#Celebrimbor is teaching you

[zeizeizeizei]

POV: You're learning smithing from Celebrimbor

The heat of the forge seems almost distant compared to the warmth radiating from Celebrimbor as he steps behind you.

His presence is steady, commanding but not overpowering, as his hands gently guide yours over the hammer and tongs. His voice, low and smooth, brushes against your ear as he speaks, “The strike is not about force—it’s about precision. Feel the metal’s resistance, and work with it, not against it.”

His black hair falls forward, brushing against your shoulder and mixing with your own brunette strands, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver up your spine. You’re acutely aware of the closeness, the faint scent of steel and something uniquely him, a mix of ancient woods and embers.

"Here," he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple as he adjusts your grip, his long fingers wrapping around yours with practiced ease.

Together, your hands bring the hammer down in a perfect strike, the sound resonating like music. "Do you feel that?" he asks softly, his tone carrying both approval and an almost imperceptible intimacy.

You nod, your voice caught somewhere between the rhythm of the forge and the way his body aligns with yours. "Yes," you manage, the word barely audible over the hum of the fire.

His lips curve in a subtle smile you can’t see but can feel in the shift of his posture. "Good," he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You’re learning. And you have far more potential than you realize."

For a moment, time seems to stand still—the steady rhythm of the forge, the glow of the molten metal, and the closeness of the elf behind you, his guidance steady, his touch light yet grounding.

In that moment, you feel the weight of creation, and perhaps something deeper, lingering in the space between the two of you.

[tathrin]

The next story I am Definitely Not Writing: a fic where Legolas and Gimli make it all the way to the Undying Lands before they realize that in addition to loving each other more than anything else in all of Arda, they are also in love with one another (this is less a realization on their part and more an assumption that just about everyone else in Aman makes on sight, and eventually they hear about it and go oh...dang...maybe...? and Legolas's mom facepalms forever) and hey what if they got married, then...?

Only the thing is, while an elvish marriage is very simple and requires literally nothing but the folks involved deciding to do it (and no, Thranduil is not allowed to demand that Gimli fetch some priceless jewel from the Fëanorian section of Tirion in order to prove himself worthy of Legolas's hand, although he tried very very hard to convince everyone that it was a great idea) a dwarven marriage is an elaborate ceremony, requiring the participation of both a dwarven officiant and several members of one's kin to perform the various elements of the ceremony.

...all of which are in short supply in this land of elves and valar.

Except. well. there aren't any other dwarves in Aman...but what there is, is the guy who made the dwarves. And he is VERY fond of Gimli. So when he learns that Gimli is kind of moping about the fact that he can't marry Legolas in dwarven-fashion, Aulë ENTHUSIASTICALLY volunteers to be the officiant and to set everything up and arrange just the BEST DWARVEN WEDDING EVER...

Because, you know. he's never actually been to one?

Gimli is stricken with horrified shock to realize just how much his own Maker has missed out on interactions with his beloved dwarves over the years, and immediately agrees to this plan (even though he knows it won't be a real dwarven wedding without his family there; but he'll swim back to Middle-earth before he says one word about that anywhere that Mahal can hear! he is going to do everything in his power to make this the best wedding ever for the sake of his Maker, dammit!).

So he gets to work crafting all the necessary accoutrements (with enthusiastic help from Celebrimbor and all his other elf-smith friends that Gimli has acquired since coming to these shores which is, let's be honest, quite a few) and carefully teaching Legolas all the necessary Khuzdul phrases and ceremonial steps that they can do to mimic as much of a proper wedding as they can without anyone else to help...

And when the big day comes, Aulë is vibrating so hard he's on the verge of setting off seventeen different earthquakes across the island, and not even Yavanna can get him to relax. Gimli and Legolas arrive to the appointed place, and find that they aren't alone: Aulë has invited Celebrimbor, too, seeing as he's the only elf in Aman who has actually participated in a dwarven wedding before with makes him the local expert as well as the closest thing to "kin" that Gimli is going to find on these shores...except.

Well, Mandos might be in charge of elvish souls, but dwarves? They belong to their Maker. And if Mahal decides he wants to...well, who is going to stop him from waking some of them up early, before the breaking of the world? Especially if he doesn't ask permission first. So when Gimli and Legolas hesitantly walk into this foreboding stone chamber, eerily close to the Halls of Mandos, wondering wtf is going on and have they offended the valar somehow and are they in trouble and if so how bad is it...?

Well, turns out Gimli will have kin at his wedding after all.

Mahal can't bring any of them back to life, not without the intervention and permission of Eru and probably Mandos too; but as long as they're in his halls, he can wake anybody he wants. So soon there is a great crowd of bewildered but enthusiastic dwarves gathered around Gimli, as he tries to explain what the heck is going on to a whole passel of relatives and friends, some of whom died even before the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed and don't even know how the Battle of Five Armies ended, let alone the whole thing with the Ring and the Fellowship...

And Legolas and Celebrimbor are standing near the entrance watching fondly, Legolas weeping around a great big smile and Celebrimbor torn between joy for Gimli and his own ever-bitter sorrows and then...

"Khelebrrimbor?" calls a deep dwarven voice, in a thick Khuzdul accent, and Celebrimbor stiffens like he's just been shot.

Suddenly there's a ruckus as a very burly dwarf is shouldering through the crowd, and Celebrimbor stumbles forward and throws himself at Narvi with a wail, and it's at least ten minutes before anyone can get a coherent word out of either of them (although it takes considerably less time to catch the gist of Narvi's lecture about how dare you and lucky he's already dead, or I'd have a gift for him he wouldn't forget in a hurry and what were you thinking???).

Legolas gives Aulë a very pointed raise of his eyebrows, and Aulë shrugs around an unabashed grin. "Who in all the ages of the world is more of an expert on marriages between elves and dwarves than the two of them? I am a craftsman, Greenleaf; of course I would want to make use of their skills and experience in this endeavor. Nothing more to it than that."

Legolas hums noncommittally, but his eyes are dancing.

Mahal ignores him and steps forward to start the wedding. It takes even him three tries before he can shout loud enough to be heard over the tumult and get everyone's attention, but eventually he gets them all to quiet down enough for the ceremony to begin. Not everyone in attendance is entirely thrilled by the prospect of Gimli marrying an elf (that elf) but no one is so cross that they walk back into their dreams of stone to avoid it, which Gimli chalks up as a victory.

(Legolas's terrible Khuzdul pronunciation doesn't help, but the very enthusiastic way he praises Gimli when the ceremony reaches that point makes up for a lot. By the time he finally runs out of words, a few of the more recalcitrant attendees have changed their tune about him. The fact that he's so good at weaving the required braids doesn't hurt, either.)

