archive-of-silm-fanfics

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

A Stifling Vanity

Request: Amras in a ritual gone wrong. Doodle-pops got me into him with the underrated character event

Pairing: Amras x Human Reader

Genre: Time travel au

Summary: Sitting on the arm of your sofa, he takes your hand. “No, I am indeed your husband. We’ve been married for 43 years, my love,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair from your face.

AN: I get you anon, Mina has the tendency to make me obsess over previously unimportant elves (looking at you Rog). Inspired by Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. I hope you enjoy this~

Next up- Sinister love with Maedhros. Fall trope event list

Half a vial of the silver lakes of Lorien, two feathers of the Syian beasts of Orome, extract of the kroh blooms from Kementari’s gardens, and a personal possession of the desired person—all placed in the elaborate circle of creation sketched from the soot of the ever-burning fires of the Hall of Mandos. That was what the book had mentioned.

Amras had read it a hundred times, copied it into his journal twenty times. His room now contained an absurd amount of Syian feathers, enough to alarm any Maia of Orome.

He had planned every step, with meticulous care. Yet, it had failed.

Time travel, as the text warned, was difficult. Now, standing in front of your confused face, his heart ached, questioning if it ever truly mattered.

“Who are you, sir?” you ask politely, closing your book and offering him a pleasant smile. The room was warm, snug. You looked so comfortable in that chair, settled against the familiar faded red sofa, your eyes heavy with sleep.

As if stepping into an undisturbed past, Amras gently helps you adjust your posture, ensuring your back won’t strain during the night. “I am your husband. Amras.” He repeats, as he had in the last few years of your life.

He watches the familiar conflict in your frown. “My husband...?” you murmur, doubt clear in your voice. “You must be mistaken,” you insist, as always.

Sitting on the arm of your sofa, he takes your hand. “No, I am indeed your husband. We’ve been married for 43 years, my love,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair from your face.

It had been longer in his time—2,376 years in his present. An eternity.

He lifts your hand before your eyes, the wedding band gleaming on your finger. “See? These are our rings, my love.” He watches the emotions flood your gaze—astonishment, joy, sorrow, guilt.

But he doesn’t show you the ring he wears on a chain around his neck. The ring that was once yours. In this past, you still wore it.

You look at him, clutching his hand, your palm so warm. The Edain were always warm, as if the flame imperishable escaped through every pore of their bodies. “I forgot...” you whisper, voice faint. “Forgive me, please. I forgot.” You close your eyes, struck by the awareness of your failing mind.

He knows that look—the creeping dread as you realize what’s slipping away.

“It’s alright. I’m here to remind you, my love.” Amras kisses your forehead. “I’ll always remind you.”

He remembers this day of his life. The day he returned from a week in Himring. The day you forgot you had a son. Your memory, once so sharp, began to wither.

Your terrified scream had driven Vórimo away. Your mind, too far gone to recognize your own child, couldn’t grasp his tears. You were too far removed to comfort him. The weight of your years had left you incapable of being the mother he knew.

Vórimo left. And you were left with Amras. Along with the devastation of your returning fragments of memory. In some sense, Amras had lost you that day, when Vórimo walked out the door.

Never again did he see you contend at the dinner table. Your questions about the man in family portraits became painful. At times, your forgetfulness was kinder than your moments of clarity.

Vórimo didn’t return until you were long gone. By then, all that remained of you were the books you once cherished. He came to a home that no longer existed.

Amras could have hated him. Could have despised the son who left you to die grieving. But how could he, when he had done the same to his own mother? Abandoning her to a fate she didn’t deserve, a doom he had brought upon himself.

He understood Vórimo’s heart too well.

That was why he’d done all of this. The desperate hope of reuniting you with your son, just one last time. To bring the past to Valinor for that final meeting. The Fates had allowed him to see his mother again. Why not his son?

But they hadn’t.

Instead of bringing the past forward, the Fates had pulled him backward. They doused him in the warmth of your presence, in a time when your heart was still whole. How easy it would be to forget his purpose, to remain here with you in this gentle moment.

To slip into bed and hold you once again.

Despite all your early fears, the signs of your aging never hindered the love you shared. Amras had braced himself for sorrow at the sight of your aging, but it never came. His heart clung to love.

It still raced at the sight of your smile, etched with wrinkles, just as it had in the untouched days of youth. Hearts, it seems, will love what they wish to love.

Picking up the book you had closed, his fingers skim the edges of the pages until they land on the bulging section. Opening the page, he slides out a folded sheet of parchment. At last, he had found it—the forgotten relic of your past.

The letter you had claimed to write but never managed to find. You died searching for it. For centuries, Amras had wondered about it.

“May I?” he asks, holding it gently before you.

Surprised at your own letter, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes too frail to read your own fine hand. How long had it been since you wrote this?

The firm curve of the letters hinted at a much earlier date, back when your fingers didn’t tremble as they did now.

Unfolding the parchment, he reads aloud:

Darling son of mine,

Forgive your mother. Forgive her fading brain.

This disease that the healers found frightens me. It frightens me more than I can say. I fear what’s to come, and how I may not even be aware of its beginnings.

Unlike the days of your childhood, I may not be able to hold you and whisper gentle words in your hour of need. I apologize for giving you this grief.

When I lose myself, you are not bound to my shadow. Let not my ignorance pain you, nor your father.

From all the memories of this life, I wish to remain your mother and his wife. Let me not become a burden. In my selfishness, I seek to be loved as I was.

This is your mother’s vain wish.

The letter continues, pages of painstakingly preserved memories, like precious treasure hoarded onto brittle yellowing pages.

Amras glances at the heavy tome in his lap, the one you loved so dearly. The book your mind kept returning to. An illustrated volume, crafted by Kano for Vórimo’s begetting day. A book you both had read to him.

He smiles bitterly at its fading covers. Elven craftsmanship tested by the humid air of your land.

You returned to this book till the end. As if searching for a chapter lost.

How had everything conspired to erase this? How had time buried such a simple plea? Was it too harsh of a fate?

For you to lose it. For Vórimo to never receive it. For Amras to find it now, in a past already long gone.

He cannot take it back. Time would not allow him that. The Fates would not let the future be rewritten. He had bargained enough.

It is lost. Buried somewhere deep in the lands of Middle-earth.

Amras holds the letter, his hands trembling slightly. He reads the words again, each one carrying the weight of your love, your fears, and your hope.

The past cannot be altered, and the future—his future without you—remains fixed. He could never bring your son to you again. He could not stop the decay that had taken your mind, nor the eventual passing of time.

But this moment—this night—was still his.

He looks down at you, your breathing soft and steady as you sleep against his shoulder. You look so peaceful, the furrows in your brow smoothed by the comfort of sleep.

For now, you remember him, and that’s enough. The past may have given him one last gift, though fleeting. Tomorrow, you might not know him at all.

He carefully folds the letter and places it back in the book, resting it gently beside you on the table.

When you wake again, there will be no recognition in your eyes. He knows this too well. You will look at him as a stranger, perhaps offer him the same polite smile. His heart will ache, but he is ready. He’s always been ready for this.

Amras presses a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, as if committing every detail to memory—the warmth of your skin, the sound of your breathing, the faint scent of your hair.

"I’ll remind you tomorrow, my love," he whispers, though he knows that soon there will be nothing left to remind.

Rising slowly, Amras leaves the room quietly, the weight of the centuries settling back on his shoulders.

He steps outside into the cool night air, letting the chill ground him once again in the moment between his past and present.

He stops for a moment, looking back through the window, where you still rest, untouched by the pain of memory. For now, you are at peace.

And for him, that is enough.

He walks into the night, the stars above cold and distant, yet somehow offering a strange comfort. The past cannot be changed, but it lives in these moments—the brief, fragile memories that remain. Amras smiles to himself, a soft, bittersweet smile.

As the spell fades his body, wrenching him into the present, he realizes that he has lost you yet again.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Imagine being like Newt Scamander and showing your creatures to the elves.

(I had to do some research to get the names right, and I only managed to come with this three so no fourth one unfortunately, I hope you like it)

Requested by @a-contemplation-upon-flowers​

Warnings: None really, some wizardry��and elven stuff and mystical creatures. 

——————————————————————————–

Maglor

-He thought you were odd upon your first meeting. The bag you carried was oddly shaped, and he wasn’t sure what you would carry in there. 

-You called it a briefcase and a special kind too. Maglor was curious, but you did not elaborate further on what was inside – saying it’s a secret. 

-You were strange, the way you spoke and dressed was nothing he had ever seen, and he was curious about what was inside your briefcase, so he decided to befriend you. 

-You turned out to be a kind-hearted person despite your odd habits. He felt ashamed for thinking lowly of you. 

-You told him you had a task and wrote a book on how to live beside mysterious creatures and even care for them. 

-And that you were a sorcerer of a kind. 

Keep reading

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

All I Want Is You - Fingon x gn!reader

There’s only one thing Findekáno wants for his Begetting Day – to finally start courting the love of his life.

Words: 1.1k Tags: best friends to lovers, first kiss

A/N: sooo, this is the first proper one shot i've ever written for fandom stuff. i hope it doesn't suck.

Aikanáro - Aegnor, Angaráto - Angrod, Fëanáro - Fëanor, Findekáno - Fingon, Maitimo - Maedhros, Turukáno - Turgon

Findekáno noticed you the moment you came through the door and made a beeline towards you. “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed in his usual cheerful manner and pulled you in for a hug that seemed to linger just a second too long, not that you minded. You discreetly breathed in his scent and felt your stomach flutter. “Happy Begetting Day!” You said with a bright smile when he let go of you and handed over your present to him. He gratefully accepted it and went to put it with the other presents he had received. Even though you shouldn’t be, you were astounded at the volume. He was a prince, after all, and you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit self-conscious, hoping your gift wouldn't appear too simple next to the others. You pushed the thought aside and followed him to the opulent buffet to grab something to drink and a bite to eat.

You observed him carefully as you followed behind him. His hair was adorned with his signature golden hairbands that matched the artfully crafted jewellery he wore as well as the intricate embroidery on his royal blue robes. He looked stunning as always and you could only hope your own appearance was a suitable match.

After the two of you had filled your plates, you settled down at an empty table and you happily listened to him chatter away about all the planning that had gone into the celebration as well as the latest royal family drama. Apparently Maitimo – his oldest cousin – had managed to convince his uncle Fëanáro to attend and so far, he had only gotten into minor squabbles with Findekáno’s father. One would see what the rest of the evening would bring. After the recounts of drama were finished, he went over to presenting his newest jokes to you. He loved making you laugh. You were oblivious to the fact that he had practised all of his jokes on Turukáno beforehand, making sure they were actually funny, and he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of you. Although he sometimes wondered if his brother was the right choice for this as he wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humour.

When the conversation came to a natural lull he glanced over at the minstrels and the other guests dancing to their harmonious music. He rose from his chair with determination. “Would you care for a dance, my lady?” He asked with a dramatic bow and extended his right hand to you with a mischievous spark in his eyes. “You know I can’t dance, Findekáno.” You grumbled. You had been over this countless times, he seemed to ask you to dance every time there was a chance and you tried to not read into it, even though you desperately wanted to. It’s not that you disliked dancing with him – quite the opposite, you cherished every moment you got to be this close to him – you just hated making a fool of yourself in front of him. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll show you. Also, it’s my Begetting Day, meaning you legally can’t deny my wishes.” He gave you his best puppy eyes and broke into a triumphant grin when you let out a resigned sigh. “Fine, but don’t be upset when I eventually trample your feet.”

