middle earth x male oc // oneshots

Love letters

Aragorn x elven soilder oc

Not edited

Duvain was a skilled solider. So it was natural that women lusted over him (not to mention that his name literally meant 'beautiful darkness'.) So when he began to receive the letters he wrote them off as some maidens fantasy.

But when they persisted, he thought it would be wise to read aleast one. that was when he realized these where not from some simple maiden. There was simply far to much passion and emotion for that.

It was also clear to Duvain, no matter how hard the writer tried to conceal it, that these letters where written by a male.

He could tell in simple things like the way the writer wrote shoddily and not in cursive like the elleths (most of whom where the ones to reveive formal education and not just rush into training) and how he taked about battle like a sport and not an art (where as elleths where taught to fight as if painting a picture to make up for what they may lack in strength).

And Duvain could tell these where sent by some one who was too ashamed of their feelings to confess in public. But how he knew that was plain to see.

So he read these letters with great intrest. It was if course a great secret of his that he much prefered the mucsles of ellens to smooth skin of elleths. ( he never once considered the fact that his admirer may not be an elf.)

it was definitely not the fact that these letter where written by a male that made him read every one and even if he did read every one he definitely did not wait apprenhesivly all week for the next one. And there where no crumpled attempts at replys filling the floor of his home.

It was late one night, and he had consumed a little too much wine that had been of elvish make and suprisingly strong when he wrote his reply.

It was short, brief, he made no mention of the fact he knew about his admirers gender (because although it was highly unlikey, he could be wrong)

It thanked the sender for the creative and seeminly endless complements, his favorites being

'your hair shines with the grace of raven preening its shining feathers' apt as his hair was indeed the colours of a raven and he spent a good deal of time maintaining its softness due to its extreme length (it fell just down to his thigh)

'your voice tastes to rival the finest of the woodland realms wine' he had drunk lots of king Thranduils oldest wind and it was indeed good, although he didnt think there was anything particularly special about his voice aside from its deepness.

'your eyes pierce me like shining grey arrows, they glitter with secrets i yearn to discover and be trusted with' he didnt really have to comment on that one. it made him feel nice, he always thought his eyes to be a cold dull grey.

Anyway, he thanked him for the letters and may or may not have hinted at being excited to receive more. In his drunken sutpor he walked to the shady apple tree he frequented regularly

He sat under often before the letters (thats probably how his admirer knew to leave the first one there) but now he sat there often to check for letters.

He logded his own letter into the place they where usually left and wandered back to his home. Day dreaming of the others reaction when he goes to deliver a letter and finds one of his own waiting.

Of course the thought of spying on his admirer to learn their identify frequently crossed Duvains mind. but that would be creepy, impolite, would violote the other and spoil the fun of this game.

And so he left after placing the letter and soon feel asleep in his house.

That night he dreamed of passionatly written letters and muscular bodys.

The next day, Duvain awoke with a hangover and feeling of dread. He half wanted to beleive he had dreamed last night and the other half wanted to curl up in embarrassment and die.

He pulled on a fresh tunic (not his typical armour as he was not training just yet) and pulled his long hair into a pony tail.

Once he deemed himself presentable he rushed (or rather marched with urgency as he still had an image to uphold as not only a solider but a bachelor)

"It will be fine" he thought, he would simply retreive the letter and take it home to rejoin the other replys he wrote often, when he had to much elven wine of course.

Once he reached the the tree however, his heart dropped into his stomach. The letter was gone.

A foolish part of him hoped it had blown away to be lost forever and the admirer had not taken it.

But he knew he had, as at the foot of the tree was another letter. On the front of the envelope, written shoddily as if it had been added hastily and after the letter was sealed was a note.

'thank you for replying'

And Duvain could die right there.

(im writing part 2... Fear not!)