#greenleafprinceling

Myrkr arrived on his back and all the air was knocked out of his lungs as he did so. He also hit his head and was knocked unconscious for the next three hours - until Legolas found him and shook him somewhat awake.

"Whatthef-", he slurred, eyes rolling back up for a moment before he forced them to focus back on the blond above him. "Oh?"

He blinked a few times. He didn't remember how he got there. Head throbbing, he furrowed his brows. The stab wound that was on his lower abdomen was still fresh, it also throbbed with pain, but it stopped bleeding on it's own and already started to heal. Myrkr smiled up at the elf with a dreamy smile.

Yiviria smirked.

[ cont from here with @greenleafprinceling ]

Bilbo chuckled at Legolas’s comment on his skill with a blade, something he was rather conflicted about even still, but proud of none the less. He had saved a few lives, including his own with it since. A letter opener, indeed... When he returned home he would hang it over his fireplace mantel, a place of pride. 

“I suspect not many of my kin would even believe the tales I might come home with...”

But he was glad to add a few more tales anyway along the trip back. Gandalf was originally meant to escort him back before Thranduil’s deal was struck. Bilbo wasn’t a young man anymore and he wasn’t so sure he was entirely suited for a life strictly in the Shire. Not any more. He couldn’t think of another hobbit that might share in his new outlook. Not one he wasn’t too closely related to at any rate. 

He smiled as Legolas sent for stationary to quickly sent a letter. It was good that he was looking forward to this trip now as well. It showed promise for friendship at the very least. Bilbo let his write in peace, quietly sipping his wine and looking over the map. He thought the prince must have been telling the Lord and Lady of the Golden wood of their betrothal and greeting them as their stations dictated... and while Bilbo could only read a little elvish, it didn’t take a scholar to see it was taking Legolas much longer than expected to write his letter. Bilbo knew that elvish was quiet complicated, at least it seemed for one that wrote common, so perhaps he was judging incorrectly... Or the King, his father, and Lord Elrond just wrote terribly quickly. And the guards in the cellar.

“He seems... a difficult person, at times. Difficult to please.” Bilbo tried to gently coax a little more out of Legolas by agreeing with him over his father. It would be unwise to say anything terribly negative, of course, especially with other servants and guards about. But he decided to give Legolas an out as well, if he wasn’t comfortable in talking about such subjects just yet. 

[ cont from here with @greenleafprinceling​ ]

It never occurred to Bilbo that Legolas wouldn’t have a say in the matter. But it appeared that Legolas had thought of this situation as less than desirable. It was customary, in the Shire anyway, to ask the parents permission of your intended. But the King had come to him, and given the short time he and Legolas had spent together being generally agreeable... Well, Bilbo had to admit it was difficult saying no to a king. When that king was your father as well, perhaps even more so.

“I’ve asked the king for you to escort me home-- back to the Shire... I thought that might give us a chance to get to know one another. The wedding won’t be for a very long while.”

The crash wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be. The giant spiders, though, were terrible. Cutting himself through an army of the damn things, Kylo tried to find his way out of the woods, but he only managed to get even more lost.

An hour later he was grumpy enough to start cutting off trees with his lightsaber. Even his weapon was growling and spitting fire angrily. Stopping suddenly, he half turned his head when he felt a presence.

“I’m just teasing you, my dear.” He placed a kiss on the elf’s temple. “Now, let me see if I can get these off you, without breaking them.”

“Well, it was not my idea or choice either, if that is what you are wondering…” the Prince of the Abyss muttered. 

And indeed, it was not; neither could the half-demon do anything about it. If he knew one thing about politics it was that it went beyond individuals and that “long-term alliances” was the name of the game. But Mysterio did not need to use his insight or his magical abilities to be able to read between the lines. This whole travesty… it was… uncalled for. Elves were not supposed to be demons’ allies. Besides… he knew his King better than anyone to be able to tell that a hidden agenda was lurking there somewhere.  But forcing him to marry an Elf prince… that was an outrage. “Is this what I am to you? An object you can sell to get the job done?” he remembered complaining. “You are my beloved Prince, Mysterio and you will do as I say.” was the only response, and the discussion was cut short. 

Mysterio felt his chest being crushed by the waight of something all to familiar: bitterness and betrayal; whose intensity only multiplying since he was forced into this room to “get to know with his groom-to-be.” He remained slouched into his seat, pale, long fingers which ended in sharp black nails pressed under his chin; strands of his long silky red hair falling over his face and almost covering his cypress green eyes which ere now clouded with contemplation. Judging from the occassional peeking at the other man, however, he was a little relieved; for the blonde, beautiful creature standing at the opposite end of the room looked just as miserable as him. The fact that the awkward silence since the door closed behind them broke after thirty minutes spoke volumes.

“Then what was it that you were expecting, pray tell? An uneducated savage? An orc-looking monster? A mewling weakling? An old fool? Or perhaps one who would be brainless enough to think that an alliance between demons and elves is a good idea or about to last?”  he sighed pushing a wave of hair behind his pointy ear.

A frown tugged at pink lips as Legolas turned himself over to his stomach, ever attuned to the shifts of mood in his lover. “There is something wrong. Why are you upset?” The question was soft, gentle as he looked up with a small frown.