To your credit, the dance went considerably better than you had thought – you only stepped on his feet two times and both times he laughed it off, assuring you it hadn’t hurt at all, though you suspected that was a lie. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” He said out of nowhere and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. You felt your insides melt a little at the contact. “This colour really suits you.” He continued and gave you an earnest smile. “Thank you. You look quite dashing yourself.” You replied a little bashfully. Friends give each other compliments, you reminded yourself, there’s nothing more to it. Right? He stopped his movements after a while and threw a look at a set of doors that led out to an empty balcony. “I could use some fresh air.” He declared. “Care to join me?” You nodded and he led you out to the cool evening air.

Findekáno leaned against the railing and you followed his example. “Thank you for coming today.” He said. “Of course. You’re my best friend, how couldn’t I?” There was a short pause. “Have you … ever thought about us being more than just friends?” He asked with bated breath. You blinked rapidly at him, not sure if you had heard him correctly. “What do you mean? Like … courting?” He nodded, eyes filled with hope and nervousness at the same time. You felt an aggressive blush creeping up your cheeks and averted your eyes. “Maybe.” You said barely audible. “What about you?” “I have. A lot.” He replied and reached for one of your hands. “(Y/N), I’m in love with you.” He finally confessed. “I have been for a long time, but I was scared that if I told you, it might ruin our friendship.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “But I’m tired of hiding my feelings and it’s okay if-“ “I love you, too.” You blurted out and covered your mouth in surprise. “You do?” He asked and you nodded your head vigorously. His face lit up brighter than both Laurelin and Telperion together and he let out a laugh that almost sounded giddy. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” He exclaimed and pulled you into his arms, squeezing you tightly before loosening his grip a little. You looked up at him and found your gaze wandering between his eyes and his lips. Findekáno smirked knowingly. “Is there something on your mind?” He asked in a teasing tone. You bit your lower lip slightly. “Can I kiss you?” You asked while subconsciously gripping the front of his robes. “You most certainly can, melda.” He replied and leaned down to which you rose to the tips of your toes to meet him halfway.

All your fantasies paled in comparison to the real kiss you were sharing, and you wished it would never end. When your lips parted you reached up to caress his right cheek and he lightly leaned into the touch. “I love you.” You repeated in a whisper. “I love you, too.” He whispered back and in that moment nothing else mattered.

If either of you noticed your other two best friends, Angaráto and Aikanáro, lurking outside the doors and triumphantly exchanging money, you didn’t comment on it.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

The guardian angel beneath the wolf's clothing

(Fingon x reader)

Fingon was meant to die that day by the Balrog's hand, but he survived thanks to his mysterious savior.

Warnings: mentions of death, burns, injuries, violence, blood, problems with eating. Fingon trying hard to figure out a secret.

-------------------------------

Fingon could remember it like it happened yesterday. 

He stood alone before Gothmog, the vicious captain of Morgoth and the lord of Balrogs. All of his men and guards lay dead around him. The smell of their blood and the smoke from the fire dominated his senses as he could barely stand up with his sword. He could hear the screaming of men and his kin as the dragons laid waste to them with their deadly fiery breath. Fingon was exhausted. After days of fighting and trying to breach Morgoth’s fortress, he barely had any strength left to continue the fight. He wanted, no– needed a moment to rest. However, that was not an option as he stood before the creature of darkness and fire, the very being that killed Feanor. 

The fiery demon cackled at his state, mocking his stance in the battle and offering mercy if he surrendered. His kin and forces lay scarce. They lost. However, the dark lord might show some mercy if he surrendered.

Wielding the pride of Noldor, Fingon refused, and the two ended up in a fierce battle. 

He fought with all of his strength. Though tired, he managed to conjure enough energy to dodge and strike when the opportunity arose. The chances of victory were low, but he refused to go down without a fight. If he was to die, he would at least take the demon to death with him.

He fought fearlessly, yet his singular focus on one foe caused him to overlook another balrog sneaking up from behind, trapping him in whips of flame. He cried out in pain as the flames bit and burned his flesh, rendering him against the ground, unable to move or escape its fiery grasp. 

Gothmog and his treacherous kin laughed in mockery. Fingon felt anger for such a dirty play in battle and fear when he saw Gothmog raise his dark axe, ready to strike him down. 

At that moment, he knew it was the end. Turgon and Maedhros were too far away to reach him in time. He couldn’t move or raise his sword. He was all alone. 

All the memories of his family and loved ones rushed through his mind, and he was filled with dread and sorrow. He did not wish to depart so soon, not after getting so close, but there was nothing he could do. At least he would be reunited with his beloved father in Mandos. 

He was ready to meet his death by Gothmog’s hands, but then, something bright caught his eye. It looked like a light— shining through the dark battlefield. 

Something blurred past him with incredible speed, latching onto Gothmog's face and pushing him away from the elf. The Balrog roared in surprise and pain, seizing the creature and hurling it right before Fingon. Startled, Fingon stumbled back as it landed with a harsh thud, yet he swiftly regained his composure and had a chance to see what stood before him.

Before him stood a magnificent white wolf, its growls resonating as it bared its teeth defiantly at the Balrog. Fingon found himself both baffled and surprised by its sudden appearance. The wolf's fur was nearly white as snow, and a fierce determination filled its eyes. It stood tall like Sauron’s werewolves, yet it did not behave like any of them. It was protecting him. 

Gothmog cursed the wolf as one of his eyes bled from the attack. The wolf roared and lounged at the balrog without fear. 

Fingon watched the battle unfold. The wolf was fast and used Gothmog’s size to its advantage, dodging his attacks and climbing to reach his weaker spots, lunging its teeth through his thick skin. Gothmog roared as he attempted to grab or shake the creature off his back. 

Fingon felt a flicker of admiration for the courageous beast. Unlike most creatures of the earth, it did not cower in fear before the lord of Balrogs. However, he could not help but feel fear and worry for the creature. It exhibited incredible swiftness, deftly evading Gothmog’s slashing claws and swinging axe. Yet, its resilience did not render it immune to the blistering flames emanating from Gothmog. Fingon could already discern burns beginning to mar its fur and muzzle.

Gothmog cursed in black speech. The balrog behind Fingon suddenly freed him from the whips of flames. Fingon found himself kneeling on the ground in agony, his armor seared and his wounds bleeding profusely. Fearfully, he watched as the balrog hastened to aid its lord.

The wolf reacted swiftly upon noticing the presence of the other balrog, evading its attempt to grab hold. It held its ground against the pair, though the odds shifted against it as the demons unleashed their weapons. The battle began to overwhelm the valiant creature.

Fingon watched, fear evident in his eyes. The wolf possessed the advantages of speed and quick reflexes, yet even these attributes couldn't level the playing field against two balrogs.

The wolf continued to dodge, seeking an opportunity to counterattack, but a powerful strike from the fiery whip landed on its back. The wolf cried out in pain as the force of the blow – tossed it to the ground. 

Fingon crawled back as the wolf slammed right in front of him. It tried to stand back on its feet, emitting silent growls and stumbling under the pressure of its wounds. The wound caused by the Balrog’s whip began to blister in one painful line across its back. Its once pristine white fur had turned gray from all the smoke and scorched from the numerous burns caused by Gothmog’s flames. Fingon’s heart twisted with poignant empathy.

Blood seeped from the beast’s mouth, a clear indication of having tasted the scalding blood of the balrog. Heavy breaths left its mouth as it tried to focus but quickly lost footing and fell back on its belly. 

Fingon reached out, his hand extending to make contact with the wolf's fur in a gentle gesture, hoping to dissuade it from engaging further in the hopeless fight. Instantly, the creature turned its attention toward him, causing Fingon to pause. Its eyes were keen and brimming with vitality, yet there was something else in them, like someone looking back at him. After seeing his reaction, the beast softened its gaze, which was surprising. 

Gothmog began to insult the beast, calling it an insolent mutt and mocking the pathetic attempt to save the elf’s life. He then began to describe how he would make Fingon watch as he ripped the wolf apart, ensuring it would be a long and painful death before he would take the elf’s life. 

The wolf released soft snarls before pushing its large head beneath Fingon’s arm. Fingon held onto the wolf’s fur in surprise as the wolf picked him up on its back with the surprising strength it still had despite its injured state. He was momentarily baffled and unaware of what the wolf was planning. 

Gothmog seemed to realize what the wolf was planning and quickly acted, swinging his large axe at them both. 

Jumping out of the way and avoiding the deadly throw of the gigantic axe, the wolf began to sprint away from the balrogs, running across the battlefield toward the hordes of orcs that surrounded them. 

Fingon felt hesitation and held on tight as the wolf slammed through the lines of orcs that tried to stop them. They were no match to the wolf’s strength and incredible resilience as it continued running, dodging and avoiding arrows sent on its way while carrying him on its back. It didn't take long for the wolf to reach the edge of the battlefield and streak across the land, distancing itself from Angband and the lost battle with the dark lord. 

The wolf continued running across the land, but Fingon could hear the quickening, labored breaths and sense the wolf's gradual deceleration. It was clear the wolf was getting exhausted. Fingon tried to ask the wolf to slow down since it had carried him far enough from the battlefield to consider it safe. However, the wolf ignored him for some reason. His eyes then caught the sight of Maedhros’s banners. Hope surged within him. He now understood why the wolf persisted in its determined journey—to lead him to his cousin's encampment.

As they got closer, the wolf suddenly tripped. Fingon fell from the wolf’s back and groaned hard from the impact as it stung all his wounds, but he brushed them off when he laid his concerned eyes on the wolf. 

It laid against the ground, unmoving and heavily breathing. Fingon crawled over to the beast. He settled beside it, his gaze locking with the wolf's weary eyes. The creature appeared scarcely conscious, undoubtedly from the exhaustion and the pain inflicted by the wounds and the burns that marred its body.

He laid his hand against the wolf’s head, careful not to touch any of its wounds. The wolf looked back at him. "Thank you—" He uttered, acknowledging that he wouldn't have survived to see another day if it weren't for its bravery and unwavering spirit. He allowed his fingers to move slowly, tenderly caressing and scratching the wolf's head. A faint whine slipped from the wolf's mouth, its tail wagging ever so slightly, briefly lifting the weight from his heart.

Someone from Maedhros’s camp suddenly notices him and alerts the rest of Maedhros’s people. 

Fingon allowed the healers to pick him up and take him to the healer’s tent where many other wounded were gathered after the devastating battle, and was glad to see his red-haired cousin, who was convinced Fingon had died after being overrun by Morgoth’s forces and the treacherous Easterlings.  

He then remembered the wolf and turned around, hoping he would be able to convince his cousin to help his savior — only to find the wolf gone. The spot it laid upon was now empty save for the tiny pools of blood on the ground. There was no sight of it. It had vanished like a ghost in the air. 

