly in love with a forest and, purely by accident, one of the quiet forest creatures that lived there; who never wanted to be king and never required her to be queen, or even to marry, because she was a healer… just a healer… and after 6 milennia, that was all he ever needed her to be.

At the Wedding of Death and Time

by Marisca Pichette

He is robed in leaf litter, his hair

a crown of seeds.

His groomsman pour wine onto their feet...

No invitations were sent and none

received. All guests remembered

when the moss bloomed and seeds

cracked free of their shells --

the wedding was complete.

We shared a single pomegranate,

sweet and bitter soaking our tongues

as they departed into the dark

of a new moon.

We need more gentleness, and less pretense, in this world. ❤️

Thranduil pic is from @chicotfp and the dryad pic is from Magic: the Gathering.

#lotr elves #thranduil #mirkwood #lotr fanfic #thrandaddy #lotr fandom #randy thrandy #hobbit #greenwood the great

54 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 8 months

Text

“A Better Future” Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol use and drinking | Thranduil being a bit of a jerk

Wordcount : 2.2k words

Summary: Y/n settles in Amon Lanc and is offered a chance to serve during a special festival.

A/n: Inspiration for Amon Lanc

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

Y/N’s POV

Rise.

Toil.

That was y/n’s lot in the halls of king Oropher. She would rise an hour before dawn, and then set herself to work.

She did not mind her duties—that much she could say. Y/n would awaken and bathe before garbing herself in the livery worn by all those who served. White shift, a green dress, and a neat white apron, all lined with simple gold embroidery. Even the cowl she used to cover her hair was as white as snow, and lined in gold embroidery as well. The food was better than anything she had before, and her tasks, as many as they were, were bearable.

Y/n would spend what little spare time she had during her duties studying the great halls. Slender spires and thick curtain walls, beautiful domed towers and manses rose atop Amon Lanc. A winding pathway led to lush forests and a mighty river beneath it. Magnificent gardens and fountains, and carvings of the Ainur dotted the grounds within. Then there was the palace itself. Y/n had never seen anything grander in her life. She wondered if Doriath was the same before the second kinslaying.

"Take this to the king." A cook came forth holding a tray laden with food. "And make haste. The steward says he is of a mood this morn."

Because of my presence, no doubt. Y/n picked up the tray and walked down many a lofty hall and corridor, threading her way around courtiers and warriors and elves going about their day, not stopping until she had reached the high, white doors to Oropher’s chambers. A warrior standing at attention by the door announced her arrival. Oropher bids her to enter. When the doors swung open, y/n took a deep breath, composed herself, and walked in.

It was not the first time she had seen the inside of the king’s private rooms, but her eyes flew wide all the same when they took in the general splendor. Oropher had been seated at a little table, his son by his side. The king did not even acknowledge her, but the crown prince seemed to follow her every move.

"Good morrow, your grace." Y/n set the tray on the table and gracefully dipped to her knees. Oropher merely hummed and gestured for her to arrange their meal.

Oropher made an impatient sound after picking up a piece of parchment. "This is the first Mereth Nuin Giliath since the sacking of Doriath." He gave it to his son to read. "And already it is turning into quite an affair."

A slow smile worked its way across Thranduil’s face. Y/n dared to raise her eyes and glance at him. The crown prince was his father’s exact in many ways, all high cheek bones and silver-gold hair, and a demeanor of great strength. The similarities, however, ended with their eyes. Oropher’s were a glorious silver, and Thranduil’s were a radiant blue. Flashes of red-hot anger coursed through her when she glimpsed how they had braided their hair, and nearly raised her hand to touch hers. What was left of it, that is. She turned away, her cheeks aflame, when Thranduil shifted in his place and found her looking.

If he was displeased, he did not show it. "We have partaken in feasts far greater than this," the prince was quick to remind his father, "and planned even grander ones besides. We can manage, I am sure."

Oropher sighed and turned to face y/n. "You may leave," he commanded sourly.

Y/n dipped to her knees once more before leaving, her anger ebbing and giving way to curiosity. Mereth nuin giliath, Oropher had said. The feast under the stars. She had only heard wondrous tales of it from those fortunate few who traveled to Doriath, and now, she would get to see one with her own eyes, and perhaps even be chosen to help the others serve at the tables. Giddy with excitement, y/n picked up her pace and rushed to the kitchens. The cooks did not like it when the other servants tarried on the upper floors too long.