There aren't nearly enough refreshments for a crowd that size afterwards, of course, since Gimli and Legolas weren't expecting anyone but themselves and Aulë to be there; but that doesn't much matter, because 90% of those in attendance don't have the sort of corporealness that would allow them to eat the dwarven delicacies that Gimli spent all morning fussing over anyway. (That doesn't stop some of his more elderly relatives from scolding him for not following their recipes better.) They're solid enough that you can hug them or kiss them, in the case of a certain former smithlord of Eregion or get half-knocked off your feet by their congratulatory backslaps, but they aren't alive. They're still the dreaming dead...it's just that for the moment, they're dreaming in a bit more wakefulness than usual.

In the end it's not what one would call an orthodox dwarven wedding, no; but it's a lot closer than Gimli thought he would get, and since he's hardly an orthodox dwarf, the small tweaks and oddities of their strange situation don't bother him in the slightest.

As for Aulë, he's never been happier.

And if it takes a long, long time for Celebrimbor to finally leave (and if he tries to devise a way to prop the door open on his way out)...well, Aulë is enjoying himself far too much to do anything but pretend not to notice. Even when Námo clears his throat at him very pointedly.

Twice.

And then again. And again.

"Aulë...!"

[thesummerestsolstice]

How Silm characters would react to meeting their Rings of Power counterparts:

Gil-Galad:

Oh they do not like each other

"I'm sorry, you said what to Elrond?"

RoP!Gil thinks Silm!Gil isn't detached and regal enough

Silm!Gil is trying to figure out the political consequences of decking him

"I'm sorry, you sent Galadriel where??"

At some point RoP!Gil, who can't believe this is another version of him, asks Silm!Gil what his royal lineage is

Silm!Gil gets real quiet after that lmao

If they ended up physically fighting Silm!Gil would win RoP!Gil fights like a normal elf and Silm!Gil bites

I think the Elronds have to pull them apart eventually

Elrond:

The Elronds get along very well I think

Silm!Elrond teaches RoP!Elrond some eldritchry

RoP!Elrond tells Silm!Elrond all about his speech craft

I think Silm!Elrond would be very into animal-carcass-related metaphors, he's a weird little guy

I feel like Silm!Elrond would feel bad for RoP!Elrond, who clearly deals with a lot of disrespect in Lindon, and would try to teach him how to be a bit more assertive

They bond over having to deal with everyone else's bullshit

Galadriel:

See this is bad for Middle-Earth

Silm!Galadriel is less openly angry but just as much of a force of nature as RoP!Galadriel

And Silm!Galadriel is also a lot better at the more subtle conniving stuff so between them they do, in fact, possess all the skills needed to take over Middle-Earth

They're busy scheming up plans to wipe Sauron off the face of the planet and frankly good for them

Celebrimbor:

They also get along very well

They talk for 15 straight hours about forge stuff

Silm!Cel talks about Annatar and RoP!Cel is like "lovely! no red flags here!"

RoP!Cel talks about how the idea for the rings came from some random, very suspicious "human" and Silm!Cel is like "haha yeah inspiration comes from the strangest places sometimes'

They're a little bit stupid but they're also beefy and kind so we can forgive them

Sauron:

Halbrand and Annatar immediatly start viciously insulting each other

They both accuse each other of having terrible taste (in Finweans and incarnate forms)

"Useless sparkly twink!" "Filthy mortal!" "I can't believe you tried to seduce Celebrimbor!" "At least I didn't try and fail to seduce Galadriel!"

Annatar finds out about the situation with Adar and the orcs and bullys Halbrand relentlessly about it

Sauron's ego can't take there being more than one version of him

Hopefully they keep each other busy until the Galadriels smite them

[sansaorgana]

— BLESSED (III)

PART ONE || PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You have no choice but to follow Sauron and your daughter to Mordor because you do not want to abandon her. As time passes, you find yourself being lured by your husband's charm once more as the memories of his cruelty in Eregion begin to fade away.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — And here we are go with the last part! I know I probably write Sauron's relationship with his daughter in a very idealistic way – that in canon he would be most likely way worse. But writing it like that would bring me no joy. 🤷🏻‍♀️ It's a fic for dad!Sauron and I want him to be at least a bit decent while we're at it! 😤

WARNINGS — Reader's father is dead (he was human, so she outlived him), manipulating, gaslighting, toxic and abusive marriage between the Reader and Sauron, Sauron being a very mid dad who manipulates his daughter and teaches her how to be evil like him, child in danger (nothing happens in the end), murder (of the Orcs), Celebrimbor has gone mad-mad, immaculate conception (yes, again!)

WORD COUNT — 4,450

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BLESSED (III)

Celebrimbor was out of his mind again. Your heart ached for him as you were sitting next to him and caressing his hair softly as if he was a child. He had spent centuries taking care of you and now it was your turn to return the favour. You kept sobbing, feeling angry at yourself that you could not protect him.

Sauron was gone. After finding out where The Rings were, he had left in a hurry, leaving you with a few Orcs that had come to the forge in the meantime. They wanted to plead their allegiance to your husband and the very first task they had been given was to watch over you, your daughter and your uncle. To make sure none of you would escape.

Almárea was not scared of them, which surprised you. In fact, she approached them and kept asking them a million questions as the Orcs were growing a little frustrated with her curiosity. They were, however, answering all her questions patiently. You cracked a smile at that. She was still a child – curious and so full of life.

So full of light, too. You could not let the darkness win within her.

“I shall not allow him to hurt you, uncle. I shall not, I promise,” you kissed Celebrimbor’s forehead and your uncle looked up at you with hazy eyes and a loving smile. “You have endured and suffered so much because of him already. But no more, no more, uncle… Now you must rest.”

“Your daughter…” He mumbled out and you looked down at his face with a sad smile. “Is she not the most precious? She is the exact copy of you, sweet (Y/N). You were a girl like her once, running around this very forge.”

“I remember, uncle,” you sobbed. “I remember it vividly. My father and you working together, my mother still happy and full of life, before she began a lifetime of mourning. I remember…”

You pulled him closer and tried to come up with an idea how to save him. Even if Sauron would not kill him – he had made this promise to Almárea when she had revealed to him Lady Galadriel had been the one to have The Rings now and you wanted to believe he would keep that promise – you still had a feeling your husband would use Celebrimbor somehow or hurt him. 

“Almárea?” You called out for her and she turned around to lay her eyes upon you. You beckoned her over and she nodded at the Orcs before running up to you. “Almárea, do you want uncle Celebrimbor to be safe?”

“Of course, mummy,” your daughter’s eyes widened.

“Can you distract them as I walk him out of here? I will be right back,” you whispered as you pointed at the Orcs with your chin.

“I do not know, mummy… Last time I listened to you, daddy was very angry…” She looked down, nervously.

