Deep in the heart of Mirkwood, beyond the shadows and twisted trees, there was light—golden halls carved into stone, lanterns that danced like stars, and a young woman who was unlike any other in the realm.

His name was Damian, Prince Damian Son of King Thorin Oakenshield.

After the Battle of the Five Armies, when peace fell upon Middle-earth like soft snow, He had chosen not to return to Erebor. Instead, he made her home in the wood of the elves—Mirkwood—where the air was still thick with ancient magic and songs old as time.

King Thranduil welcomed Damian not only as a guest but as a jewel in his court. And Legolas—his son, the quiet prince with sharp eyes and a softer heart—welcomed Damian as more.

They lived together in those halls, and soon he knew the language of the leaves, the curve of the palace corridors, and the rhythm of Legolas’s steps before Damian even saw him. He was Damian's dearest companion, his sparring partner beneath the starlit canopy, heim confidant in stolen hours.

Thranduil, too, watched Damian. And though he was a king of frost and fire, something in her melted the old grief that clung to his bones. He cherished Damian, respected him, and—quietly, without ever saying—loved him too.

But only one could hold Damian's heart.

And his heart had already chosen.

Damian loved Legolas—not with the warmth of childhood affection, but with a wildfire love that burned low and steady, strong and sure. He saw Damian not as a Prince or a dwarf or a symbol of unity, but simply as his—clever, fierce, and unafraid.

But the peace was fragile.

In the mountains of Erebor, Damian's cousin Kili—kind-hearted and brave—was urged by Damian's father Thorin to claim what was “his.” Thorin loved his Son yes, but his pride, ever unyielding, saw Damian as a way to strengthen dwarvish legacy. A marriage between him and Kili would seal their bloodline, make it unbreakable.

Kili, for his part, cared for Damian. He had always been fond of her. But fondness was not love. Not the way he felt when Legolas looked at her like he was the moon risen over the treetops.

So when word came that Kili rode for Mirkwood with Thorin’s blessing and a band of armed dwarves, she knew what was coming.

An “honorable claiming,” they called it.

A gilded cage.

But Damian was no fragile Prince.

he ran.

Through the winding halls of Mirkwood, hair unbound, breath sharp in his throat. His heart thundered like hooves on stone. he did not slow until he reached the throne room, its great wooden doors flung open with the force of his arrival.

Thranduil looked up from his Large Wooden Stone Throne calm but suddenly alert.

Legolas stood by his side, and the moment he saw Damian's, his expression shattered.