What The Actual? (LotR x Reader)

Cue To Leave

I haven't written here in a while, so this chapter is a bit rough and broken I believe, so my apologies, but I hope you, my darling, enjoy it! Much love,

E.

P.S I'll try to go back and proof read/edit, but I did want to push out some sort of update before I get too busy. I plan to reedit this soon, taking just a day or two to smooth out any weird parts.

The Elf offered the faintest of smiles. There he stood, his face worn from within but still as handsome as it always was. Prison did him well, you would tell him.

Legolas joined your side along with the others, gunpowder and cobwebs sticking to his tunic from below as everyone who heard the sounds of horns from underneath the surface in the armory crowded above, and he too locked eyes with the smug, odd Elf who stood alongside Haldir, before he turned to you, a look of humor glistening behind his eyes as he feigned irritation dryly.

"You really did give him the keys."

"Hey, maybe king Thranduil let him out on good behavior." He snorted, arms folding as Lainadan stepped forward from the above realm, stray hairs blowing in the hot breeze around his temples. Even in the dimmest light of a clouded sky the Elves maintained an ethereal glow.

"I do not know which one I find more humorous, the idea of good behavior derived from Lainadan the Terrible, or my father doing a good deed." The other Elf laughed, now standing a mere two feet away. You looked the same and different all at once. Almost weary, but content simultaneously. A walking paradox you always were. It made him grin, sadly. No one so young and full of joy should see the horrors of war. Then again, who else would be there to lift the falling spirits of those with grimmer hearts?

"I am pleasantly surprised you are not dead. If not the Orcs, I'd assume the prince would have long since had your neck." His gaze ran over your form playfully, him circling you as if inspecting every aspect of your being, and you turned in sync to follow him with your head, still talking.

"Me too actually, I mean I almost died a lot--Oh! I got shot! Wanna see the hole in my arm--" As your fingers pulled on the sleeve of your shirt, another voice called.

"Hole?" It scoffed.

"Sounds to me like you're questioning my healing abilities." You turned to peer over your shoulder to see Coolio, frowning as the soldiers called for the gates to be lifted so the Elves could march into the fortress. There seemed to be hundreds of them, and as they lifted the heavy iron bars the hopes of the army lifted with them. He slid down a ditch's side, jaw sharp and lips hiding a smirk as you now stood in an odd square with the Elves.

It felt like you were about to be excised, glancing between the three of them.

"I don't like my odds here." On the side-lines stood the rest of the Fellowship, standing to welcome them with thanks outside of the Helm.

"Never thought I'd be so 'appy to see the pointed eared pip--" Gimli cleared his throat as Boromir shot him a subtle nod towards the crested soldiers of Lórien, all at attention--along with their ears. The Dwarf changed his tune in an instant, coughing as his freckled face glowed with heavy relief. Oh to see more men at their bare side! Even if the men were hardly manly at all (in his eyes of course.)

"Ay, perhaps I should watch my tongue."

"Perhaps," Aragorn dryly stated, adjusting his belt strap coming loose. Gimli let out a sigh, folding his arms and leaning on the stone wall. His feet were sore, and his arms were tired, but he dare not sit down. He missed the Hobbits at this moment. They made wonderful arm rests for him. He also missed home. The protective, fortress walls of the mines of Dwarves, the loud clanging of hammers and picks: music! Dwarven company was more than longed for, and the tired, worn face of the shorter fellow took a drink from what resembled a bota bag, the water catching in his hairs.