“Almárea, please. Do you love uncle Celebrimbor?” You asked.

“Yes, of course,” she nodded.

“Then, please…”

“But will you come back to me? Truly?” She lifted up her eyes and looked into yours with a hint of anxiety.

“My darling, always. I shall never abandon you,” you promised, truthfully. Your heart ached at the thought she was not as sure of it as you were.

Eventually, she nodded as she turned around towards the Orcs once more. She ran up to them joyfully and kept asking them questions. When you moved up, dragging Celebrimbor with you, they did not even flinch, which meant that your daughter’s deception was working.

You felt bad for leaving her with them even for a short moment but at this moment it was your uncle who was the most vulnerable and who needed you more. You owed him that, at least.

You walked him out of the forge and hurried to the secret tunnel below the city. The Orcs who had taken over Eregion were feasting now in havoc in the courtyard, which distracted them enough to make it possible for you to lead your uncle safely to the passage.

You walked inside with him and he was following you like a trusting child. In the middle of the passage, you bumped into Herald Elrond. Your heart was in joy to see him and to know that he was safe. He had been some sort of a cousin to you – his father had also been a friend of Celebrimbor and he also was a half-Elf. You had many things in common and you had been close friends in your youth.

“(Y/N), thank the Valar,” he sighed. “Where is your daughter? I was sent here by the High King to make an attempt to rescue you and–” He began.

“I must go back,” you shook your head with your eyes full of tears. “Take uncle Celebrimbor to safety. Heal his mind. Forget about me,” you pleaded and he furrowed his brows.

“What are you talking about?” He asked. “Where is Almárea?”

“Please, Elrond. You must not know,” you insisted before kissing your uncle’s forehead once more and caressing his cheeks to tell him goodbye.

“(Y/N)!” Elrond called out for you when you turned around to go back to Eregion and to your daughter.

“If you love me and respect me,” you began. “If you love Celebrimbor… Just take him away from here. That is all I ask for,” you insisted and hurried back to Eregion. “Do not follow me!” You exclaimed after hearing him trying to rush after you.

He eventually listened to you because he had a huge love for Celebrimbor and he could see the state of him was not the best. You heard the sound of their steps subduing as you went back to Eregion. 

You went back to the forge, feeling a bit more peaceful on the inside, knowing that you managed to save your uncle from Sauron. You nodded at Almárea and she nodded back at you, visibly relieved to see you coming back to her.

Her father came back not long after, too. He was wearing a breastplate and holding Morgoth’s crown in his hand, which was dripping blood – you could feel from afar its purity and light. It was Elven.

“Have you killed her?” You whispered with widened eyes.

“Sadly, no,” Sauron answered with a smirk. “But I got The Nine,” he added and you looked away, feeling defeated. “Speaking of, where is Celebrimbor?”

“Far away,” you mumbled out, expecting him to lash out.

Surprisingly, he did not. He shrugged his arms.

“Whatever. He is no use to me anymore. Almárea, we are leaving,” he extended his free hand and nodded at her.

“You cannot take her away from me!” You turned your head around again to watch what she would do. She hesitated but then she ran up to him and squeezed his hand, which felt like a punch straight into your heart.

“Where are we going, daddy?” She asked.

“To our new home,” Sauron answered and turned around, dragging her behind him but she remained still. “What is it?” He asked with an irritated sigh.

“We are taking mummy with us, right?” She asked.

Long silence occurred. Sauron laid his cold and empty eyes upon you, sitting on the floor with your back pressed to the wall and crying silent tears.

“It is her choice,” he answered, softly, “but I doubt she wants to go with us.”

“On the contrary. I have no choice,” you gritted your teeth, clumsily standing up. “I must go where she goes. Even if it is a path I hate to follow.”

“Do you truly realise who I am?” Your husband titled his head at your words. “All the stories they have told you about me when you were a child – I am worse than any of them.”

“I am fully aware,” you approached him and held Almárea’s free hand. “And that is why I must go to make sure you do not turn her into a monster like you.”

It took you a few days of travel with the filthy army of Orcs to get to Mordor. You and Sauron did not exchange a single word during this trip. Almárea was riding with you on your horse for half of the day and then she would go to ride with her father. You made no stops on your way, so after arriving in Mordor, you and your daughter were exhausted.

The land was dark and barren, full of fire and ashes. It looked like hell but you decided not to complain because you realised you were on thin ice already – Sauron did not treat you like his consort in any way. Apparently, you would be nothing but a mother to his child from now on. Any sign of disobedience could be punished with exile and that was the last thing you wanted. You needed to be close to your daughter.

He ordered the Orcs to build him a grand fortress but until then, you resided in a big mansion that had once belonged to a rich human family of The Southlands. You had an awful view of Mount Doom from there and the rooms were all beautifully decorated but also dusty and worn out.

Once again – you did not complain. You did not dare.

You followed Sauron to the chambers he had decided would be yours and Almárea’s. He was carrying her in his arms as she was half-asleep already. You watched him put her to bed and caress her head as you sat down on the chair next to the bed. You held her little hand and squeezed it lovingly, watching her drift off to the land of dreams. Those past few days had been difficult and exhausting for her.

Sauron straightened his back and looked down at you with a bit of contempt but also affection – mixed together, they made you feel deeply uncomfortable.

“Do you remember?” He asked, speaking his very first sentence to you in days.

You furrowed your brows and looked up at him, questioningly. Your husband extended his hand and touched your cheek with it.

At that moment, your vision got blurry and you felt yourself go back in time a few years to one, specific memory. One of the most beautiful days you had ever lived.

You were sitting by the river, in a field full of flowers. Almárea was about a year old and clumsily taking her first steps. You watched Annatar helping her and chuckling at her harmless but funny falls as she kept giggling and blabbering, excitedly. The sun was slowly setting and you felt at peace. You truly believed your whole life would be just like that.

When Sauron took his hand away from your face, you found yourself back in Mordor, stripped of any faith and any dignity.

“Why did you show me that?” You asked him, angrily, as your eyes filled with fresh tears.

“It was the only moment when I felt that I should, perhaps, abandon my old life and remain in Eregion as Annatar by your side forever,” he confessed.

“Perhaps you should have,” was all you answered, in a whisper nearly inaudible as you watched him walk away with tears streaming down your cheeks.

You had cried out so many of them recently that you were starting to feel hollow and empty.

Weeks passed, maybe months. You had lost track of time since all your days were the same. You were given quite a lot of freedom because Sauron was sure you would never leave his side as long as Almárea was there. You were allowed to walk around the mansion and even take walks although you did not crave them at all since Mordor was not the perfect place to spend time outside.

