What The Duck Is Going On Here

You welcomed the soft padding of the bed. A sigh escaping your lips as your head rested against the pillow.

"And I thought I could only illicit that noise from you."

Lazily, you turned your gaze to Thorin as he began to undress.

"Thorin," you warned, your smile betraying your mock annoyance. You moved to help him undress, but he simply waved you off.

"Was the day truly that long?" He asked, his warm gaze never leaving yours.

You let out a huff of annoyance. "Those nephews of yours only know trouble."

Thorin let out a barking laugh as he climbed into bed next to you. "I will speak with them in the morrow."

Thorin pulled you close to him, your face nuzzling against his neck as he breathed you in at the crown of your head.

"What else troubled you today," he murmured, rubbing his hand gently against your back.

"Nothing of import," you replied, basking in Thorin's warmth. He was always warm - a soft constant heat. "It does not matter now," you whispered, placing a kiss against the base of his throat.

You enjoyed the low grumble you received in response - his hands moving to grip at your waist.

"And your day?" you questioned, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze despite his silent protests.

Thorin merely let out a low huff of annoyance, turning to lay on his back.

"Surely it was not that bad?" You asked, leaning towards him more you placed your hand on his chest.

"Thorin," you prodded.

"Trouble with trade agreements - I wish not to discuss it."

Your eyes searched his - you knew better than to push him. Thorin would discuss it with you in his own time. The more you pushed the more closed off he would become.

Thorin reached for your hand on his chest, he brought it to his lips, placing a gently kiss against your hand.

"I wish only to think of you," he said gruffly. His voice low and quiet.

You delicately turned his face towards yours, his hand still placed gingerly on top of yours. Leaning his forehead against yours, you felt him breathe deeply.

"As you wish," you replied faintly, relishing in the embrace you shared.

It has been a week.

A week and the pain still lingers. It has spread through your body and evolved from its physical form to infect your mind. The pain of labor had left you frail and weary, your once vibrant spirit now subdued by the weight of motherhood's trials. As you lie in your bedchamber, weighed down underneath the furs and silk sheets, you hear the argument between guilt and apathy loud in your thoughts.

The guilt shouts at you, ordering you to get up. It tells you to be stronger than this; that a Lady of Dol Amroth and wife of a high-ranking captain does not laze about in her bed. She never accepts defeat, but stands up and soldiers on. For her child. For her people.

Apathy however, whispers that you have already failed and you'll never be strong enough for yourself, your child, or your captain again. Your body is ruined. Boromir may not ever return to Minas Tirith. How will you find the strength again?

The silence in the room feeds your inner thoughts. The grand walls and high ceiling loom over you, making it feel less of a comforting place of rest and more of an entrapping cave of white stone. The heavy, blue velvet curtains draping your tall, arched windows shut out the warm sunlight.

You wish to hold her, your newborn babe. That's all you can care for, to feel her warmth against you so you can feel something. Alas, she remains with your nursemaid in another room at the request of the midwife. To give you rest, she told. She witnessed your pain and anguish firsthand, as she stayed with you during those prolonged hours of pushing, screaming, crying, and praying for it all to end. You were near hysterics, anxious that your baby was trapped inside you. You feared as if you had to split yourself in half to get her out.

The midwife recognized your melancholy which lingered after your daughter's birth. She said to you this feeling will pass in time, or was it she hoped it would?

As you drift in and out of an emotional slumber, a gentle knock echoes through the wooden door, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the threshold. You open your eyes to see the familiar dark, yet golden hair of Boromir, your stalwart husband. He enters your shared bedchamber, his countenance etched with lines of concern and weariness from the battles fought at Gondor's borders.

"My dear (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled mind.

You can hardly contain the tears in your weary eyes at the sight of his towering figure. The sound of his voice sends a wave of relief. It washes over you, threatening to spill the emotions you've held so tightly in your heart.

"You've returned!" You sputter and look to him as he crosses the room with purpose, his arms outstretched to embrace you. With such tender care, he gathers you in his arms, his strong frame a shield against the woes outside your door.

"I have, as swiftly as my steed could carry me...I feared I had lost you," he murmurs, soft and low, pressing a kiss to your brow. "But here you are, safe as I hoped you both would be."