Confusion filled his heart, and an ounce of sorrow as he did not know if the wolf had died or not. It had saved his life, so he would have at least wanted to return the favor. 

The white wolf’s appearance and disappearance remained a mystery. No one really knew anything about it except that it had appeared during the battle and vanished after bringing him to safety. Some speculated it was a spirit sent to protect him or a beast that fought against its creator's tyranny. Many rumors were born out of the event, and none of them really felt right with Fingon. He sensed there was something much more than meets the eye with the wolf, which he couldn’t put a finger on or find out since he never saw the wolf again. 

He stayed with Maedhros after recovering from his injuries and being able to walk again. His lands were overrun by Morgoth’s forces and most of his people were scattered due to the catastrophic defeat in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

It was a difficult predicament. As the high king, he should take responsibility and find a way to stable things for his people, but he didn’t know how. He half considered relinquishing the title of high king back to Maedhros. He did not feel like the right leader for his kin, and he knew some of Maedhros’s brothers would love to have the opportunity to reclaim the title back to their house. 

Fortunately, Maedhros provided unwavering support, and together they established some footing and stability in their shared predicament. 

He met you by chance in a human town made by refugees from Hithlum and all the other places taken by Morgoth. You were one of Hurin’s people from Dor-lomin.  

You managed to escape with your family when the Easterlings unexpectedly invaded and seized your home. Their sudden attack led to the destruction of your house, leaving you with burn marks and bandages that now covered your hands.

Fingon felt sympathetic since losing Nirnaeth Arnoediad resulted in the loss of your home and the freedom of your people to the Easterlings. He remembered how Hurin fought bravely, which allowed his brother to escape. At times, he offered solace when homesickness and concern for Morwen and her children overtook you. They were your younger cousins, and you used to play with them in the past. The only good news you had heard from them was that Turin had been taken to safety. 

You two shared a curious friendship. Fingon found comfort in your presence and the time you two shared, talking freely about worries and families. It helped to ease his mind even though he found it odd when some of your people considered your family strange and overprotective. 

You explained your parents had always been protective of you — ever since Morgoth sent the plague that took the lives of many and the recent loss of your home. Fingon understood it and didn’t inquire about it further. 

He didn't know why or how, but something drew him to you. You had a calming presence, and your eyes flickered a sense of familiarity in him like he had seen them before. 

When he one day told you about the white wolf that saved his life, you had an interesting reaction. You listened attentively, though your expression bore the weight of contemplation. Your hands absently stroked your bandages as if a familiar itch had returned. He had not seen you act like that before, and when he ended the story and caught your attention — your demeanor changed to your usual one. 

You called the wolf brave for standing up against a balrog out of all creatures. You two conversed about its potential origins, and you ended up mentioning the possibility of the wolf being a shapeshifter. Fingon considered it as he began to observe you from afar. 

He was busy keeping up the alliance between your people and his, but when he had time – he would carefully observe you from a distance. Personally, he would never intrude on someone’s privacy, but his suspicions only grew when he began to think of the possibilities of you — being the white wolf. 

It had not been too long since the battle, so the timing of your burns and wounds matched. You claimed you got burned when you tried to escape from your burning house and picked up a burning log to save your father, but they could have been from somewhere else — like from the flames of a balrog. Fingon remembered quite clearly how the wolf had used its claws to climb and tear on Gothmog’s skin, which resulted in them burning from the touch. 

You seemed familiar to him, and now he found out you had trouble eating properly. You had not mentioned anything about your problem with eating, so he couldn’t help but ask about it when he saw your plate filled with smashed and cut vegetables and fruits. You claimed you inhaled too much smoke and embers, so your mouth and tongue got damaged during your escape. 

It sounded too strange for him, especially when he noticed how exceptionally slowly you ate and appeared physically uncomfortable– despise the food being cut and smashed soft enough even for a baby to eat.

He continued observing but couldn’t uncover any other possible clues of you being the white wolf or a shapeshifter. He couldn't cast accusations solely on observations and because you shared similar injuries with the white wolf. And he didn’t know how to approach the subject with you without risking his friendship with you. 

You began to notice his prolonged absence and the strange looks he threw your way. He looked hesitant and suspicious about something, so when you had the chance – you approached him and asked if you had done something to upset him. 

Fingon was startled when you suddenly appeared to him but when you explained his sudden change in behavior and avoidance, he felt remorse and apologized, assuring you had done nothing to upset him. 

You told him he could rely on you if he needed help. Fingon felt touched and admitted that it was simply the stress that was getting to him. He would never bring himself to put you under any pressure. Your company and friendship were more than enough in these crucial times. 

Fingon felt ashamed of his antics and suspicion. He had not noticed he appeared to be avoiding you, thus causing you unnecessary negative feelings. He did wish to unravel the mystery of his beastly savior, but there was no reason to put you under stress for it. There was a chance your burns and injuries in the same places as the wolf’s injuries were a mere coincidence, so he decided to leave it there. 

He valued the friendship you two shared. You were gentle and honest, which he found precious despite the darkness that gloomed over his kin and the threat of Morgoth. 

He thought there were no secrets between you till one day — he got his answer to his long unknown mystery of his savior. 

He was riding through the forest, wishing to have some alone time and peace after dealing with demanding politicians and Maedhros’s roguish brothers, who had their eyes on his crown. There never seemed to be an end to their antics and insubordination. 

He incidentally wandered into a moment between you and your mother. You two were seated near a riverside with medicines, towels, and bandages lying around you. It looked like you two were doing something private since you had fewer clothes on you, so he prepared to leave before you could notice his presence and possibly get angry for indecent staring. However, your mother then began scolding you for something that caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but stay and listen. 

Your mother was furiously scolding you for being reckless and injuring yourself while adding ointment and cream to the burns on your hands and arms. Fingon frowned at the sight since they looked much more severe than he thought. She then mentioned you secretly sneaking into the battle between the elves and Morgoth and revealing yourself. 

Fingon perked at the new information as you mentioned being at home while your father joined the assault upon Angband.

You quietly explained that you only wanted to look out for your father and that Fingon would have perished if you had not intervened when the Balrog was going to take his life. 

Fingon watched as your mother smacked you in the head and commanded you to turn around and pick up your shirt so she could add the medicine to your back. You begrudgingly turned around and pulled your shirt to reveal your backside. Fingon was shocked when he saw a familiar burnt scar line across your back.  It was red and had blistered over time and on the exact spot where the wolf got struck by the Balrog’s whip of fire. 

There was no denying it. You were the white wolf— his mysterious savior. 

He should have felt angry for upholding such truth but couldn’t help but feel joyful for the discovery. It all made sense now, the close connection, the familiarity in your eyes, and all of your similar injuries and burns. You had met before because you were the one who saved him from the harsh fate of death. 

Fingon looked as your mother added the cream to your back, making you silently hiss from the coldness and the pain that had lingered for months. He felt pity for your pain since it was because of him you were in such a state. You risked your own well-being to save him from a creature no other would daringly face in battle. 

He continued watching for a while before deciding to leave you alone with your mother since he had eavesdropped more than enough. He rode back to the town, thinking about the discovery and your shared time together. 

He wanted to thank you. You saved his life. However, he wasn’t sure how since he had unintentionally discovered your secret himself. He didn’t want to startle you since you hadn’t told him yourself. He thought about your burns. Maybe—he could express his gratitude by aiding in healing your wounds. Elven medicine was more potent and could most likely even help you eat better in the future. That was it. He will keep your secret safe and wait until you are ready to tell it to him yourself.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Elves with an insecure!reader (part 1)

A/N: I apologize in advance but for this time I preferred to divide the story into two parts because I really wanted to deeply analyze this aspect of insecurity which I care a lot about. For this reason, putting them all together would have been too long and chaotic. There will be 4 characters in this one and 4 in the next one, who do you think they will be? (Remember that English is not my first language so I hope I wrote in the best way <3)

Characters: Galdor, Maedhros, Maglor, Glorfindel

Galdor: I think we can all agree that with Galdor by your side it would be IMPOSSIBLE to feel insecure. The brown elf is so loving and caring that, whenever you have any insecurity, he would shower you with sincere and affectionate praise, making you feel like the most precious creature in all of Belerian. He would never allow a doubt to creep into your heart, especially when it comes to the way you see or perceive yourself. If your insecurity issues were purely aesthetic, I can assure you that he would never make you doubt your beauty. In his eyes you are an angel, a pure soul that only deserves to be preserved and he would be the last elf in the world capable of making you compete with anyone else. He wouldn't look at any woman and would never do anything disrespectful towards you, so it would be more unique than rare to have this kind of insecurity with him. However, as regards non-aesthetic problems, which therefore come from you, he would be by your side like no other person could. Even before you could say anything, he would already be working on it. In fact, Galdor would have a natural talent in capturing the moments when his beloved is feeling down. He would notice it from the little things; the way your breathing becomes shorter and more held, your gaze lowering, or your body movements becoming slower and less confident. And promptly, as if it were written in his DNA, he would have the most suitable reactions to comfort you and bring you back to him. Even in moments of panic, where you could become aggressive and seemingly intractable, he always managed to make you calm down and realize how far from reality your paranoia was. One thing guys, he would NEVER judge you, he would NEVER belittle any of your fears, he would always and only try to make you understand how distant the monsters in your head were from real life, from you. He was always so kind, so reassuring, so perfect that it seemed unreal. Any praise he would offer you would be genuine, not dictated by the need to make you feel better, but because, in his eyes, your qualities are evident. And it hurts him so much every time to see how much pain he causes you needlessly. How can you not see how perfect you are? He would really like you to see yourself through his eyes…

Maedhros: I firmly believe that with Maedhros, your insecurities would definitely come from his role and family situation. Being the first son of the king he would certainly have countless expectations behind him and his role would require many responsibilities which would inevitably fall on you too. Most likely you didn't come from a noble family, you didn't have a large inheritance and in addition you weren't even a pure elf, so this created quite a few insecurities and shortcomings that couldn't be calmed. However, this did not interfere with your love. Maedhros has always been by your side from the first moment, supporting you and making you understand that he did not want any woman other than you, even if that other met the requirements expected from the wife of a future elven king. There had certainly been some attempt on Feanor's part to match his son with an elf of noble lineage before you were accepted by him, but without success. In fact, he always feared that you wanted his son for money and power, and he was indignant that, not being able to offer anything, you only wanted to rip out his heart and exploit it. But he soon realized that, despite the benefits that marriages between powerful people could provide, the feeling would be in vain, and therefore a useless force (on the other hand, remember that Maedhros never married, so I imagine that was not of vital importance for Feanor). It took a while to change his mind and make him realize that you really cared about him, and when that happened the situation calmed down slightly. Feanor's strong and greedy character was difficult to identify and you never understood if he had ever really accepted you or if he just tolerated you, and not being fully appreciated by him made you suffer a lot. But the fact that he knew how deep your love for his son was, was enough. Furthermore, the redhead would become even more sensitive and sweet after Angband. He himself had fought against his insecurities after his imprisonment and the pain caused by the loss of his hand... precisely for this reason he understood more than anyone else what it meant to feel vulnerable. You had always been by his side, you had never judged him for his fears and weaknesses, giving him all the strength he needed, so he would never have allowed himself to let you suffer alone. Maedhros would be patient, never forcing you to talk about your insecurities if you don't feel like it, but always remaining by your side, ready to offer you his comfort when you are ready to open up.