You were barely exchanging any words with your husband and you seemed to avoid each other. However, he was making sure you were not short on anything. Once in a while there was a package waiting for you on your bed. Inside it you would find gifts – books to read or new dresses. And yesterday you had found an embroidery set, which filled your heart with joy.

You missed embroidery and you even considered it quite thoughtful that he had remembered about it. So, you were sitting by the window and focusing on your craft, trying to recreate Mount Doom, which your daughter loved for some reason. You wanted to make her happy.

You were focused on your work when the doors opened loudly, making you misplace the needle and hurt yourself as you hissed and looked up at your husband.

“Where is Almárea?” He asked, looking around the room.

“Is she not with you? Are you not teaching her your craft of treachery and deception like every day?” You asked with a sigh, defeated.

Sauron rolled his eyes but decided not to comment on your remark.

“I told her to go back to her mother about two hours ago,” he informed you and your heart skipped a beat at that revelation.

“Why didn’t you walk her here yourself?” You asked.

“I had an important matter to attend to and it is not like she is a toddler, is it?” Sauron clenched his jaw but you spotted a glimpse of panic in his eyes. “Where is she?”

“How can I know?! I thought she was with you!” You stood up instantly and put your embroidery set down before rushing out of your chambers. “Almárea!” You called out. “Almárea!”

“Have you seen Lady Almárea?” Sauron asked one of the Orcs walking down the hall.

“N-no, my Lord Sauron,” the Orc shook his head and you watched your husband sit his throat just like that. Usually, you found this behaviour of his dreadful. But now you were too scared and worried for your daughter to care

You kept searching for her all over the mansion, calling out her name, leaving a pile of dead Orcs behind because none of them could answer Sauron about Almárea’s location.

“I think she must have gone outside,” you said after bumping into your husband in the corridor. You watched his eyes widen even further in terror and concern. You snorted at that. “What are you? Scared of losing your precious tool?” You asked him with contempt.

That only angered him further as he grabbed your arm and squeezed it so tightly that you were sure there was a bruise forming already.

“Do not ever say that again,” he drawled out through gritted teeth right into your face. “Do not speak of matters you have no idea of.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. Despite everything between you two – it seemed like you shared a thread together and that was love for your daughter. And because you were a worried mother, you regretted inflicting any pain upon a worried father.

“Forgive me,” you whispered and he let go of your arm.

“Do you have any idea where she could go?” Sauron asked you and you shook your head before freezing as you realised.

“Mount Doom,” you whispered. “For some reason, she adores it,” you explained.

“We must not waste any moment then,” Sauron grabbed your wrist and dragged you behind him as you two ran out of the mansion.

The forsaken volcano was not very far away from your home but it still took you quite a while to get there. The air was poisonous around it, making you choke and tear up. You were no mortal, therefore you were in no danger, but it was still an inconvenience. 

“If anything happened to her, I shall be the one to kill you, whatever it takes!” You threatened your husband and he did not even say anything to this. He let go of your wrist and proceeded to climb up.

You followed him but in many places the ground was slippery and you needed his support. His hand would grab you each time you stumbled and pull you up.

Breathing heavily, both covered in dirt from the ashes, you stood there, petrified, seeing Almárea sitting by the edge of the volcano and staring at it spitting out fire. She seemed to be content with her position. You looked up at Sauron with terror in your eyes and he left you behind to approach your daughter with extended hands.

“Almárea, what are you doing here? Have you not been told to never go outside without me or your mother?” Sauron asked, carefully.

“Ugh, daddy, I know, I am sorry. I was just so curious about this mountain and guess what? It is even better than I have imagined,” she confessed with a smile. “Do you know what it reminds me of?”

“What, Almárea?” He asked, taking a few more small steps closer to her.

“A forge,” she answered. “I miss uncle Celebrimbor’s one and this place makes me feel as if I was back there. Oh, daddy, can you imagine all the beautiful things we could craft here?” She asked with a smile.

Sauron froze for a moment as you watched the scene with a raised eyebrow. He looked around as if he had just realised something brilliant.

“Yes, I can, my darling. And we will,” he assured her. “But please, come to me and mummy now, will you?” He extended his hand even further and she nodded, eagerly.

You both gasped watching her stand up because one little wrong move could cause her to fall down the volcano. She, however, seemed to be oblivious. She skipped along towards her father and Sauron picked her up in an instant, squeezing her tight and caressing the back of her head.

Your heart swelled inside your chest at the realisation that he truly cared for her and truly loved her  – even if it was not enough to save her from making her play a part in his schemes.

“Can we go back home, please?” You pleaded and it was the very first time you called that awful place your home.

Sauron nodded at you and you began your walk down the mountain. You were still shaking slightly and holding onto his sleeve to make sure you would not fall. Just like in the old days, he was bringing you comfort and safety – he was making you feel protected even if it was only being protected from a fall.

When you reached your mansion, Sauron took Almárea to the chambers she shared with you. Her skin and robes were dirty with mud and ashes, therefore you prepared her a bath and helped her to undress and get inside the bathtub.

“Call for me if you need anything,” you told her as you placed a new dress on the chair for her to dress herself into after the bath. “Be careful, my darling,” you smiled at her and left her alone in the bathroom, although you left the door ajar just in case.

Sauron was still inside your chambers and staring out of the window at Mount Doom. You sighed at the sight of his back turned on you and you decided to approach him softly.

Your hands acted before you allowed them to and they placed themselves on his arm softly. Your body ached for him and his presence; it was too used to his touch.

He flinched a little and turned his head around to look down at you with a puzzled expression.

“I miss you,” you confessed. “I miss being close to you,” you added.

“You miss Annatar, not me,” he shrugged his arms and looked out of the window again.

“Was Annatar not you? From the very beginning, my husband was Sauron. I only chose to be blind to see it,” you whispered and he looked back at you again, surprised to hear your words.

“Do I not repulse you?” He snorted.

“It does not change the fact I love you still,” you sighed and pressed your cheek to his arm. You both remained dirty from the ashes but you did not mind that all because today’s shared experience of fear and concern for your daughter had brought you two close together once more.

“Your love differs from mine,” he pointed out, a little harshly.

“It has not escaped me,” you let out a chuckle and nuzzled your face deeper into his sleeve. “But it is alright that we love differently. I do not want to be your Queen, I do not want you to share your power with me. All I want is to–”

“Have a family with me,” Sauron finished the sentence softly and you looked up at him, gently. It was the very first time in a long time when your eyes filled with affection for him again. “I was never keen on the idea of having offspring,” he admitted. “But then you made me realise what a blessing children might be,” he cracked a smile and raised his hand to caress your cheek. “I was terrified of my potential child stealing my powers and overthrowing me but Almárea… Her powers and her mind terrify me in the most exquisite way. Do you know why she is so perfect?” He asked and you shook your head. “Because she is half you. She is half light and half darkness. The perfect balance and what else could possibly heal Middle-earth?”