You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear. It's a comforting cadence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. The warmth of his cheek against your crown permeates your cold and weakened body and you breathe in his scent, detecting his musk that you've always found so alluring.

Lavender and cream from his shave, leather from his clothing, and the earth and air from his travels.

"How are you feeling?" He queries with a gentle hush, "I had heard it was...quite difficult."

Tears began flowing down your cheeks like a trickling stream after a spring rain. You mutter a sarcastic answer to mask the pain, albeit pathetically, "Difficult is how I would describe your temper. This was..." you pause to reconsider burdening him with your woes, "...something far beyond my imagination."

Boromir's warm hold around you tightens and he presses an apologetic kiss to your forehead. As the fire crackles softly in the hearth, he begins to weave a tale of excitement upon learning the news of your daughter's birth.

"When I received word that our child was a girl," he began, a fond smile gracing his lips, "my heart swelled with joy beyond measure. I thought, a blessing has been bestowed upon us by the Valar themselves, to cherish and protect for all the days of our lives."

Your heart sank.

"But what of your father? He did not appear pleased to discover her," You worry, remembering the controlling nature of the steward towards all things in his city. "Tradition demands a male heir."

Boromir replies, his expression turning solemn as he considers your question, "He may harbor...disappointment at first. He does cling to the ways of old, but he is a man of wisdom and honor." He pauses, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before resolve settled in his eyes. "I have faith that in time he will come to see the light and beauty that our daughter brings to our house, and he will welcome her into the fold with open arms, as a cherished member of our noble lineage."

He recounted how he had ridden with haste through the rolling hills of Gondor, his heart buoyed by the thought of returning to your side, to share in the wonder of new life.

"As I rode through the streets, I heard talk of you and our daughter." He smiles a breathless laugh at that final word, "They spoke with such gleeful joy, 'Finally, a girl is born in the Citadel!' It gave them hope, (Y/N). Countless people requested I send word of your good health to them. They love you, (Y/N). They are here for you just as I am. You are...you're their princess."

Suddenly, a drop of moisture splashes onto your hair. Bringing yourself up from beneath his chin, you look into his grey-blue eyes. They're brimming with tears and he makes no effort to slow his weeping, for he is so overjoyed he can no longer contain them.

"My journey was long and arduous," he continued, his voice a low rumble in the quiet chamber. "But fear not, my love, for I am here now. Together, we shall weather this storm."

And so, in the solace of each other's arms, you found a sanctuary from the trials of the world outside. For in the embrace of love, even the darkest night could be pierced by the light of hope, shining bright as the morning sun upon the walls of Gondor.

The soft creak of the doorknob echoes through the bedchamber, heralding the arrival of another into the sanctum of your solace. Both of your gazes, intertwined with longing and curiosity, turn to behold the newcomer being carried across the threshold.

"And now, here she is," says Boromir, his gaze softening as he looks upon the babe being welcomed into your arms. "When I look upon her, I see the promise of a future adorned with beauty and grace. A beacon of hope to light our path ahead."

And being the only woman in the Fellowship, it could be difficult to find privacy. Your comrades meant well, but sometimes they could be overbearing. You appreciated their concern, but you could take care of yourself - if you hadn't been able to handle yourself, Elrond wouldn't have allowed you to be part of the mission, would he?

So, to find your privacy, you had taken to rising earlier than everyone else and bathing in a nearby stream - if one was available. Those were your only moments of solace, and you had to admit, that it was nice to clean yourself of the grime and sweat from trekking through the woods. Mainly for reasons of comfort and ease of movement, of course, though there were other reasons that you liked to be clean - reasons that were really quite embarrassing. Reasons that pertained to not wanting to feel unattractive in front of a certain Gondorian captain.

Really, with the fate of all Middle Earth at stake, you were worried about not looking presentable enough for a man? Was that truly what was important right now? But the irrationality of your reasoning didn’t make it any less true, no matter how irritated it made you feel towards yourself.