This was how her days were spent. Rise, and toil. Rise, and toil. Serve and scrub and wash and clean, and even help the cooks at times. Y/n learned far more than she ever did. For instance, Oropher and his son preferred a light, golden wine when breaking their fast. Thranduil’s steward, Feren, preferred mint tea instead. The king’s general rose earlier than most, and his first task of the day was to wander down to the kitchens, to wheedle one of the cooks into giving him a dish of sweet rolls and pastries. Y/n would keep to the shadows and watch while Angon batted his lashes and simpered at Nitiel. Nitiel would swat him on the shoulder with a clean cloth, then swat his hand away when he tried to snatch a fruit tart. Angon laughed and took one anyway.

The general wanted to marry her, so the others said, but his family disapproved. They thought Nitiel was of too little importance to join a noble family like theirs. Still, Angon persists in his courtship, and the gossips declare that he will wed his lady in such a way that no one will be able to say no. Y/n knew what that meant. She moved deeper into the shadows and walked away as Angon leaned over the table, believing him and Nitiel to be alone. Y/n heard a wistful sigh and a fit of giggles, and then more laughter. She smirked. Angon managed to steal another tart.

The days passed by as if in a dream, and while many of the servants were kind, many of those that lived on the upper floors were not. Y/n heard the harsh whispers and the names.

Kinslayer

Murderer

Y/n was neither of these, but it hurt to hear them all the same. She tried her best to ignore them, but every time she glanced into the small silvered looking glass in her chamber and touched her shorn hair, tears came to her eyes.

Mother used to braid my hair and tell stories, she remembered. Father would pick up a lyre and hum softly while she did so. Such happy times darkened forever by the oath’s taint. Oh, if only father had refused his masters. If only he had said no and walked away.

It was too late now. Her father did not refuse his masters. He did not say no. Y/n pulled out a little bag from her pocket and drew out a worn pin after opening it. It was made for her by her father when she came of age. Her mother had painted it with tiny flowers found only in Valinor. The filigreed silver had acquired a green patina due to age, and the painting had all but faded. Y/n treasures it still. It was the one thing she refused to sell, as it reminded her of happier times. She turned it over her fingers, her heart aching desperately when she remembered she was here, and her parents were waiting for her in the Halls of Mandos.

I will not see them, she thought, not for many and more years. Not until the long years of my life are finally spent and I must answer the Doomsman’s call.

Someone huffed outside her room. "Is something amiss?" Y/n put the pin back into its bag when Nitiel knocked and entered.

"The crown prince wishes to see you," Nitiel replied at once. "His steward is without and waits to escort you to the gardens."

This cannot be good. "Did he say what the prince wants of me?"

"He did not," Nitiel shrugged, adding, "It cannot be anything bad, I think. The king would have dealt with you himself if that were the case."

Y/n hid the bag inside her pocket and straightened her apron. "I will come with you."

She followed Nitiel into the kitchens, dipping to her knees when Feren turned to face her. "Ah," he said, pleased. "There she is. Come with me, my lady. The prince wishes to speak with you."

When he offered his arm, she took it and let him lead her out of the kitchen. Feren talked pleasantly enough about the weather, about the autumn flowers that were blooming in the gardens, and about the feast everyone was talking about.

"Who do you think will attend, my lord?" Y/n mused.

"Feren," He said, not unkindly. "Just about everyone in Greenwood the Great will come. I hear the King of Lórien himself is hoping to attend."

Y/n had only heard tales of Amdír, having gone out of her way to avoid straying into his kingdom’s borders. She pressed Feren to tell her more. Thranduil’s steward was more than happy to oblige and kept up a lively chatter until they were in the gardens.

"I hear there will be contests as well."

"Aye. For anyone who is a warrior. The wagers are quite staggering already."

Y/n pondered this and studied Feren more carefully. The elf had light brown hair and a comely face. He was built like an archer, tall and lean with strong arms. He moved like one too, silently and swiftly.

"Will you partake?" she inquired after a while.