You hated yourself but you found yourself falling for his beautiful words once again. You could never be sure after everything that had happened if his sweet nothings, promises and love declarations were ever genuine. Perhaps, you would forever wonder about it. But despite all of that, the dreadful memories of Eregion’s downfall and his behaviour then were becoming blurry with time and you were ready to move on; to start another chapter with him.

And, as usual, you had an excuse for your husband, too. He had been nervous then. Of course he had been the worst version of himself. But it did not mean he would always be like this. Right now he was not.

“Come here, my love,” Sauron pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around you. “Oh, how I have missed you, too, my darling. And even though it brought me great pain, I knew I had to wait for you to come to me out of your own free will.”

“Here I stand,” you whispered and a single tear streamed down your cheek.

“Almárea asked me about us,” Sauron put his hands on your arms and moved away slightly to be able to look at your face. “She wonders if we still love each other. I told her it was complicated.”

“I told her the very same thing,” you smiled sadly.

“But it is not, is it?” He raised an eyebrow and you shook your head, laughing nervously through your tears.

“No,” you admitted. “It is not.”

“It is true that I had my reasons to choose you out of all Elven maidens. And it is true that I was scared of having a son with you because I thought that the chances of a son overthrowing me would be higher,” he admitted and you furrowed your brows. “But you have become the most dear to me, the most precious,” he confessed and turned you around, making you look at Mount Doom as his hands lowered themselves to your abdomen.

You knew what he was about to do. You flinched at first, torn on the inside if it was truly what you wanted. Last time you had been deceived but now you would willingly allow it, despite knowing the true nature of the man who was your husband.

You looked down at his hands resting on your womb. He was still wearing a golden ring on his finger that you had put there on the day of your wedding. And you were still wearing yours because you still loved him despite hating yourself for it. You still wanted to be around him as if he was something addictive that you could not live without. And your womb was still open for more of his offspring.

You relaxed and when he sensed your consent, you could feel the warmth radiating off of his hands and filling you up, forming a new life inside of you.

You put your hands on top of his and squeezed them for courage.

“A son,” he whispered into your ear with lots of satisfaction and excitement.

“Another tool for you to use,” you pointed out.

“Another child for you to love and spoil,” Sauron brushed your hair strand and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Another thread of love binding us together.”

“Mummy? Daddy?” Almárea’s voice made you both turn around. She walked out of the bathroom in her new dress and kept looking at you two with a big grin. “Does it mean you are in love again?” She asked, full of hope.

“Oh, my darling, we have never stopped being in love,” you assured her and opened your arms to allow her to give you a hug. You did not want her to know all the details about the nature of your relationship with her father. She had already seen and witnessed way too much.

She wrapped her arms around you and hugged you tight, which only made her smile grow even wider as she looked up.

“I am going to have a sibling!” She exclaimed, happily, after sensing the new life inside of you.

“You are going to have many,” Sauron spoke as he reached his hand out to caress her hair. “And each of you will get their own kingdom to rule over in my name and their own Ring,” he shared his new plan as a shiver went down your spine. “And all Middle-earth will be healed at once for your mother’s light and my darkness combine like two precious metals; balancing and amplifying everything I could ever be on my own.”

“But… But you will still rule over us all, right, daddy?” Almárea asked hopefully, as if she was already scared of the responsibility that one day would be put upon her shoulders.

“Oh, of course, little one,” Sauron smiled lovingly at her. “I shall always bear the biggest burden of power for that is a father’s one to carry.”

He loved her – of that you were sure now. But no amount of his love could protect her from his schemes and his manipulations. Therefore, he had to love you as well and no amount of cruelty he had put you through contradicted it.

That was the way Sauron loved. It was a cursed devotion but also a blessed one.

MASTERLIST

[dlatl98]

Maedhros and Maglor raised the twins completely wild. It’s not that they are indifferent or anything, they were raised with other Fëanorian brothers. They were raised by Fëanor and Nerdanel. Their standards are ridiculous to others. No matter how much the twins run wild in the forest, they can’t be as good as Celegorm and Aredhel in their prime (but Maedhros was a bit resentful that he had to take care of Aredhel too). What about the Ambarussa? It’s perfectly normal for the clothes they put on their children in the morning to turn into rags by evening. Even if the twins blow up the laboratory, they can’t be as mess as Fëanor, Curufin, or Celebrimbor. The house is a mess? Don’t worry. I’ll tell the kids to clean up their own toys. They’re cleaning up now? It doesn’t look that dirty. Maybe it’s because there are only two of them, but they’re not dirty at all compared to when they were seven. You two are fighting? It's okay. I know you still love each other. Children will grow up well as long as they have a healthy body, eat well, sleep well at night, and study everything they teach, especially spelling, perfectly.

[thatlittlered]

an almost kiss | celebrimbor

warning(s): afab!reader (use of the word lady), discreet TROP spoilers

GIF by @suguretos

author's note: this is based on @morganas-pendragons' request for a first kiss, which I turned into an almost kiss because I already technically wrote that and her delicious thoughts on touch-starved brimby... I mean, just look at him

read the rest of "the craft" here

-.-.-

The air is thick from the heat of the forge when you peek inside, expecting to find every smith hard at work, but as the fog clears, only Lord Celebrimbor himself can be seen, completely engrossed in his craft.

 It is a sight.

 You have been inside before, of course, but what could you learn of true creation from a simple visit? Seeing the master Elven-smith at work is a revelation.

 It serves your curiosity to not be discovered, yet guilt eats at you at the thought of taking advantage of his good nature and hospitality to serve your own whims. He looks different here, too, where he is shed of noble duties. The careless roll of his sleeves and his apron serve to remind you that in this little corner of the world, he is nothing but a talented craftsman. A true creator.

 ‘My Lord.’

 The clatter ceases once you make your presence known. A sharp tool you could not possibly think to name rests in his hand, but he quickly lays it aside when he looks at you. The lines of dedication on his face melt away as he smiles.

 ‘My Lady.’

 ‘I am sorry to have startled you.’

 ‘You haven’t.’

 He dares not move, dazed to have you here when he has been absorbed by the very notion of you for hours – days even. It almost makes it seem possible to will his desires into existence. How long need he think about your touch before that too is bestowed upon him? He will offer the time, however long it may be.

 He wonders briefly how he might look to you now. The last member of the House of Fëanor, renowned smith and Lord of Eregion by his own right, caught by surprise and rendered speechless by an offer as simple as your company. You, on the other hand, seem to always be at ease, always drawing nearer.

 ‘I am sorry to disturb your work as well.’

 ‘You aren’t.’

 ‘To disturb you then.’