If you were honest with yourself, you hadn’t been that impressed by Boromir when the two of you had first met in Rivendell. He was handsome, yes, but there was no shortage of good-looking men in the world. At first, he he seemed like nothing but another warrior concerned with nothing but honour and glory. It wasn’t until later that your feelings for him began to grow.

You soon found that Boromir - while indeed a brave and talented warrior - was also gentle and caring, and that was what had drawn you to him. He protected you and the other members of the Fellowship like he would lay down his life for you, and the way he laughed and played with the Hobbits was awfully sweet. You went from thinking nothing much of him to beginning to fall for him at a speed that was incredibly surprising to you, as it had never happened before.

You were thinking of Boromir as you stripped off your clothes and armour, leaving them in a pile on the bank of the stream close enough for you to reach when you needed them, but not so close that they would easily get wet. First, you dipped your toes into the cool water, then quickly submerged yourself. You sighed contentedly, moving deeper into the water and beginning to wash the dirt from your skin. It was a simple pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.

So relaxed were you - which was dangerous, as you were out in the wild and needed to be constantly vigilant - that you didn’t even notice that you were not alone in the stream, and remained completely ignorant until you heard a shocked voice uttering your name. Your eyes flew open to see Boromir standing before you in the water, completely bare like you.

"C-Captain Boromir!" you almost shrieked, your face flushing deeply and your arms raising to cover your chest. Your eyes wanted to trail downwards, to finally catch a glimpse of the muscular physique you knew was there - that which you had fantasised about as you watched him teaching Merry and Pippin how to defend themselves, or as he sparred with Aragorn - beneath the clear water. It took an intense amount of willpower, you successfully fought the urge.

Boromir was embarrassed too, though he wasn't being quite as obvious about it. "Apologies, my lady," he responded, his voice strained. "If I had known that you were bathing too, I would have kept my distance. I promise that it was not my intention to intrude on you." He looked at you as if he were begging you to accept his apology.

A few moments passed, and after the shock had worn off at least a little, you nodded empathetically. "I understand, Captain. You are not that kind of man. I was just shocked, that is all."

Boromir gave you a small smile, clearly relieved by your answer. "I am glad. I would not wish for you to think less of me."

There is no chance of that, you thought to yourself, settling down with your back against a large boulder near the bank of the stream. I think very highly of you indeed... more than you know. Luckily, you still had enough sense to not say such a thing out loud. Boromir’s proximity combined with your mutual nakedness was making you feel weak in the knees, and you didn’t wish to embarrass yourself in front of him anymore than you already had.

Boromir moved in the water, and once again your willpower was tested, finding yourself tempted to peek at his naked body. This time, you indulged yourself a little, looking at him out of the corner of your eye and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Even through your quick, embarrassed glances, you now knew that his physique was just as striking as you had imagined. Your mind began to wander, presenting some tantalising images of feeling his strong muscles beneath your palms, and then of brushing your lips against his chest, hearing his moans above you as you slowly moved lower—

You snapped back into reality rather unceremoniously when you heard Boromir say your name. That was when you realised that your attempts at subtly admiring him had quickly turned into staring, and you had been caught in the act. Your cheeks began to burn with embarrassment, and it took what felt like an eternity for you to be able to meet his gaze once more.

And to your surprise (and delight), when you looked up to Boromir’s face, he didn’t seem disturbed or uncomfortable. Rather he was… smiling? And even better, there was a pale flush on his cheeks that indicated perhaps your admiration was not entirely one-sided.

When he saw your shocked expression, Boromir laughed quietly. "I have been trying to stop myself from staring at you ever since we first met, but now that I know you wish to stare back… perhaps I was worrying over nothing."

"Pardon…?" you stammered out, not trusting your own mind to determine whether this was real or another one of the dreams you’d had about Boromir since meeting him. Though this did feel far more real than any dream or fantasy you’d ever experienced in your life… you could feel the water on your skin, the cool morning breeze, and the heat rushing through your body as Boromir looked at you with darkened eyes.

"I have been admiring you since Rivendell, my lady. I knew right away that you were the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, and when I got the chance to know you better… I found that you were not only beautiful, but a woman of both gentleness and strength." Boromir looked down, seeming almost bashful, something that you were not expecting of a strong warrior like himself. "You have stolen my heart, in a way no other woman ever has."