Maglor: Maglor would be very capable at dealing with an insecure person. Although he wasn't the eldest brother, he was certainly the most mature and empathetic in the family and for this reason he often found himself having to deal with little crying pests or giving them strength when they didn't feel up to Feanor's expectations. I want to clarify one thing, because I believe that in Maglor's eyes, having an insecure person alongside would be a great fortune. In fact, if on the paternal side traits such as strength, determination and pride were strengthened, on her side, Nerdanel placed great emphasis on maintaining humility and humanity, love for life and the attempt to preserve it. Their mother was in fact against all the atrocities that her husband wanted to commit and it was she who had kept his impulses in check for the first period of their marriage. However, when he urged the Noldor to abandon Valinor, she refused to follow him, remaining faithful to his values. The separation, however, caused great pain to Maglor who, in part, felt responsible for following them as the "only maternal and reasonable figure" who could stand by her brothers. He never wanted to leave his home but he was afraid of what could happen to them in the hands of his father's violent obsession with power. Consequently, for him it was like being able to always keep a part of your mother and all of her teachings alive in you, not having to always be forced to pretend to be "detached" to gain respect in a world much crueler than he would have ever imagined. In fact, when your insecurity arose, helping you overcome it made him feel good, made him feel useful. Maglor was also very unsure of himself, not in terms of his diplomatic or artistic skills, but in terms of feeling valid, feeling necessary. In fact, he thought he was not usefull and was a simple secondary character without any fundamental role... but when he helped others he felt important, as being someone's support, as his mother had taught him, becomes the necessary condition that allows your sun to shine, and you surely were all his light.

Glorfindel: Despite his imposing figure and status, Glorfindel would be very attentive to the feelings of the person he loves and would make it his main goal to eliminate even the smallest traces of insecurity or worry in you. But the way he would do it, oh boy, would it really make you laugh. Given how deep the love and the respect he has for you is, just to see you smile and stop the cold tears from staining your face, he would go so far as to embarrass himself; he would never worry about appearing uncomfortable in public if it meant making you feel better. In fact, very often, Glorfindel would resort to gestures that are both exaggerated and unexpected. Imagine finding him in the middle of the square in Gondolin telling some awkward joke or improvising some stupid interaction with the world around you to try to make you smile. If someone looked at him with perplexity, the blond elf wouldn't worry in the slightest: the only thing that matters to him is seeing your face shine again. And if that meant putting aside his heroic and dignified figure for a few minutes, he would do so without hesitation. His clumsiness is not just an attempt to distract you, but also a way to show you that you are much more important to him than his reputation or pride. And when he finally sees your expression relax and your eyes shine again, he would approach you with a disarming tenderness. "You see?" he would say with a playful smile but a very serious tone, "If I can make fun of myself to make you feel better, then no doubt or insecurity should ever faze you. You are much stronger than all of that."

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Glorfindel having a crush on a reader who‘s friends with Ecthelion

Requested by: @asianannabelle

This took me forever I‘m so sorry 😓

Glorfindel is generally a very happy, fun-loving ellon and thus not really prone to intense jealousy

He realises the feelings he has for you pretty quickly and subtly (in his opinion) tries to seek out your company more often, surprisingly finding himself to be too awestruck and overwhelmed to say much, you‘re just so wonderful, he doesn‘t know what to do with himself

He‘s a decent singer but not very musically inclined, suddenly wishes he was though

Invites himself everytime you and Ecthelion get together to play a bit, to marvel at your talent

Of course Ecthelion catches on rather quickly about his friend’s behavior and confronts him about it

Glorfindel approaches the topic carefully to gauge if Ecthelion has feelings for you as well and when he learns that isn‘t the case, he starts monologuing to him about how infatuated he is with you and that despite his normally confident persona he has no idea how to approach you

While Ecthelion is generally more reserved in nature, Glorfindel is still his best friend and he tries to be the best wingman he can

He starts to last-minute excuse himself from your meetings, leaving you alone with Glorfindel, which makes things a little awkward in the beginning, but he quickly starts mustering up the courage to ask you to teach him a few things

“Come, let me show you how to place your fingers on the strings. Why are you blushing, is everything okay?“ Cue nervous stuttering and even more blushing

After a lot of pep-talking from his best friend, Glorfindel asks you out on a picnic in the vast, meticulously kept gardens of his house and, true to his title, gifts you a small bouquet of golden flowers

Also prepared all your favourite foods, that he magically seemed to know somehow (*cough*Ecthelion*cough*)

He‘ll spend most of the time just listening to you talk about your day until the sun slowly starts to set and thinks alright, all or nothing, gently taking your hands and spilling all the feelings he‘s harboring for you, how beautiful you are, how lucky he would be to have you by his side and awaits your response with baited breath

Is over the moon when you return his feelings, hugs you tightly, slips back into his cheerful persona with ease and asks to court you which you of course accept

Obviously, Ecthelion is the first to receive the news and he couldn‘t be happier that his two dear friends are finally courting

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Procrastination Troubles - Galdor x f!reader

It’s not like Galdor and you were meaning to hide your relationship from your brother – there just never seemed to be a right time to tell him.

Words: 1.1k

Tags: fluff, unintentional secret dating, sibling’s best friend trope

A/N: i will forever have brainrot over that one egalmoth kinktober fic by @doodle-pops. Anywayyy, it was also my introduction to the sibling’s best friend trope and this is my fluffy take on it with Galdor and Glorfindel because they’re besties in my hcs! (Tarnin Austa is the very same festival the Gondolindrim were celebrating the day Gondolin was attacked, in case you want to sprinkle in some potential upcoming angst for yourself.)

“Glorfindel?” You called out and knocked on the door of your brother’s study. He beckoned you inside and you spotted him behind his desk, scribbling away at some letters. “What can I do for you?” He asked as you walked up to his desk. “There’s something Galdor and I want to talk to you about, if you have the time.” You said while unconsciously fidgeting with the necklace around your neck. A shiny emerald dangling from a delicate golden necklace – a courtship gift from Galdor that you cherished deeply. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), I’m afraid I have my hands full – there are still many preparations to be made for Tarnin Austa. Is it urgent? Can it maybe wait a few days?” You sighed internally. The two of you had had this very conversation many times already and there always seemed to be new issues demanding his attention. Part of you was tempted to scold him and remind him that he wouldn’t be drowning in so much work now had he simply began preparations earlier, but you knew it would be a wasted effort. Instead, you opted to force a patient smile, mutter a resigned Yes, of course and departed from his office to seek out your beloved.

You found Galdor in his private garden, kneeling on the ground and tending to a small group of budding flowers with utmost care. His gentle nature was reflected even in the way he cared for his plants, and it was an oddly heartwarming sight. When he spotted you, he rose to his feet and discarded his gardening gloves and apron with a bright smile before drawing you in for a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then your lips. His kisses were as delicate as the wings of the butterflies drawn to the many scented flowers around you (and those that seemed to be swirling around in your stomach) and you wished he would never stop. “It’s lovely to see you, meleth. What brings you here?” “I spoke to my brother.” You said and a hopeful glint appeared in Galdor’s eyes. “And? What did he say?” You shook your head and the hope turned into disappointment. “No good. Still feeling the consequences of his usual procrastination.” You replied with a roll of your eyes. Galdor huffed but still put on an optimistic face for your sake. “I’m sure we’ll get to tell him soon enough. And I can’t wait.” He gently caressed your cheek. “I can’t wait to stroll through the streets with you on my arm, dance with you at festivals. Show everyone how happy you make me – and hopefully how happy I make you.”

It wasn’t like you were forced into secrecy, you knew your courtship wouldn’t be seen as scandalous with Galdor being a well-respected lord and you being a lady of an equally esteemed house. Rather you had forced yourselves into secrecy, even if it was hard at times. You wanted your brother to be the first person to know but his procrastination made it more than difficult. So, for now, you opted to keep your courtship private. You smiled and covered the hand on your cheek with your own and leaned into the touch. “You make me more than happy, meleth. I love you, from the bottom of my heart.” Galdor leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his. “I love you, too.” He whispered before bestowing another kiss on you.

A few days later, you found yourself in Galdor’s garden again, this time kneeling on the ground beside him. You weren’t exactly skilled when it came to treating plants, but you were determined to get the hang of it for Galdor’s sake since you knew how import it was to him. He’d chosen a simple task for today – helping him with moving some plants from their current pots to bigger ones. You were a little terrified of pulling too tightly and damaging their stems, but the afternoon passed without any plants being hurt in the process, much to your relief. “You did well, (YN).” Galdor praised as you were putting away your tools. “See, I told you it’s not that difficult. You’ve already improved a lot.” “What do I get for being such an excellent gardening assistant?” You asked with a playful grin. “What would you like?” You hummed pensively and pretended to think for a moment even though you already knew your answer. “I suppose a kiss would be adequate compensation.” “A kiss you shall have.” Galdor said with an equally playful grin and met your lips with his, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. You sighed into the kiss and tangled your fingers in his emerald shirt.

“Galdor, Galdor. Your own best friend’s little sister, huh?” A voice suddenly came from behind the two of you, making you part abruptly. You turned around startled to find your brother leaning against a marble column with an amused grin on his face. “Glorfindel!” You and Galdor exclaimed at the same time and exchanged nervous glances. “How long have you been standing there?” You asked. “A while.” He answered with a smirk. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, so I came here to hopefully find out from Galdor what the two of you want to talk to me about so desperately, but it seems like I already have my answer.” Galdor swallowed and tightened his grip on you a little. “Yes, indeed. (Y/N) and I started courting a while ago and we wanted to tell you properly, but you were always busy.” “We didn’t just want to spring it on you in passing.” You chimed in and Galdor nodded in agreement.

Glorfindel shook his head and walked up to the two of you with pursed lips. He stood before you and Galdor with a seemingly stern expression before breaking into joyful laughter. “Well, that is great news and now I wish I had taken some time earlier. I know ultimately you don’t need my blessing. I can’t tell my sister who she can and can’t court, but I want the two of you to know that I couldn’t be happier with her choice, and you have my full support. But know this”, He held up a hand before grabbing Galdor’s shoulder tightly, “best friend or not, if you break her heart, you will face my wrath.” Galdor nodded with a serious expression on his face. “I would expect nothing less.” Glorfindel smiled contently in return. “Good. Now that that is settled, what say the two of you we meet for dinner this evening to celebrate this joyous occasion?” “Are you sure you don’t have more work to do?” You probed him and he made a dismissive hand gesture. “It’s all right, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” He said, making Galdor and you let out a quiet synchronised groan.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Bring Back What Once Was Mine - Finrod x gn!reader

After the War of the Ring, you return home to Valinor, hoping to finally be reunited with your husband.

Words: 1k Tags: mix of fluff and angst, mention of canon character death, bilbo makes a cameo because why not

A/N: “being reunited after a long time“ is one of my favourite tropes, it‘s the perfect mix of angst and fluff. also i feel like finrod‘s apparent psychic abilities get overlooked way too often in fics, so i had to include them.