 ‘Impossible. I was the one to invite you here in the first place, was I not?’

 ‘Oh, but that was an arranged visit. I come now of my own volition, that is an imposition in itself.’

 ‘I only regret that you’ve caught me unprepared and ill-mannered.’

 ‘I don’t believe you could ever be caught ill-mannered, my Lord.’

 ‘Perhaps it is the delight of your presence that ensures it then.’

 His laughter eases the years away from his face and you wish to tell him that. You wish for him to know your thoughts as plainly as they come to you.

 ‘You’ve such a kind and earnest smile, Lord Celebrimbor, as is all else about you. Almost like a warm glow washing over us, akin that of Laurelin itself.’

 He laughs again – bless the Valar! Bless the honey of your mouth and the sharpness of your mind and whatever he has done to earn the gift of your appreciation, of your mere thought to compare him of all elves to the gold tree of Valinor, but oh, curse it too. Curse that he cannot ever find within himself the words to reciprocate, in spite of all the nights he lies awake to thoughts of you.

 How can someone so skilled with a hammer not possess a trace of the skill of the tongue? You must teach him. You must make him worthy of you.

 He watches in silence as you look around. A tentative hand comes to trace the intricate carvings on the furnace.

 ‘Everything in your city seems so carefully crafted.’

 ‘Well, I suppose I have an eye for detail, given my work.’

 ‘Undoubtedly so, but I think it’s much more than just that. It is a labour of great love and dedication to mind such details.’

 ‘A true craftsman recognizes nothing is ever negligible, despite how it may seem. Even from sand, comes glass.’

 ‘What a wise thing to say,’ you turn to him, ‘you truly are most interesting, Lord Celebrimbor.’

 ‘I can only hope to keep up with you, my Lady. You most certainly surpass me in both words and wisdom. Your company is a blessing.’

 ‘As is yours.’

 Your hand is a comfort unlike any other when it reaches for him. He has not been touched in eons, but even if he had, it would not compare. His own hands are filthy with remnants of his work and it brings him shame to dirty such pristine skin. The Valar must have loved you as well, for they, superior creators as they are, ensured your beauty would reach even to your fingertips.

‘Would you show me what you were working on?’

‘Nothing exciting, I fear. I was only cutting out some pieces of emerald from their cluster.’

 ‘How can that not be exciting? Cutting a brilliant, precious gem from what was but a mere piece of rock not long ago.’

 You see as he does. The beauty of things. Their importance. The dark green rock sits large and proud on his workbench, cleaned of any remnants of the earth that birthed it, yet still a long way from its final form. He senses your enthusiasm in the hesitance with which you approach.

 ‘It is mere jewel-craft. Petty work. I aspire to larger projects now that I’ve been provided with a forge suited for them. I have you to thank for that.’

 ‘Hardly. It was the High King’s wise foresight to recognize that your gifts would be of much use in the fight against evil, and the work of Herald Elrond’s persuasion to make it possible.’

 ‘Ah, Herald Elrond does indeed possess quite the persuasive tongue. It is to be envied.’ And envy it he does, especially so when Elrond visits and spends your shared dinners conversing you whilst he himself can only gaze lovelorn. ‘But, please, do not undermine your contribution. You have been the most insightful of councils. I… I, for one, am glad to have you here.’

 For the first time in the weeks that you have known each other, he finds the nerve to approach you first. Not as your host, but as your… friend. It helps to see you distracted by the ore in front of you, too entranced to notice he is studying you in return.

 ‘Do not worry, it is not fragile. You may touch it if you’d like.’

 Your daring hand springs forth.

 ‘It is beautiful.’

 ‘It will be more valuable once it’s cut.’

 ‘More valuable, perhaps,’ you hum, ‘but not more beautiful. I believe the colour is the same as your eyes.’

 Your honeyed mouth renders the elven-smith incapable of sensible thought. You could ask him to cut off his hand and he would happily oblige you, let you pick the knife even. Anything to draw the praise you so generously give, even though he tends to think his eyes are small and beady and their only possible use is looking at you.

 That is why;

 ‘You should have it then.’

 A breath is released. This is not quite the facile manner of speech he had hoped to master. Foolish, traitorous mind going hand in hand with a foolish, traitorous mouth. You, in all your benevolence, simply blink in surprise. Teach him! Teach him how to speak his love.

 ‘I couldn’t possibly.’

 ‘I’m sure you appreciate it far more than any other would. If you want it, I wish for you to have it.’

 ‘You are so generous, my Lord, but whatever would I do with such an ore? Its beauty is undeniable, but I am no craftsman.’

 It is quite a large rock. Childish embarrassment rushes through him, the kind he has not felt since he was but an elfling apprenticed to his father and found comfort in his arms when he was brought to tears by his uncle’s temper.

 Perhaps being in love is a childlike, vulnerable sentiment in itself.

 ‘A piece then.’

 He does not await your answer. The tool is large and sharp in his talented hands. The piece he cuts is roughly the size of your palm as he presses it inside with reverence.

 ‘There you go.’

 You inspect it with a caress of your lovely finger.

 ‘I can polish it if you’ve changed your mind.’

 ‘No. No, it is perfect just like this.’

 The sunlight is bright and warm as it pours from his window and you take the opportunity to hold the piece up against its rays, revealing hues of forest green. The light reflects off it for a moment, drawing your attention back to Celebrimbor. He, too, looks glorious under the sun’s cast. You wish to study him further. To know all the markings of his face. He wishes it too, so he does not draw back when your feet bring you closer, and allows you to hold up the stone again, this time near his eyes.

 ‘I was right then; they are the same colour.’

 Perhaps being in love is a glorious sentiment instead. The gentle and warm embrace of affectionate words. No one has spoken of his eyes before. No one has come this close either. None but the wind that he can recall. All his memories and senses have been replaced by you, as if he was brought to existence by your meeting.

 All these things, he might never find the words to tell you.

 You do not mind.

 You care only for his kind soul, his emerald eyes and the soft beating of his heart under your palm. Your heads bow together as if in silent communication, foreheads and noses touching so that you might come to breathe the same air. An almost kiss.

 Does he remind you of the gold tree now that your touch has eased the years off his face, and your proximity has once again brought forth the gleeful radiance of his smile? Always, yes.

 An almost kiss, and a joy short-lived when his assistant decides to interrupt you.

 ‘My Lord.’

 You do not fly apart, but separate slowly, painfully instead.

 ‘Thank you, Lord Celebrimbor, for your gift, and for your company.’

 Mirdania lowers her head as you take your leave, perhaps in respect, or, perhaps, in embarrassment. For you, there is none. Not for Celebrimbor either, when he is left gazing at the shadow of you that remains. Her words fall on deaf ears.