"Captain Boromir…" Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, still trying to discern whether this was real or not.

"Please, just call me 'Boromir'. There is no need for such formality between us, especially now." Boromir moved closer, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. His skin felt warm, and you could feel the callouses on his palm, something you would expect from a lifelong warrior such as himself. But at the same time his touch was so gentle, like you were something precious to him.

Suddenly, you didn’t care whether or not this was a dream - if it was, there was no harm in indulging, and if it wasn’t… well, Boromir wanted you quite obviously. There was no downside to finally allowing yourself to be with this man that you had been pining over.

And so, you closed the gap between the two of you and crashed your lips against his, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. Boromir let out a quiet noise of surprise, but a few seconds later he was reciprocating enthusiastically, kissing you back with a fervour that more than matched your own. One of his strong arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer, and you couldn’t help but moan softly as you felt your bare skin touch his for the very first time.

"I have been thinking about this since Rivendell," Boromir admitted huskily, pulling away from your lips to press fervent kisses to your jawline. Once he reached just below your ear, he took a moment to gently nip at your earlobe before his lips trailed down the side of your neck. His large hands were now eagerly grabbing at your backside, pulling you even closer to him.

"As have I," you whispered in response. It felt good to finally admit your desires out loud - though it certainly didn't feel better than giving in to them. You could feel Boromir's facial hair scratching against the sensitive skin of your neck as he sucked a mark into it. At this moment, you weren't even considering the idea that someone back at camp might notice it later. You were too focused on the present to even think about the future.

Boromir grinned against your neck, nipping gently as his hands moved - up from your backside to your mid back, before slipping around to the front of your body, and moving higher until he grasped your breasts. "These have been quite the distraction…" You felt his thumbs grazing over your nipples, making them harden beneath his touch, and you let out a gasp. "You’re even more beautiful than I imagined…"

One of his hands left your breast to slide down your stomach until he cupped your mound, brushing his fingers against your clit, while other hand continued to toy with your nipple. Your legs spread a little further on instinct, and you braced yourself against the smooth boulder you were leaning against.

"That’s it, my darling, don’t be shy. Open yourself up to me," Boromir whispered lowly in your ear, as he slipped one finger inside of you rather easily, the pad of his thumb beginning to slowly rub circles over your clit. You let out a quiet curse, which seemed to amuse him judging by his smile.

Boromir kept his eyes on you as he continued to touch you, wanting to see exactly how you reacted. You mesmerised him when you were fully clothed walking through the woods, so seeing you completely bare, writhing beneath his touch? You were a temptation that he could not ignore. Once he could tell you were beginning to teeter on the edge, he pulled his hand from you, and your eyes snapped open, disappointed by the lack of stimulation.

"I would like to taste you," Boromir told you, making your heart flutter even more. You had imagined more than once having his head buried between your legs as he lapped at you until you could hardly speak. "But as there is no way for me to do that right now without risking us being seen, I suppose it will have to wait for another time."

Another time, he said. He already wanted to do this again. That fact excited you beyond belief, that this could happen more than once. You hadn’t even finished doing it the first time, but you were already excited for the next.

Boromir could see the excitement behind your eyes, and he grinned at your enthusiasm. "For now…" He didn’t need to finish that thought for you to know what he meant. He kissed you again, more sweetly this time, and you felt his hands on your thighs, manoeuvring them so they were wrapped around his waist. You could feel his hardness against you, rubbing against your core, and you practically collapsed into his arms.

"Are you ready?" Boromir asked gently, looking into your eyes, his own gaze filled with both adoration and desire.

"Yes," you told him softly, sounding almost desperate. "Please."

That was all he needed to hear. Using his hold on your waist, Boromir pulled you down onto him, slowly burying himself inside of you. Both of you let out groans, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he stayed still, allowing both of you to adjust to the new sensation.

"You feel incredible," he murmured brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut. The tone in his voice made it sound as if he were struggling to keep himself together, like you felt so good that if he didn’t focus properly, he would fall apart in an instant. It made you feel strangely powerful that you were able to affect a man like him in such a way. "You’ll be the death of me…"

The two of you stayed frozen for a few more moments, until you started to become impatient and whispered "go on" against his lips. And as soon as you gave the signal, Boromir began to move, drawing out of you before pushing himself deep inside again, almost painfully slow.