You never would have thought you’d see the white shores of Valinor again, after thousands of years. Waves of nostalgia washed over you as the grey ship approached the harbour. Memories of more innocent times passed through your mind. Of being young and in love with Findaráto, of a blissful marriage before the darkening. You wondered if he had decided to return to Arda, if there was a chance you’d finally see him again.

You still vividly remembered the day Orodreth had sought you out to tell you your husband wasn‘t returning from his mission. Up until that moment, you had been praying to the Valar that Findaráto’s vision had deceived him – that he simply hadn‘t interpreted it correctly. You were still amazed that you hadn‘t faded away right then and there, your fëa seemingly torn apart.

“What a magnificent sight!” You were drawn from your sombre thoughts by the elderly hobbit next to you, whose eyes were full off fascination. You couldn’t conceive what it was like to see the Blessed Realm for the first time, but you imagined it must have been overwhelming. “Your stories haven’t done it justice, (Y/N). I never could have imagined such beauty.” You simply smiled politely and nodded. Normally you delighted in engaging Bilbo’s worldly curiosity (only Eru knew just how many stories you had told him about Findaráto specifically), but the inner tension was robbing you of the energy to engage in conversation. What if he hadn’t returned? What if he would never want to return? Shaking off the thought, you told yourself to hold off on the negativity.

Stepping off the ship beside Artanis felt almost surreal. You had been gone for thousands of years and now it felt like you had only left yesterday. A large crowd of elves was gathered at the docks, each of them hoping to be reunited with their friends or loved ones, just like most passengers on your ship. For a moment you thought you had spotted Findaráto,  but on second glance it turned out to be your father-in-law and you were once again stunned at how much his eldest son took after him. Your mother-in-law stood beside her husband, hope shining in her eyes as she scanned the descending passengers.

Artanis called out to her parents in delight and the three of them came together in a tight hug. You lingered behind a little, not wanting to intrude on the moment. It didn‘t take long for Arafinwë and Eärwen to take note of your presence, however, and you were taken into their arms as well. Has he returned? you wanted to ask but Arafinwë seemed to have already read your mind. “Yes,“ he simply said, “but he does not dwell with us, as much as it pains us. He seeks solace and only rarely comes to see us.“ Your heart sank. You knew how much Findaráto adored his family and to avoid them like this was entirely out of character. The horrors of his death must have still haunted him too much. Not that you could blame him – your own dreams had been haunted for weeks by what had been described to you of his death.

You strolled along the beach, following the directions Findaráto’s parents had given you. After a while, a house appeared in the distance – sitting lonely and far away from other dwellings. A lump formed in your throat. What would you even say to him? What would his condition be after what his father had told you? The questions  echoed in your mind until you finally reached the house. It was simple enough, clearly not meant for more than two people.

A familiar, beloved voice reached your keen ears and at last you saw him. Harp on his lap, feet dangling across the water, Findaráto sat on the pier singing a song you knew all too well – he had written it for you in the beginning of your courtship. “Findaráto!” You exclaimed, adrenaline filling your entire body. He turned around at the call of his name and when he spotted you, he hastily sat aside his harp and started rushing to meet you half-way. The two of you collided so hard it almost sent you toppling onto the ground. You couldn’t tell who cried harder.

Even after thousands of years, his smell had remained the same – a mix of lavender and berries, with a hint of sea salt. You breathed him in deeply, feeling the tension leave your body and being replaced by a sensation you could only describe as coming home. Hopefully he felt the same. Entangling yourself a little from his embrace, you finally gazed upon his face. Not a thing had changed, even if this was not his original body – that one would forever rest in the depths of drowned Beleriand. One of your hands came up to caress his cheek and he leaned into the touch immediately. “I have missed you so much,” you whispered. It was an immense understatement, there were no words that could adequately describe the feeling of abruptly having half of your fëa ripped from you. “Me, too,” he whispered back and bent down to nuzzle your nose and press a tender kiss to your lips, sighing as he did so.  

“I knew you‘d come back to me, I just didn‘t know when,“ Findaráto said, a shadow briefly passing over his face. He didn‘t need to elaborate, you knew he was talking about him having had yet another vision. Your heart ached at the thought of how exhausting it must have been for him these past millennia, living in constant uncertainty as to when he would finally be reunited with his beloved, as his visions had promised. Did these promises make him leave the halls early, foregoing valuable time of healing? You decided to push the oncoming guilt away for now. There was plenty of time for these conversations to be had later.

“Well, I‘m here now, and you best believe I‘m not going anywhere anytime soon.“ It wasn’t a mere promise. Nothing would ever divide the two of you again and no amount of sinister visions would be able to change that.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

A Heavy Crown - Fingon x f!reader

The newly crowned High-King still mourns his father.

Words: 992

Tags: hurt/comfort, mention of canon character death

A/N: somehow i never gave much thought to how fingon must’ve felt after taking on his father’s crown. once i did i got hit in the feels and not in a good way :/

The sky was a brooding grey, it was only a matter of time before rain would start to pour down. You stood next to Fingon, posture straightened, chin held high and let your eyes wander over the crowd of nobles assembled in the throne room. Some of your husband‘s Fëanorian cousins were attending, no doubt due to pressure from their eldest brother.

 Your crowns were beautiful – full of intricate details and shining gems, their golden hue matching effortlessly with the golden bands Fingon always braided into his hair. The speech he had prepared was moving.

He spoke in a firm voice about not losing hope in these dark times and how Elves and Men alike could count on him to do everything in his power to help rebuild all that was scorched by the dragon’s fell fire. Right now, it seemed like an immeasurably burdensome task of who knew how many long years, but Fingon had a way with words that made you want to believe in him and share his optimism.

In the beginning, it had surprised you how fast he could switch between easy-going jokester and rallying commander and as time went on it became one of the features you admired most about him.

Fingon’s oldest cousin Maedhros was the first to receive the two of you after the official part of the ceremony was over and it was time to mingle and pay respects. The two men hugged tightly, their close friendship having long been restored after all the strife between their respective houses.

Maedhros didn’t make any moves to hug you and instead bowed and smiled politely. You didn’t hold it against him, you knew that even though you had known him for a long time, physical touch still didn’t come easy to him after his time in Angband.

Of course there was a formal exchange of words as well, Maedhros swearing loyalty to the new High-King and Queen, expressing willingness for future cooperation and the like. You lost count of how many nobles you had talked to during the day and didn’t even remember most of their faces at this point. It was evident that Fingon was becoming more and more tense and even though he tried to cover it up, he could never hope to hide the storm brewing beneath the surface from you.

You tugged his sleave gently. “Let’s retire for the night, hm?” you suggested, and he nodded curtly, evidently relieved by your initiative. You followed him to stand before your thrones and announced that the two of you were retiring for now. More informal celebrations would take place tomorrow. There was polite applause and scattered calls of Long live the King and Queen! as you both left the grand hall.

You closed the door to your shared chambers behind you and watched Fingon slowly walk towards the bed. He collapsed onto it and let out a little sniffle, the tears he had held back all day finally rolling down his face. Gently plucking the crown off his head before taking off your own, you set them aside on the nightstand and joined him on the bed.

Seeing your beloved like this was beyond distressing. The deep sorrow was such a sharp contrast to his usual bright optimism. “Is there something I can do?” you asked hesitantly.

Fingon let out a shaky breath. “Can you … hold me?” he asked almost timidly, and you opened your arms for him without thinking, pulling him closer. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, mumbling a quiet thank you. You gently ran your fingers across his scalp, hoping the sensation would help sooth him.

After a while his sobs died down and only the occasional sniffle was left. “I don’t want to be king,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. You knew he didn’t really mean it. Your husband had never had a problem with assuming leadership, but this was different. Your coronation had made it official. His father was no more and there was no more hiding in denial. Fingon had loved his father deeply (a trait that seemed to unite the entire House of Finwë) and his death had broken a part of him that you weren’t sure could ever be fixed.

Naturally, you mourned the loss of your father-in-law as well, but you knew your own pain could never compare to your husband’s.

“I know,” you said quietly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, burying your face in his dark hair.

There wasn’t even a body to bury. You still vividly remembered the quiet ceremony Fingon had held to honour his father. Standing in front of an empty grave, banners solemnly waving in the wind, speaking praises of his father’s valiant deeds and how the Noldor had lost their greatest king on that grim day.

Fingon withdrew from your embrace a little, so you were face to face again. He cupped your cheek in his hand, letting his thumb caress the soft skin. His face was still stained with dried tears, but his eyes had regained some of their spark. “Thank you for being by my side,” he whispered, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You covered his hand with yours and gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t you ever worry about losing me. You’ll always have your queen by your side, this I swear to you,” you said in a firm voice and watched with joy as a little smile graced his features.

“I love you so much, meleth,” he said with a relieved sigh and leaned forward to kiss you. “I love you, too,” you replied and happily let him pull you closer, snuggling into his chest.

You knew such simple words could never heal the gaping wound in your beloved’s heart, but you hoped that over time, it would become a soothing reminder that he was never truly alone in his suffering.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Your Father's Son - Curufin x maia!reader

For the first time ever, Curufin wishes he wouldn’t resemble his father so much.

Words: 1.3k

Tags: Curufin has a bit of an identity crisis, fluff, reader is a Maia of Aulë

A/N: I genuinely never thought the day would come where I write a fic for this guy. Honestly don’t care that this is probably not really canon compliant, this version simply speaks to me so much more. Since it’s pre-oath, I imagine the daddy issues just hadn’t taken on their final form yet. Guess I can still sneak this into @doodle-pops underrated character event 👀

Whenever Curufinwë and his family visited the Halls of Aulë, his father really lived up to his name. The fire of his fëa glowed in his eyes and filled his voice with an insurmountable passion, captivating all who listened, as he described new projects and techniques he had come up with. His mother always stood next to his father, beaming with pride at her husband’s accomplishments and occasionally chiming in with remarks about her own craft.

Today was a truly remarkable occasion. His father stood at the centre of the hall, holding an intricately crafted box in his hands.

“Thank you for so graciously receiving me and my family, Lord Aulë,” his deep voice boomed across the room. “Today, I am here to reveal my greatest creations yet. Behold.” He opened the box and produced three brightly gleaming gems. A collective gasp went through the hall and excited whispers broke out amongst the present Maiar and Elves.

“The Silmarils,” his father continued, “imbued with the light of the Two Trees themselves.” Curufinwë watched with pride, as his father was immediately swarmed by curious onlookers, hoping to gain a closer look at the Silmarils and ask him all manner of questions about the creative process.

He spotted a familiar face in the crowd and a pleasant tingle spread through his body. You wore an expression of pure awe, eyes glued to his father’s spectacular creations. How he wished you would look at him like that. He would gladly rip the Silmarils from his father’s hands to offer them to you if that’s what it took.

Sometimes he wondered if his feelings could ever be reciprocated. The Valar and Maiar seemed so close and yet so far away and to his knowledge, Maia and Elf couples weren’t exactly common.

Your eyes met and you offered him a happy smile, making your way over to him. “It is lovely to see you here, my lord,” you said with a polite bow.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, taking your hand to ghost his lips across the back of it, delighting in the surprised blush on your face.