[erebusbabylon]

Prompt: Celebrimbor teaching reader to use the forge as a way to spend more time with her, but she has an accident and gets hurt/burns herself or something and he has to take care of her

Can we have that? As a lil treat?

Awwee this was a cute prompt! I hope you like what I did with your request! <3

Accident at the Anvil

(RoP! Celebrimbor x F! Reader) - No Warnings

You gazed out of a tall window, watching as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, your heart heavy with longing. Celebrimbor had been consumed by his work lately, tirelessly forging armor for the Elven army. Each day felt longer without him by your side.

With a sigh, you turned away from the window and sought the company of a close friend. “I miss him,” you confessed, your voice laced with sadness. “He’s gone all hours of the day, and I hardly see him anymore.”

Your friend nodded sympathetically. “His work is important. But you deserve time together too.”

Determined, you decided to visit the forge. You made your way through the winding paths of Eregion, the sound of hammers striking metal growing louder as you approached.

The forge was alive with the glow of molten metal, the air thick with the smell of smoke and heat. You stepped inside, the warmth wrapping around you like a comforting cloak. Celebrimbor stood at the anvil, his brow furrowed in concentration, surrounded by pieces of intricate armor.

“Ah, my light,” he said, setting down his tools. He wiped his brow and approached you. “What brings you here?”

“I missed you,” you replied, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “I am desperate to be near you.”

He smiled but quickly glanced back at the armor. “I miss you too, beloved, but I have to finish this armor quickly. The army needs it.”

You felt a pang of disappointment but understood. The urgency of his task weighed heavily on him. “I know,” you said gently. “But I feel like I hardly see you anymore.”

Celebrimbor paused, his gaze softening as he stepped closer. “You’re right. I have been neglecting our time together. How about this: keep me company while I work? I can teach you how to forge a bit if you'd like.”

Your heart leaped at the suggestion. “Really? I would love that!”

He chuckled, a light in his eyes. “But you must promise to be careful. The forge can be dangerous.”

“I promise,” you replied, excitement bubbling within you.

Celebrimbor began explaining the basics of forging. He demonstrated how to shape metal, the rhythm of the hammer striking against the anvil, and how to manage the fire.

As the hours passed, you found joy in the process. The heat of the forge felt invigorating, especially as you worked alongside Celebrimbor, stealing glances at him when he concentrated on his craft. The bond between you deepened with each shared moment.

“Remember to keep your hands steady,” he advised, guiding your movements as you attempted to shape a piece of metal. “And never lose focus.”

You nodded, intent on following his advice. But as you worked, your excitement made you a bit careless. While reaching for a tool, your sleeve brushed against a large, glowing ember, sending a sharp pain shooting through your arm.

You gasped, pulling back in shock. Celebrimbor turned sharply, concern flooding his face as he rushed to your side.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with urgency.

You looked down at your arm, a burn already reddening the skin. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“We need to tend to this,” he said, his tone shifting from alarm to calm efficiency. The warmth of the forge suddenly felt overwhelming as he wrapped an arm around you, guiding you away from the heat.

Celebrimbor led you into his study, away from the forge’s heat. He quickly gathered supplies, his hands moving with practiced ease. You watched him, your heart swelling with gratitude and a hint of worry.

“Does it hurt, my love?” he asked softly, kneeling beside you as he cleaned the burn with gentle precision.

“It’s not too bad,” you replied, though the pain tinged your voice.

His brow furrowed in concern. “I should have kept a closer eye on you.”

“It was my mistake, not yours,” you reassured him. “I wanted to impress you.”

As he applied a soothing salve, his touch was both gentle and firm. You felt the warmth of his presence ease the sting of the burn.

“I care for you deeply,” he said, placing a kiss over your bandaged burn. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You smiled softly, feeling the weight of his words. “I know. I am okay, truly.”

“I am so sorry you got hurt. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you…” His voice trailed off.

You cupped his face in your hands. “This small burn is a price I would pay tenfold if it meant I got to spend time with you.”

You placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Trying to ease his guilt, you attempted to make him laugh. “Do all your smiths receive these same healing services from you?” You asked with a grin.

“Only the ones who share my bed,” he quipped back with a wink.

[doodle-pops]

T’was The Night of Autumn

Celebrimbor x modern!reader

A/N: I realised that I don’t post many Celebrimbor content and that needs to change. So, here’s something to enjoy your cozy autumn.

Warnings: none, all fluff

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: As autumn finally rolled in, you decided to teach Tyelpë a tradition from your modern world, one that involves pumpkins and crafting.

The autumn season had arrived in Eregion, and with it came a crispness in the air that whispered of change. The leaves on the trees had turned rich shades of gold and orange, carpeting the streets with their vibrant hues. The scent of the season, a mix of damp earth and woodsmoke, hung in the air, reminding you of home. It was the kind of day that made you miss the simple pleasures of your world—hot drinks, the sound of crunching leaves underfoot, and, of course, pumpkin carving. Despite being in Middle-earth, so far removed from the modern world you had come from, there was something about autumn that felt familiar—comforting, even.

Today, Celebrimbor had a rare moment of respite from his duties, and you had been thinking about how to make the most of it, wanting to share something from your world with him. After all, autumn wasn’t just about the changing of the leaves. It was about warmth, cosiness, and most of all, traditions. And there was one tradition in particular you were eager to introduce him to.

“Tyelpë,” you called softly, using his Quenya name. He glanced up from his book, his sharp, grey eyes softening when they met yours.

“Yes?” he responded, removing his focus from the book he was invested in.

“I think you’ve spent enough time reading and cooped up in the library for today,” you said, stepping into the room and crossing over to him. “It’s autumn, after all. There’s something I want to show you.”

His brow arched in curiosity. “What is it?”

Smiling, you took his hand and led him out of the library, into the courtyard. “Just trust me,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s a tradition from my world. Something we do every year during this season.”

Curiosity piqued—Celebrimbor followed you out to the courtyard where two large, round pumpkins sat waiting. You had found it in the market earlier that day, marvelling at how similar it was to the ones from home. And now, as the golden light of the late afternoon bathed the scene in warmth, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“What is that?” Celebrimbor asked, eyeing the pumpkin with a mix of amusement and confusion.

“It’s a pumpkin,” you replied, grinning up at him.

Sighing with a bit of sass, he rolled his eyes nonchalantly. “I know that it’s a pumpkin. But what I meant was the purpose of it.”

“Pumpkin carving!” you cheered.

“Pumpkin carving?” Celebrimbor’s voice was rich with curiosity and a hint of amusement, as he approached to two, medium-sized orange fruit sitting on the table.

“Yes!” you replied, turning to face him with your excitement growing by the second. “It’s something we do back in my world during this season. It’s part of a tradition called Halloween. We carve faces into pumpkins, light them up with candles, and make all sorts of fun autumn-themed treats. I thought it might be fun to try it together.”