He was big, certainly thicker than anything you’d experienced before, and there was a stretch that stung a little at the beginning. It faded quickly however, and it wasn’t long before you had your face buried in his neck as you panted and moaned. Boromir’s fingertips dug into your hips, definitely hard enough to leave bruises but not enough for you to care. How could you care right now, anyway? Your mind was so addled by the pleasure you were feeling that you barely even remembered where you were.

As his hips moved against yours, Boromir’s hands were everywhere, almost like he was trying to memorise every inch of your body using only his sense of touch. Your own hands grasped onto his shoulders, occasionally moving downwards so you could run your hands over his toned torso, and making him gasp softly against your skin. He began to move faster, and as a result your moans grew louder and more frequent.

Boromir knew that it wasn’t safe for you to be so loud - though your pretty moans were driving him crazy - as anyone could hear and come to investigate, whether that was one of their comrades or someone more unsavoury. Rather than tell you to quiet down, however, he kissed you again, swallowing each and every noise that wanted to escape you. This also had the added benefit of keeping him quiet as well, because he could feel his own willpower slipping.

Again, his pace increased, and you were barely even able to think anymore. Boromir could tell that you were close, and oh, how he wanted to see you fall over the edge. Wanting to make sure he saw it before meeting his own end, his hand slipped between your bodies to rub at your clit again, while the other toyed with your nipple. You tightened around him and he doubled his efforts, bringing his lips close to your ear. "I can feel that you’re close, my darling… let go, I want to feel you come undone for me…"

Almost as if you were waiting for his permission, you immediately fell apart once he said the word, trembling violently in his embrace as you called out his name. By some miracle, Boromir was quick enough to crash his lips against yours once more to muffle the sound, as he continued to fuck you through your climax.

Boromir tried to hold out as long as he could, but soon enough he faltered. With a groan against your lips he let go too, spilling himself inside of you before pressing his forehead against yours once more. Both of you were panting, your bodies shaking slightly as you recovered from your shared experience, holding onto each other for dear life.

"You know…" you began breathlessly, once you had recovered enough to be able to speak again. "I think that was the best bath I’ve ever had…"

Boromir grinned widely, peppering kisses on your cheek before planting one on the tip of your nose. "Glad to be of service, my lady," he said in a teasing tone, but you could tell that he was being genuine. You placed your hand on his cheek, brushing your nose against his and then gently kissing his lips, much more chastely than the previous kisses you had shared.

The two of you stayed like that for a few more minutes, revelling in being so close to each other now that you knew that you were not alone in your feelings. After a while you pulled away from each other, making sure to wash the sweat that had formed on your bodies from your earlier activities.

"We should return to camp soon. The others might wake and notice that we’re missing," Boromir said solemnly, knowing that duty called for you both, even if he would love to stay here with you forever. You nodded, and the two of you waded out of the water, drying yourselves and getting dressed.

Once the two of you were looking presentable again, Boromir took your hand in his, looking into your eyes with a rather vulnerable expression. "I hope… this will not be our last encounter?" he asked, a subtly pleading tone to his voice, which made your heart melt. This was real, he truly did care for you.

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect. 

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention. 

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone. 

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize. 

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp. 

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable. 

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair. 

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance. 

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years. 

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found. 

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you. 

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care. 

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough. 

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.” 

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own. 

“I thought it looked nice.” 

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash. 

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror. 

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser. 

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?” 

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit. 

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.” 

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding. 

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“I am in love with you,” Thorin said softly as he stood next to you in Beorn’s barn. The midnight moon shone upon his face, highlighting his silver blue eyes, making them sparkle like aquamarine stones. 

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine at his revelation. Why on earth would Thorin ever feel something for you? Immediately your mind began rationalising his feelings, churning it all over in your mind. For a few seconds and you were silent. 

“And you do not feel the same?” Thorin asked sadly. “I knew it was best I keep my thoughts to myself.” 