Feren smiled. "I am," he began, "in the archery contests. Although I am uncertain how I will stand against more skilled archers than I."

"You will do well, I am sure," y/n answered, and she was rewarded with another smile.

Thranduil was seated comfortably beneath an emerald canopy. There was no one else with him. His father was nowhere to be seen. The crown prince was garbed in embroidered blue velvet slashed with cloth silver. An ornate, gilded sword hung to his side. A table had been set in front of him and filled with all manner of food and drink. A book was open and left to the side. Y/n wondered what it was.

"Lady y/n, my lord," Feren announced softly.

"Thank you, old friend." Thranduil rose, and Feren bowed. He made his excuses and left y/n with the crown prince.

Thranduil tilted his head curtly. "Lady y/n," he said, gesturing for her to sit by him.

Y/n was amazed. First it was Thranduil’s icy but polite manner of address; now it was his invitation for her to sit with him. She obeyed, not wanting to insult him in any way.

"Your highness," she said, dipping her head and keeping her gaze firmly on her lap.

A thick and uncomfortable silence settled over them. Y/n did not mind. She took the opportunity to look around and admire the flowers in bloom, and the greedy little bees that hovered around them, their tiny legs fat with pollen. Birds sang in the trees, and just beneath their song, she could hear the faint roar of the river.

After what felt like an age, Thranduil poured a cup of wine for her before refreshing his own. "I trust you are content with your new appointment?"

"I am," said she, not daring to even take the proffered drink. It could very well be some sort of test, for all she knew. "And I am most grateful to you and your father for letting me stay here."

Thranduil studied her keenly and declared, with haughty disdain, "One such as you ought to be." He ignored y/n’s quiet gasp and continued. "But I did not ask you here to exchange meaningless pleasantries. I have more valuable things to do with my time. Y/n. I believe I do not have to tell you about Mereth Nuin Giliath?"

"It is all anyone talks about in the kitchens," y/n divulged, a little stung by what he said at the beginning. It made her feel like she was undeserving of help.

"Good." Thranduil leaned into his ornate wooden chair and sipped on his wine, not caring if y/n was drinking her own. He certainly made no attempt to ask her to help herself to the food. "Good. Then I must tell you that we are a few hands short, and my father has decided to let you serve and aid the others during the feast and frolics over the coming days. I trust you can manage this."

Y/n did not show the giddy excitement on her face, thinking it might anger him and make him take back his offer. "I can, your highness."

"Good," Thranduil said, turning towards the wide arching doors leading back to the palace. A warrior who was near walked over when the prince beckoned him. "You will be given livery befitting the occasion. Now you must excuse me. Good day, y/n."

"And you, your highness," y/n said and rose. When she walked by Thranduil, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Should misfortune strike anyone during the festivities and you are suspected," Thranduil warned menacingly, "I will show you no mercy."

The prince’s threat was no idle threat. It was a solemn promise. And his grip hurt. Cold fear and pain flashed in y/n’s eyes. She tried to pull her hand away but found that she could not. Thranduil was far too strong. Unable to do anything else, y/n mewled softly and shuddered, whispering, "You are hurting me."

Thranduil let go, his eyes widening at the bruise that had already begun to form. "I…" the prince began, rising from his seat. Y/n rubbed her wrist and sniffed. She glimpsed at the prince and found something akin to shame in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he entreated, taking a step toward her. "I..."

Y/n took a step back. She wanted to go back to the safety of her chamber and nurse her wrist, and was grateful her sleeves were long enough to hide the bruising. There would be no end to the questions of others if they saw, and y/n did not know how she would tell them if they did.

"No need for apologies, your highness," she mumbled sadly and pulled down her sleeve. The prince made no further effort to come near her after that. "One such as me is underserving of your words. Pray tell the king I will be honored to serve during the festivities."

Thranduil merely nodded, and let her walk away.

Tags: @deadlymistletoe @lemonivall @coopsgirl @tigereyesf @thranduilseyebrows @cupids-got-me @jane0error @asianbutnotjapanese

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #x reader #reader insert #thranduil angst #reader angst #greenwood the great #thranduil imagine #amon lanc #the silm #the silm imagine #💫a world of whimsy writes

104 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs