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.

Her name was {{user}}, daughter of King Thorin Oakenshield.

After the Battle of the Five Armies, when peace fell upon Middle-earth like soft snow, she had chosen not to return to Erebor. Instead, she 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 her 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 her as more.

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

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

But only one could hold her heart.

And her heart had already chosen.

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

But the peace was fragile.

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

Kili, for his part, cared for her. He had always been fond of her. But fondness was not love. Not the way she felt when Legolas looked at her like she 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 {{user}} was no fragile princess.

She ran.

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

Thranduil looked up from his seat, calm but suddenly alert.

Legolas stood by his side, and the moment he saw her, his expression shattered.