“Thorin,” you whispered, placing your hand on his arm. “I…I know I’m the only woman in the Company and no doubt as a male, you’re going to have urges…”

“That is what you think?” he hissed. “You think this is all about me wanting to seduce you?” 

“Please, I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“Then how did you mean it? 

Something snapped within you, a sore pressure point that had been prodded many times over the years. A place where a deeply buried scar lay untouched, waiting for someone to inadvertently uncover it with their words. A flash of anger hit you full force in your head and chest. “You’re just desperate!” you shouted. 

With that, you turned around stormed away towards the back of the barn and slumped down on a bale of hay. Tears were falling down your cheeks now in quick procession which you rubbed away in frustration, only making your cheeks turn redder. 

Thorin sighed and grit his teeth, sensing that your words came from a place of pain. However, those words had also deeply pained him in return. Did you think so little of him? Trust so little? 

***

The next morning and the tension was still thick between you and Thorin. The whole of the Company, including Gandalf, all sat around a large table, drinking milk and eating honeycakes, specially made by the host himself.  However, Beorn announced gruffly that he had no more honeycakes for that morning’s meal, and you were the last person he was intending to serve. 

All the Dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf looked on, their mouths full of food. Except Thorin. He was sat opposite you and immediately reached across to you and handed his cake to you. “Please, eat,” he said, offering you the cake and a sad smile. 

“I can’t take your breakfast,” you replied. 

“You can and you will,” Thorin said again, placing the cake on your plate. 

“Maybe we could split it?” 

Thorin didn’t respond, but instead kept his gaze locked on you as you broke the cake in half and then gave a portion back to him. 

***

After breakfast, you and Bilbo began filling the saddlebags of the ponies which Beorn was lending you. He had since made more honeycakes, enough to see all of you with food for a good couple of weeks. 

“May we have a moment, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, suddenly appearing before you both. His eyes then moved to you, telling Bilbo that he wished to talk to you. 

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Bilbo said, flashing a nervous smile. 

“I wish to talk to you about last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. That was never my intention to do so. But what I told you is the truth, and it has nothing at all to do with you being the only female in this Company. I am quite appalled that you think I would pursue you without any real feelings being involved.” 

Your gaze locked with his and you began to speak. “It was unfair of me to say what I did, and I’m sorry. Very few men have ever shown any interest in me in such a way, and then I become a member of your Company and find that you, the rightful king of your homeland, somehow has fallen in love with me. It reads like a pathetic joke. Maybe once we get to Erebor and you see more women again you may…”

“No,” Thorin insisted. “Why do you think so low of yourself? Who has broken you to the point that you cannot accept a declaration of love? I’d hoped you had begun to trust me by now. It is clear you don’t.” 

“I do trust you. Implicitly.”

“Obviously not. You cannot trust that my words are true, and that they come from my heart. I love you for everything that you are, for the woman you are. Not because of some lack of choice.” 

The sadness in his eyes was so clear to see and it made a lump rise in your throat. To keep doubting his love and pushing him away would be wrong of you. It was obvious that Thorin was speaking truth. 

The music is loud in the grand hall of Erebor. Maybe it’s all the wine you’ve been drinking and the lack of food that’s amplifying the noise. You want to leave, to get away, and find some peace. Slowly, your gaze sweeps across the large room. In the far corner is Thorin. He sits in one of the soft lounge chairs that line the edge of the hall. His arm rests on the back as he leans forward to speak with someone.

Sighing, you head that way, intent on convincing Thorin to join you in going to bed. If he wants to stay, you won’t push, but having him join you will be a nice end to the evening. As you approach, his head lifts as if sensing you. His mouth forms into a sultry smile. From here you can tell his cheeks are rosy from all the alcohol.

He stands immediately and meets you before you reach him. “You wish to retire?” he asks softly. How does he always seem to know when you’re ready to leave?

“Indeed,” you reply.

Thorin nods. “I will follow you shortly. The royal brewer is trying a new recipe and sent up a small barrel of mead to our room. He thought we could try it.”

“And did he share this special recipe?”

Thorin chuckles. “No. You know how he likes to keep his secrets.” Thorin glances around and then leans in. “It’ll probably be awful like the last three he sent us.”