“What your father created … breathtaking. We’re all honoured to be in the presence of such a master craftsman,” you gushed.

Curufinwë’s smile almost bordered on smugness. How else could anyone feel in the presence of the greatest of the Eldar? He knew how much work his father had put into creating the Silmarils. How much of his fiery fëa had flown into them. All the sleepless hours slaving away in the smouldering forges had more than paid off.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Your mother showed me one of the new hair brooches you made for her. It was stunning, you truly are your father’s son. With all the talent you inherited from him, surely there are creations rivalling the Silmarils in your future.”

Curufinwë felt an unexpected pull in his chest. You truly are your father’s son. Words he had heard more times than he could count and that he normally perceived as the greatest of compliments, but somehow it felt different when they came from you. Was that all you thought about when you looked at him? How much he took after his father?

He should be honoured, like he always was. Who else but him could even dream of holding a candle to his father’s genius? And yet …  I’m more than just my father’s son, his mind told him, but he immediately suppressed that ridiculous complaint. He clenched his jaw and gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I pray you are right.” His façade could never hope to deceive the perceptive Maiar.

“Are you all right, my lord? Did I say something to upset you?” you questioned but he only shook his head silently and took his leave with a grumbled Please excuse me.

He didn’t know how many corners he had turned when he just so happened to find himself in front of a mirror in an empty hallway. He recognised the frame’s design immediately – it was one of the first crafts for Aulë he had helped his father with. He could still vividly remember the pride he felt when his father had praised his diligent work and how he had begun to chase that high ever since. For as long as he could remember, nothing had mattered as much to him as gaining his father’s approval.

Curufinwë stared into the mirror, watching his father’s piercing gaze stare back at him. His face contorted into a scowl, just like his father’s did, when in the presence of his blasted half-brothers.

He tentatively reached up to loosen the pins that held his hair in place, watching it cascade across his shoulders and back like liquid midnight. No matter how much he wrecked his mind, he couldn’t think of a single hairstyle that his father did not favour as well.

“There you are,” your voice suddenly appeared next to him. He tried to hide how startled he was as he turned to face you.

“You followed me?”

“I wanted to make sure you’re all right,” you said timidly, as if debating whether or not to regret your action. He couldn’t give you an honest answer, so he remained silent.

After a while of uncomfortable silence, he spoke up. “Is he all you think about when you see me?”

“He?”

“My father.”

“What? Of course not-“

“I have talent of my own, you know. Everyone always says how alike we are. How grateful I should be, to have inherited his skills. But-“ His breath quickened, and he turned his back to you, running his hands across his face in frustration. I’m more than just my father’s son. “I don’t want you to think of me like that. Not you, of all people.”

You moved to stand in front of him and took his hands away from his face, holding them in your own instead. For a moment, Curufinwë thought he saw something akin to genuine affection in your eyes, but surely his mind was deceiving him.

“Who says that’s what I do?” you said tenderly. “I adore you for who you are. Your father-“

“You adore me?” he interrupted you in disbelief. A sudden realisation seemed to dawn on you, as if you hadn’t meant to use those words.

“Well, yes, of course I do,” you floundered, “A great deal. You are an amazing craftsman in your own right and the passion you show for your works is most certainly your own. I love when you come to me to show me new ideas, I … could listen to you for hours.” You bit your lower lip and looked away, your statement hanging heavy in the air for a moment.

Curufinwë swallowed strongly and then took hold of your chin to turn your face towards him slowly. “I … adore you, too,” he confessed and felt his heart swell as your eyes lit up with joy and your lips curved into a smile. “There’s only one opinion I value more than my father’s when it comes to my craft. Yours. Sharing my ideas with you is one of my greatest joys.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” you replied, but the smile on your face never faded.

“You don’t need to say anything. For now, let’s just … I don’t know. Come to terms with these feelings. And forget about my embarrassing insecurities,” he mumbled the last part and felt his cheeks heat up, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable.

You laughed and nodded. “I’d like that.”

A small part of him wondered if this is how his father had felt, when he discovered his mother’s mutual feelings, but he silenced that part immediately. Not now, idiot.

He shook his head, and a  relieved smile graced his features. Maybe the Maiar weren’t so far away after all. Maybe – just maybe – he didn’t mirror his father as much as everyone told him.

Coming from you, he chose to believe it for now.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Caranthir SFW Alphabet

A/N: trying my hands at these, for some reason it was much more difficult than I’d thought. Sometimes formulating concrete thoughts is hard lol, might come back to this in the future.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He’s not big on pda, so most affections would take place in private. The most he would do in public is holding your hand and maybe giving you a quick kiss or hug if you initiate it. He’s kinda awkward about it in the beginning but slowly warms up to it over the course of your relationship.

In private it’s a complete switch, you can be as affectionate as you want and he has no second thoughts when it comes to returning your affections.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

His reputation scares away a lot of people, so he doesn’t have a lot of close friends, though he does have several good acquaintances. An ideal person to vent to, he‘s never going to judge. If there‘s someone who understands the need to load off frustration in a confidential setting, it‘s him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Actually really likes cuddles but is hesitant to admit it at first because he doesn’t want to be made fun of for how opposite it is to his usual gruff demeanour (not that you would ever do so). There’s something about the way he holds you that makes you feel completely safe, like a Balrog could burst through the door and still nothing would happen to you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Absolutely not against settling down, he starts thinking about it once he feels like the two of you are secure enough in your relationship. Since you‘re one of the people he wants to avoid conflict with as much as possible, he makes it a point to take initiative when it comes to chores.

A decent enough cook, and he enjoys preparing meals with you together – which doesn’t happen often unfortunately, since both of you are generally pretty busy.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would probably be like ripping off a plaster – just get it over with as quick and painless as possible. Might come across a little cold, but it’s just him trying to keep his feelings under control so he can actually go through with it and not back-paddle at the last second.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

In Valinor he’s pretty open minded when it comes to marriage and if you expressed willingness to get married as well, he’d happily start planning a proposal – which would take place in private, the thought of a public proposal would never even cross his mind.

In Beleriand, he absolutely refuses, no matter how much you plead with him. Even if you turn the tables and propose to him instead, he will straight up tell you no. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you binding yourself to someone as doomed as him. Doesn‘t give a damn about what anyone thinks about the two of you living together unwed.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Once you break through his tough outer shell, you‘ll find he‘s got no problem with being gentle and even quite enjoys it – as long as it’s kept behind closed doors. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all. (It’s much more serious in his mind than it actually is, poor guy.)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Adores hugging in private, he‘ll never turn you down – it‘s a wonderful way for him to destress and as we’ve established, his cuddles and hugs pretty amazing.

In public it‘s a different matter. He doesn‘t mind having his arm around you casually, but full-on hugs are often too much for him.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Has no problem with taking the initiative once he’s certain of his feelings for you. Although it might end up happening in the middle of a heated discussion. You know, like “Why do you care?” “Because I love you.” (I‘m weak for scenes like that, help.)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

His jealousy is hit or miss. He generally trusts that you can handle yourself when it comes to others making advances (though he will firmly step in if you appear intimidated or too uncomfortable). The only thing that really gets to him at times are the personalities of others. There are moments where he sees you happily chatting away with more easy-going and cheerful people than him and subconsciously wonders if you preferred it if he acted more like them.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He likes kissing your forehead as a quick reminder of his adoration, especially when you stop by his office during the day. Other than that, he has no real preferences. All kisses are good kisses to him, and he enjoys them to the fullest extend.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Having three younger siblings and plenty of younger cousins, he‘s more than used to being around children. Still not the biggest fan but would never even dream of acting negatively towards them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If you think he has grumpy tendencies during the day, you haven’t witnessed him in the morning. The polar opposite of a morning person. Only the bravest souls schedule an early meeting with him.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

More often than not, you have to drag him away from his desk to make sure he gets some proper rest, he’s just that much of a workaholic. He might complain in the moment but once he’s actually in bed he’ll begrudgingly thank you. Also doesn‘t take long for him to fall asleep after that because the exhaustion catches up with him quickly.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

A pretty secluded man, you‘ll have to do a lot of poking in the beginning. Once you have earned his trust and he fears no judgement from you, however, you can ask him basically anything.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I don’t think I need to elaborate much here. His reputation precedes him, and people usually know not to agitate him too much. However, I don‘t imagine he gets immensely enraged 10 times a day, he‘s just too good at bottling things up until the seemingly most insignificant thing sets him off. Like an annoying cousin.

He‘s quite proud and doesn‘t tolerate any slander of his house – will always make sure to put people in their place. The same goes for any negative comments about you, especially when they are about you being together with a Fëanorian.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

The Eldar have excellent memory so he‘s definitely going to remember most things about you. Might be a little disappointed if you‘re not the same way about him.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

As strange as it might sound, one of his most cherished memories is the moment you let him properly vent to you for the first time. Having you hear him out without judgement, without immediately writing him off as an overreacting hot-head and actually taking his concerns to heart was a reaffirmation of your love for him. You‘re his safe space, even if he might not be able to articulate it properly and he will never take it for granted.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

His protectiveness is on a steady incline the more time passes. He knows that at certain times/in certain company, being associated with a Fëanorian can paint a target on your back and he does his best to shield you from any harm, be it physically or verbally.

If you make any sort of promises of protection towards him, he‘ll laugh and reassure you that he is more than capable of taking care of himself. He appreciates the gesture, though.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He goes all out on gifts, it’s his #1 love language. You mentioned in passing that you liked a certain item? He’ll make sure to save that information in his mind for future reference. Likes to spoil you with all your favourite foods on important occasions, you can be sure he‘ll acquire all the most high-quality ingredients and let only his most skilled chefs prepare them.

A lot of times he comes to you with a nonchalant “Here, this made me think of you.” and hands you a gift that is worth a fortune.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s a sore loser and his brothers make use of it to piss him off intentionally, challenging him in games they know he’s bad at.

Has a secret petty streak. Please don‘t enable him, it won‘t end well.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He‘s not one for flashy outfits, but he does make sure his appearance reflects his status. Enjoys indulging in the finest materials. (Which isn‘t a problem, considering his position in Eastern Beleriand.)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He‘s always been a pretty independent person who knows his own worth. So while he does value you more than anything else, he is also more than fine on his own.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He‘s a cat person. The whole “cold and aloof” stereotype while actually being soft on the inside makes him feel a certain kinship. Would love to have some but knows he probably wouldn‘t have enough time to take care of them on his own. Now if he had a partner … he might have to reconsider.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He definitely bears grudges, and it drives him up the walls when people are (in his opinion) unnecessarily quick to forgive.

Doesn’t care for boasting – prefers to let his actions speak for him, not his words.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He can‘t sleep without a blanket, no matter how hot it is outside (if you want to cuddle in summer, prepare to sweat buckets. He makes no compromises when it comes to blankets). This can make him a bit of an unknowing blanket hog.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Big Hands and Tiny Paws - Argon x gn!reader

Argon finds a stray kitten and decides to take it home with him.

Words: 578

Tags: fluff

A/N: another little piece for the underrated character event :D inspired by my recent ask to @doodle-pops – the thought just wouldn’t leave my mind <3

You were in the middle of tidying up the living room when the front door opened, and your husband stepped inside. You skipped over to him with a smile to greet him, but as you were about to hug him you noticed he was holding something in his hand. “What do you have there?” you asked curiously and were stunned when it was revealed to be a kitten, sitting snugly in Argon’s palm, cautiously eyeing its surroundings. Its pristine white fur was stained with patches of dirt.

“I found her on the side of the road,” Argon explained with a frown on his face. “She seemed to be all alone, there were no other cats in sight. I didn’t think she would have much of a chance on her own.” A mix of warmth and pity spread through your chest. Warmth because of your husband’s good heart, taking in a creature in need. Pity because of the little kitten who had to navigate a big unknown world all on its own. You wondered what had happened to its parents and how long the kitten had already been parted from them.

“Do you think we could keep her?” Argon asked as he lifted a finger to caress the kittens head, making it purr happily. You smiled adoringly at the scene and nodded. How could you possibly say no? “I don’t see why not. Can I hold her?” Argon lowered his arm, and you cautiously plucked the kitten from his hand. “Hey there,” you cooed. The kitten let out a meagre meow as if greeting you in return.

“She must be so hungry,” you mused, and Argon hummed in agreement. “I’ll see about preparing some food for her,” he said and made his way to the kitchen.

“Let’s give you a bath in the meantime, shall we?” You carried the kitten to the bathroom and filled the sink with some warm water. To your surprise, it barely made any fuss at coming in contact with the water and so bathing it was a quick affair, when you took the amount of dirt into account.

When you entered the kitchen, Argon had already set out a small plate of improvised cat food on the counter. “Ooh, look at that, little one. So much yummy food for you,” you said and set the now clean white furball down. It immediately dug into the food, chowing every single crumb down greedily.

When it was done it padded over to Argon, meowing impatiently. “You want me to pick you up?” Argon asked with an adoring smile on his face, lowering his hand so the kitten could climb back onto his palm. You let out a small laugh and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“The size difference between you two is almost ridiculous,” you explained and Argon grinned. “Well, luckily for her, I have a lot of practice in treating beings much smaller than myself with love and care,” he said and bent over almost halfway to kiss you. “I won’t argue with that,” you murmured against his lips and nuzzled his nose. “You’re in good hands with him,” you said to the kitten and rested your head against Argon’s arm.

“I’m glad we’re able to give her a home.”

“Me, too,” Argon said, voice tinged with affection. “I’m just realising that we’re forgetting the most important thing, though.“

“What‘s that?“ you asked.

“We need to give the little one a name.”

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

In All Shapes and Sizes - Beleg x shapeshifter!reader

Love comes in all shapes and sizes. Beleg got to experience this first-hand.

Words: 612

Tags: fluff

A/N: a tiny little something I wrote for @doodle-pops underrated character event :D

A chill lay in the air, announcing the slow approach of autumn. The leaves crackled ever so slightly under his boots as Beleg tread the narrow path that led to your shared home, humming absentmindedly. The birds overhead seemed to pick up on his song and joined in with cheerful chirps and coos, entirely unbothered by his presence. A couple of deer trotted through the forest, watching him curiously before going separate ways. He spotted fresh paw prints on the same trail he was walking on – his tracking abilities told him they were left by a fox. A knowing smirk crossed his face, and he sped up his pace ever so slightly, wondering if he could catch up before either of you reached home.

Mere moments later, Beleg heard a rustle in the bushes but couldn’t spot anything moving, or so he thought. A flash of red fur appeared in the corner of his eyes out of nowhere and he felt a pair of arms and legs wrap around his body as you leapt into his arms. He stumbled back a little and let out a breathless laugh.  “Slow down there,” he gasped as he set you back on the ground, but you paid him no mind. “How I have missed you, meleth. Are you well? Any wounds that need tending to?” You scanned his body and did a gentle pat down. “I’m fine, no need to worry.” Beleg stopped your hands from wandering by taking them into his own and smiling reassuringly at you. “You know I’m always careful. And more than capable of tending to wounds, as you should know.” You lowered your head bashfully at his comment, catching the reference to your first meeting.

It had been more than unexpected. One rainy day, Beleg had found himself nursing a poor hurt fox he had encountered while on patrol and was more than surprised when a couple of days later an Elf was sitting in his hut with no sign of the fox. He had heard rumours of so-called shapeshifters from other wardens but never thought he would see one in the flesh, much less fall in love with one. Many a times he had asked you if you wouldn’t come live with him in the city, but you refused, preferring the solitude of the forest to the hustle and bustle of civilisation. It wasn’t difficult for him to make the decision to join you in living in nature and he had never once regretted it. Living with the one he loved was worth more than any comfort the city could ever hope to offer and he had already spent large portions of his life in the forest anyway.

“Race you home?” You asked excitedly and he snorted. “I return after a long watch, and you want me to physically exert myself even more? Also, we both know I don’t stand chance. You just want to brag about winning again,” Beleg teased. In your Elven form he might have been able to outrun you with ease, but foxes were faster than the Elves and he knew you would not pick the easy route for him. You sighed dramatically and he halted any complaints you might voice by bending down and kissing your forehead. “All I want right now is to be home, enjoy a good meal and cosy up with my beloved. Does that sound good to you as well?” You bit your bottom lip and pretended to ponder his request before nodding. You stood on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his lips and interlaced your fingers with his. “That sounds wonderful, actually. Let’s go.”

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Running through the aisles of the palace, a giggle left your mouth as you saw Fingon approaching you, faster and faster. Opening the door of your shared chambers, you threw yourself on the bed, laughing louder as you watched your husband approaching with a smirk on his lips. "There you are!" He said, closing the doors behind him. "Nowhere to run now?"

The elf got closer and closer to you, arms opening ready to cage you in his embrace. "Fingon!" You said, lips curved in a smile while more giggles left your mouth, seeing your husband coming closer.

Without a warn, he jumped on the bed, laying by your side and grabbing you before you could leave. "Where do you think you're going, my love?" He said, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and bringing you as close as he could to him.

"Come," he whispered. "We have a long night ahead..."

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

In All Shapes and Sizes - Beleg x shapeshifter!reader

Love comes in all shapes and sizes. Beleg got to experience this first-hand.

Words: 612

Tags: fluff

A/N: a tiny little something I wrote for @doodle-pops underrated character event :D

A chill lay in the air, announcing the slow approach of autumn. The leaves crackled ever so slightly under his boots as Beleg tread the narrow path that led to your shared home, humming absentmindedly. The birds overhead seemed to pick up on his song and joined in with cheerful chirps and coos, entirely unbothered by his presence. A couple of deer trotted through the forest, watching him curiously before going separate ways. He spotted fresh paw prints on the same trail he was walking on – his tracking abilities told him they were left by a fox. A knowing smirk crossed his face, and he sped up his pace ever so slightly, wondering if he could catch up before either of you reached home.

Mere moments later, Beleg heard a rustle in the bushes but couldn’t spot anything moving, or so he thought. A flash of red fur appeared in the corner of his eyes out of nowhere and he felt a pair of arms and legs wrap around his body as you leapt into his arms. He stumbled back a little and let out a breathless laugh.  “Slow down there,” he gasped as he set you back on the ground, but you paid him no mind. “How I have missed you, meleth. Are you well? Any wounds that need tending to?” You scanned his body and did a gentle pat down. “I’m fine, no need to worry.” Beleg stopped your hands from wandering by taking them into his own and smiling reassuringly at you. “You know I’m always careful. And more than capable of tending to wounds, as you should know.” You lowered your head bashfully at his comment, catching the reference to your first meeting.

It had been more than unexpected. One rainy day, Beleg had found himself nursing a poor hurt fox he had encountered while on patrol and was more than surprised when a couple of days later an Elf was sitting in his hut with no sign of the fox. He had heard rumours of so-called shapeshifters from other wardens but never thought he would see one in the flesh, much less fall in love with one. Many a times he had asked you if you wouldn’t come live with him in the city, but you refused, preferring the solitude of the forest to the hustle and bustle of civilisation. It wasn’t difficult for him to make the decision to join you in living in nature and he had never once regretted it. Living with the one he loved was worth more than any comfort the city could ever hope to offer and he had already spent large portions of his life in the forest anyway.

“Race you home?” You asked excitedly and he snorted. “I return after a long watch, and you want me to physically exert myself even more? Also, we both know I don’t stand chance. You just want to brag about winning again,” Beleg teased. In your Elven form he might have been able to outrun you with ease, but foxes were faster than the Elves and he knew you would not pick the easy route for him. You sighed dramatically and he halted any complaints you might voice by bending down and kissing your forehead. “All I want right now is to be home, enjoy a good meal and cosy up with my beloved. Does that sound good to you as well?” You bit your bottom lip and pretended to ponder his request before nodding. You stood on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his lips and interlaced your fingers with his. “That sounds wonderful, actually. Let’s go.”

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Elves when you break their heart (for a lack of better title)

AN: Idk why I am writing this but here it is. This author likes the idea of doomed relationships both platonic and romantic :D (Also can we have a funny event so I can feel like writing again? Pretty plsss)

Summary: Angst

Characters: Rog, Celebrimbor, Finrod

🔨Rog🔨:

"Oh my," you wheeze folding into yourself as you catch your breath. The elf a few feet away from you looks paler than snow when you look up to smile at him.

A sheepish grin spreads across your face, trying not to show how a flight of stairs came so close to taking you out. But the poor elf turns green and you consciously wipe your lips noticing the blood on the back of your hand. That explains.

"Lord Rog in?" You point to the long corridor that your beloved promised, which definitely leads to his study and not another secret smithy.

The guard, wide-eyed and terrified, can only manage a jerky nod. You heave yourself upright, gathering your robes with trembling hands and a silent prayer to the Valar that the floor stays horizontal for at least another minute.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath – mostly to mask the metallic tang of blood – you dab at your face with the hem of your sleeve before you thrust your beloved into another fit of mothering you.

Pushing open the door (knocking? What's knocking?), you swing yourself into the study with a flourish that would make a bard proud.

"Hellooo my love," you purr, a wide smile plastered on your face despite the throbbing ache in your side. Rog, engrossed in a book held upside down with a furrowed brow, doesn't even notice you at first. It doesn't take elven sight to spot the worry lines etched deep on his face – a sight that makes your smile falter slightly. Hiding an internal sigh, you flop down next to him with a dramatic thud.

"I am not dead yet, dear," you announce, watching him stiffen at the word 'dead.' "Perhaps spare such interesting books for when you are not able to access my excellent presence." You take the tome from his hands and with a playful flick of your wrist, send it soaring across the room to land with a soft thud on a plush armchair.

A frown of complaint settles on Rog's forehead. You can already see the familiar lecture brewing – the one about slowing down and taking care of yourself. An argument you smother with a quick peck on his lips, effectively silencing him before he can utter a single word of protest.

You are, after all, a master in leaving things unfinished. And witnessing his grief and worries was a business you plan to leave unfinished for your given time.

🩶Celebrimbor🩶: (platonic)

"You are the reason for my kin's doom!" You point an accusing finger at him. "You and your larger-than-life creations." Your voice is hoarse from hours of sobbing.

Tyelpe stood frozen, his heart a drum against his ribs. His once glimmering form felt like a dying star. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the image of the furious spirit before him.