You stifle a giggle behind your hand and Thorin grins. “Can’t wait,” you reply.

“I’ll see you shortly.”

Thorin comes to your private chambers shortly after you do. Once bathed and prepped for sleep, the two of you open the cask and pour yourself a mug each of the mead. On first inspection, the color is that of honey. It smells sweet with a bit of a yeasty undertone.

Thorin sniffs his mug. “Doesn’t smell weird.”

“No,” you muse. “Should we trust it?”

Thorin laughs and then takes a sip. “Tastes like mead.”

You take your own sip. Thorin is right. There is nothing unique or odd about it. The two of your drink more, eventually finishing your mugs.

“Want another?” asks Thorin.

“Not particularly.”

Thorin grunts. “Same for me. In fact,” Thorin shifts in his chair, “I feel a bit odd.”

“Odd?” you ask as a warm throb begins to bloom in your core. You squeeze your thighs, and find yourself wet.

“Yes,” slurs Thorin. He stands and sets down his empty mug.

There is something wrong. You’re hot, needy. You want to remove your clothes, to lay on your back on the bed, to spread your legs and show Thorin just how wet you are. The impulse to do this is sudden and intense. You groan involuntarily and the sound causes Thorin to react.

He turns toward you, his eyes blue pools, fists clenching. He takes a step toward you, then another until his hand slides to the back of your neck.

“Something is in that mead,” he murmurs.

It’s the same thought that’s spinning through your mind.

“What should we do?” you whisper. His touch is fire against your skin, and you press into his touch.

Thorin groans, and his grip tightens. “You smell so sweet. Intoxicating.” He leans forward, and you cannot help but follow him. You’re standing now, and Thorin’s hands are on your hips, pulling you against him.

“Let me in,” he whispers against your mouth.

You lean back into his grip enough to see his face properly. His eyes are a vibrant blue. Your heart is beating, legs weakening, and Thorin’s grip is the only thing keeping you on your feet. His knee presses between your legs and you moan again, your own hands on his chest for support. You gaze into Thorin’s eyes and that’s it. You’re done. It’s over. You grind against him and Thorin breaks too.

His mouth is on your neck, kissing softly, dragging his tongue over your pulse point. One of his hands pushes up the folds of your sheer dress and palms you. Thorin finds your wetness. He growls against your neck and his fingers rub your clit. His cock is hard against your thigh. You reach for him, rubbing your palm against the bulge.

Thorin’s fingers slip in without resistance. You grind against him as he rubs sweet circles against the most sensitive spot inside you.

Thorin’s mouth leaves your neck. “Tell me to fuck you,” he growls. His fingers disappear, and you whine in protest. Pulling his face to yours, you kiss him hard. It is answer enough.

In moments, Thorin has you on your back, his head between your legs. His tongue swirls up and down your sex, tasting every part of you. Thorin is ravenous. Hungry. He fucks you with his tongue and then you’re falling apart, crying out his name.

You are feverish and hot when Thorin glides his length through your folds. As he pushes into you, you stretch and tremble, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

You breathe out a single word. “Harder.”

Thorin thrusts into you, sliding in to the hilt. His length fills you completely, making your eyes close in pleasure as he pounds into you with each hard thrust of his hips. Your arousal is dripping down your thighs. The euphoric feeling washes over you again, and you fall over the edge. You’re limp in his arms but it doesn’t matter. Thorin is not finished.

He stays, buried to the hilt, his thrusts steady. His hand slides between your bodies, and seek your clit. When he finds it, he presses his thumb against it, and increases his thrusts to a hard, sharp pace that snatches the oxygen from your lungs.

With the added stimulation to your clit, and your body already overly sensitive, the feeling of Thorin moving in and out of you is too much. You scream for him, louder than the last time. This is it for him too. Thorin finishes on the tail end of your pleasure, spending himself inside with a groan that pleases every primal part of you.

You are boneless. Breathless.

Thorin rests his forehead against your cheek.

“What was in that mead?” he asks, voice smoky and tired.

You laugh. “Not sure. But we should keep it for ourselves.”

You feel him smile against your skin.

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