You lurched forward, grasping his shoulders. Your touch, faint as a sigh, startled him from his paralysis. "Why?!" The raw whisper seemed to crack the very foundation of the Halls.

"Why!! Why did you have to make those rings? Why give it to my kin? Even in death, I cannot see the face of my father. My father who killed his own kingdom." The Halls of Mandos shake with the tremors of your little voice.

You, who had never met him in your lifetime, bore hatred greater than any other.

Nothing mattered. Sauron's evil, your father's own greed, none enraged you more than the elf who you made you into a resentful mess.

Tyelpe didn't flinch. His gaze met yours, a well of ancient sorrow mirroring your own. He didn't resist when the Maiar of Mandos materialized, summoned by the sheer force of your grief. He let's himself be pulled away from your grasp.

Then, a tremor ran through him, a ripple of recognition. He looked at you, truly saw you for the first time. Not just a furious spirit, but a child – a child robbed of a life you never got to live. And him being the cause of it.

He sank to his knees, his head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground. "Forgive me," he rasped, the words echoing through the halls. But this time, the plea wasn't just for himself. It was for you.

Even eternities were not enough to lift the burden of some crimes.

✨Finrod✨:

"Love?" you scoffed, a harsh sound that echoed through the cavernous hall. You met Finrod's gaze, your eyes devoid of the warmth that used to reside there. "This isn't love, Your Majesty. It's vengeance."

You leaned closer, the frosty air swirling around you like a cloak. Each word was a shard of ice, piercing the illusions you'd so meticulously constructed. "I never loved you, Finrod. Not truly."

His face drained of color, the realization dawning like a cruel sunrise. A tremor ran through his hand, the one that used to reach for yours so instinctively.

"Months," you continued, a cruel smile twisting your lips. "Months of a meticulously crafted lie, a performance more elaborate than any staged in these halls."

A flicker of pain crossed his features, a flicker that ignited a cold satisfaction within you. You had achieved your goal. Finrod Felagund, the mighty Elf-lord, brought low by the love of an Edain – the very race he deemed inferior.

"Look at yourself, Finrod," you whispered, the words dripping with venom. "Consumed by a mere illusion. A phantom who offered you a love that never existed."

Finrod opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, your fingers tightening around his chin. "You are in love with a mirage," you declared, your voice a low hiss. "A person who never truly lived. This," you gestured to yourself, the playful warmth you once wore now replaced by a chilling emptiness, "is who I am."

You lean tantalizingly close to his lips. And Finrod as if forced by habit leaned in expectantly. For a moment, Finrod's eyes searched yours, desperate to find a flicker of the woman he thought he knew – the woman who shared laughter and dreams with him.

But there was nothing. Only a cold, calculating stranger.

"Consider this Andreth's debt, finally repaid," you said, pulling away with finality. You turned and walked away, leaving Finrod alone in the vastness of his halls, his heart shattered

And remained shattered accompanied by his body that lay broken in the unlit cells of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

[archive-of-silm-fanfics]

Return of the Traitor

Request: Literally no one. Not a single soul.

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: fluff, fix it-ish?

Summary: You have returned to Himring, to him, whom you are no more than a traitor.

AN: This has been in draft since Himring fell...

"With all due respect," the realtor squeaked, his voice a strained octave higher than usual. "This property has been on the market for centuries. Every venture initiated here has ended in heavy losses, not to mention the…spectral reports." He shot a nervous glance towards the crumbling ramparts.

A grim smile played on your lips. "Losses are one thing," you drawled, tracing the rough stone of the wall with your fingertips. "But some things are worth the risk, wouldn't you agree?" The realtor, a man whose immaculate suit seemed woefully out of place amidst the decay, coughed nervously.

You were back in Himring, the once-proud fortress of the first Feanorion. Centuries had passed since the ocean reclaimed it, but time seemed to hold no sway here. The wind howled through shattered windows, carrying whispers of a forgotten past.

The ancient craftsmanship still held. "Damn elves and their unrelenting craft," you muttered under your breath.

Ignoring the realtor's stammering protests, you strode purposefully into the dark halls. The halls of your dear nemesis. Wondering if you would have the pleasure of stumbling upon his wraith.

Hope, a fragile thing nurtured by years of longing and yearning, flickered in your chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, you would find him here. Maedhros, your nemesis, your lover, the ghost who unknowingly haunted your every waking moment.

You came looking for the unfairly handsome elven lord, who remained the most charming single-handedly, you snickered at your joke imagining the eye-roll Maedhros would have rewarded you with had you uttered such words in his presence.

The past. A time when love bloomed effortless and potent, strong enough to lure you across the vast expanse from the Eastern lands to stand at your lord's side.

But was he still your lord? The guilt gnawed at you, a constant companion. After everything you'd done, such a title felt like a cruel joke. Not a lord, not a friend, not even a lover could you ever deserve after causing the fall of Himring.

You, Ulfang the chieftain, became the fall of Himring. You, who was the cause of estrangement of the firstborn and secondborn. The idiotic chieftain who lost everything in one gamble. The weight of that choice, the burden of countless lives lost, pressed down on you like an invisible mountain.

Now you stand, entrapped in the gray area of past and present. Even death had failed to take Maedhros away from you. He lived still in your mind, body, and soul.

"I am here Maedhros," you whisper to the winds that rush through his fort. "Try not to kill me." You add as a second thought.

Day one started with a bang. Or, more accurately, a clumsy stumble. Despite a surprisingly good night's sleep (considering the freezing halls and the weight of the past), you woke up way past sunrise.

Stumbling outside, you squinted at the sky, a canvas of swirling gray. Rain, fantastic. Just what you needed. But a frown did little to deter you.

With a disgruntled sigh, you hefted the "saplings" you'd dragged all the way to the fortress. "Saplings" being a generous term for the small, but decidedly unyielding trees you clutched in your arms.

These weren't your typical saplings. No sir, these were chosen with meticulous care. Flowering Jasmines, delicate Gardenias, and yes, even a tangled mass of Rose vines – a blatant nod to Maedhros' preferences.

If Manwe had rain planned then you might as well make use of it.

Of course, you hadn't forgotten about practicality either. Tucked amongst the fragrant blooms were a healthy assortment of vegetables – you weren't about to starve to death while playing gardener.

Perched precariously on the crumbling balcony, you busied yourself adding some delicate periwinkles to the mix. That was, until your foot met a rogue root with the grace of a drunken bear. With a surprised yelp, you went sprawling – a tangle of limbs and saplings tumbling down towards the damp earth below.

The first sensation that registered was the bite of freezing rain stinging your face. Then came the thrum of pain, a low ache traveling from your shin all the way up to your hip. You lay there for a moment, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on your body.

Suddenly, the air seemed to shift. A new sound, a soft rustling perhaps, or a presence that settled on the world like a heavy cloak. Your breath hitched in your throat. Maedhros had finally graced you with his… attention.

A slow smile spread across your face, a blend of sheepishness and something else – a spark of defiance, a hint of something you hoped wasn't misplaced hope. "Well, hello there," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rain.

Falling from the balconies, getting trapped in musty rooms – these became your daily routines. The aches and pains were starting to accumulate, a dull throb in your ankle a constant reminder of your latest tumble. Despite the new collection of scratches and a growing limp, your spirit remained defiant. You were, after all, the same old you.

"By eru! Auugh-" You spit your soup coughing unrelentingly in the lonesome dining hall. "Oh my, that almost took me out," you panted, your tongue feeling like a desert after a sandstorm. "Soup of death, or perhaps a bowl of salt with a reluctant splash of broth?"

"Did not know death made trolls out of elves..." you chuckle giving up on the idea of dinner. "Or is it just you, my love?" You speak to the empty room. Bemused that the idea of Maedehros' antics.

Pushing the offending dish away with a grimace. Giving up on dinner, you surveyed the desolate hall. A flicker of sadness crossed your features as you noticed a chipped teacup lying forgotten on the floor. It was a simple thing, but it reminded you of a brighter time, a time when laughter filled this room.

A sigh escaped your lips. Why torture yourself with such memories? With a determined glint in your eye, you pushed yourself up from the table, ignoring the protest from your injured ankle. You were here for a reason, and a little soup-induced near-death experience wasn't going to deter you.

"Do whatever you must," you declared, a hint of bravado lacing your voice. You addressed the empty room, a bemused smirk playing on your lips. "I will not leave." As if on cue, a sudden crackle erupted from the fireplace behind you, sending a shower of sparks dancing into the air.

"I have nowhere else to be," you continued, feeling a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. He was here. He had to be. or you were having some very personal conversations with a random spirit.

A cold gust of wind swept through the hall, extinguishing a nearby candle with a hiss. You shivered, a flicker of vulnerability replacing your bravado.

"And if you think killing me will rid you of my presence," you continued, your voice gaining strength with each word, "you are sorely mistaken. This time, I will not leave. Not even in death. So pray to your Valar that I do not die and join you as a wraith, forever tethered to this accursed place."

You declare with borrowed confidence from your stupid past self.

Maedhros loathes you. He despises you. The way you are different yet achingly familiar, the way your body moves in a similar fashion, yet your hair shines differently in the sun – it is a constant torment.

He despises the wretched hope that blooms in his chest at your sight. Hope before, resentment. A racing heart before a broken one.

But he is not unchanged either. Times have worn him into a resentful sprite. A wraith instead of the elven lord you remember. A bitter existence opposite of what you remember.

At least that's what he tells himself as he watches you passed out in the rain or when he sees you throwing away another inedible dinner.

He wants you gone. He yearns to be free from the constant reminder of his failures, the embodiment of a love that has brought him nothing but ruin.

He will never offer you the solace you crave, the forgiveness you desperately seek. Love, absolution, even a semblance of the tenderness he once held for you – these are things he has long since locked away, burying them deep beneath the layers of his self-imposed exile.

At least that is what he tells himself.

He wants you gone, yes, but the thought of you suffering gnaws at him like a persistent ache.

He will never admit it, but he finds himself drawn to you. Following you into his own, long-abandoned chambers was an act of… what? Curiosity? A morbid fascination? Whatever it was, the sight of you dusting the ancient tomes he hadn't touched in millennia sent a jolt through him.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to warp. You were both in the same room, you dusting the shelves, talking in your usual way, oblivious to his presence.

And for once, Maedhros allowed himself to simply look at you. Not with the burning hatred he has cultivated for so long, but with a… a wistfulness he can not explain.

He even finds himself replying to your nonsensical chatter about fearing toads. It is a small indulgence, a rebellion against the prison of his own making.

The illusion is shattered with a deafening crack. The rickety bookshelf groans and then collapses, a cascade of heavy tomes raining down on you. Maedhros reacts on instinct, a desperate lunge forward that would have been pointless given his form.

As expected you pass through his outstretched arms, a wisp of smoke, landing with a surprised yelp on the dusty bed. A cloud of dust erupts, momentarily obscuring the room. When it settles, his breath hitches in his throat.

Your eyes are wide and startled, fixed on him. Your mouth is agape, and your eyes, glistening with something other than dust?

A tremor runs through Maedhros, with something he dare not name. Could it be…? No. It had to be just the dust. Just the dust.