Leaning closer to inspect the pumpkins while you spoke, he smiled from the sheer enthusiasm you expressed for the love of this festive seasonal tradition. “I’ve heard you mention this Halloween before,” he said thoughtfully. “A festival for warding off spirits and celebrating the harvest, correct?”

You nodded, grinning. “Exactly. But it’s also about having fun. You get to be creative, and it’s a great way to embrace the season.”

“It sounds…whimsical. Very different from the customs of our people,” he murmured under low. “But if it involves creativity, I imagine it’s not too different from sculpting or forging. But I must warn you, if this pumpkin carving involves skill, you might be at a disadvantage.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, laughing. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad. Besides, you’re the one who's never carved a pumpkin before. I might surprise you.”

Throwing an almost invisible competitive smirk at you, he chuckled. “We’ll see about that. But first, would you might showing me how it is performed?”

You handed him one of the knives, explaining how to cut the top off the pumpkin and scoop out the insides while he watched you closely as you demonstrated, his eyes intent on the task at hand. Once you were finished, he took his knife, his movements precise and steady as he made the first cut into his much larger and clearly better suited pumpkin, for carving.

“I have to admit,” he said, as he carefully removed the top of the pumpkin, “I’ve never worked with a medium like this before.”

You grinned as you passed him a spoon to scoop out the guts and seeds. “It’s a bit different from metal and stone, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Quite different. Though I can’t say this is how I imagined spending my day—it’s strangely satisfying.” He took the spoon from you, his lips quirking with amusement as he began to dig into the pumpkin. His movements were careful and precise—of course, they were, he was Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor. His entire life had been spent mastering delicate and intricate work. And yet, the sight of him here, elbow-deep in pumpkin guts, was oddly endearing.

As he worked, you scooped out the seeds and pulp from inside your pumpkin, explaining how in your world, people often roasted the seeds as a snack. And Celebrimbor seemed fascinated by the simplicity of it all, so different from the more elaborate customs of Middle-earth.

“And now, here is where the true fun begins.” You were bouncing on your toes as you passed him a smaller carving knife. “Time for us to start carving the faces. You can make it as simple or as detailed as you like.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A face, you say? I think I can manage that.”

You handed him a smaller knife and explained how to cut out a simple face—triangular eyes, a jagged smile. You decided to keep it straightforward for now, not wanting to overwhelm him. But as you suspected, Celebrimbor was a natural. You watched in awe as his skilled hands moved swiftly, the knife gliding through the pumpkin with ease. Despite his initial unfamiliarity with the task, his natural talent shone through. Within minutes, he had carved an intricate, detailed face into the pumpkin, far more elaborate than anything you had ever managed.

“Well,” you said, standing back to admire his work, “I think it’s safe to say that you’ve won this round, which is unfair.”

He looked up at you, a teasing smile playing on his lips, one that was rarely seen at all—symbolising his comfort and enjoyment. “Won? Was this a competition?”

Nudging him playfully, you laughed. “Everything’s a competition with you, Tyelpë. But yes, I admit defeat. Your pumpkin is perfect.”

He tilted his head, studying the pumpkin with a critical eye. “I wouldn’t say perfect. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Perfectionist,” you muttered under your breath, earning another soft chuckle from him.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, handing you the knife with a flourish. “Let’s see what you can do.”

As you took the knife, not missing an opportunity to roll your eyes good-naturedly, you warned him. “Alright, but don’t laugh. I’m not a master craftsman like you.” As you began carving, Celebrimbor watched you with quiet amusement. Every so often, he would offer a word of advice or point out a better way to approach the task, but for the most part, he let you work in peace. When you finished, your pumpkin was far simpler than his—a goofy, crooked smile and triangle eyes that reminded you of the ones you used to carve as a child.

“Well?” you asked, stepping back to examine your handiwork. “What do you think?”

“Um…” his voice trailed off as he angled his head differently to capture the image of the face you carved, not wanting to leave you under the impression that it could do with a few touch ups…and more—typical artesian behaviour. “Do you…I can help in some areas…”

Your brown immediately shut up to defeat your artistic work. “Oh, what now? Is it not as artistic as yours even though you offered advice?”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s um…artistic indeed, but just need a bit of…enhancement,” he sheepishly said with his hands up in defence.

“Ha, ha,” you dryly laughed and morphed your face to match the one on your pumpkin. “You can fix it, but just this once.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon carving, laughing, and teasing each other about your respective pumpkins. Celebrimbor’s, of course, ended up looking like a work of art, while yours was more endearing in its imperfection. Still, you didn’t mind. The real joy came from sharing the experience with him—watching his face light up with each new detail, hearing the soft chuckles that escaped him when he struggled with a particularly tricky cut. It felt nice to see him stress-free since your arrival at Eregion. All your memories of him hunched over the anvil or some blueprint faded into mist upon his carefree laughter and smile.

You know such a simple act could appear that beautiful, nor did you understand why people labelled him as tempestuous and dangerous. He was quite the opposite.

As the sun began to set and the courtyard grew darker, you lit candles and placed them inside the pumpkins. The warm glow filled the small area, casting flickering shadows across the table, displaying your handiwork.

“I have to say,” Celebrimbor mused, “this Halloween tradition is rather pleasant. I can see why you enjoy it.”

You smiled, leaning into him as he bumped his arm into your shoulder. “It’s one of my favourites. And now you’ve got a pretty good handle on it, too.”

Turning to him with your heart swelling with emotion. “It means a lot to me, too,” you said softly. “Being here in Middle-earth, so far from everything I knew…it’s hard sometimes. But sharing things like this, it makes me feel like I’ve brought a little piece of home with me.”

Celebrimbor’s expression softened, his silver-grey eyes full of understanding. “I will always strive to make you feel at home here, no matter the distance between this world and yours.”

“Thank you, Tyelpë,” you whispered.

As the two of you stood there for a long moment, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over the room, you relaxed with the slight chill of the autumn breeze. You knew he wasn’t a person of many words, even though you had wiggled your way unexpectedly into his life, bringing minor changes, you understood through the silence that he reciprocated your thanks.

“Now,” Celebrimbor said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “you mentioned something about autumn-themed foods. I believe you owe me a taste of these seasonal treats from your world, and I hope they also involve drinks.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got just a few things in mind. But you might have to help me make it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “If it’s anything like the pumpkin carving, I think you’ll find I’m quite capable.”

“Confident, are we?” you teased, heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if that holds up when we start baking and brewing.”

Masterlist

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[demonscantgothere]

Helholden's Masterlist of Haladriel Fics:

I have written dozens of fics for The Rings of Power, featuring Haladriel, under the pen name Helholden, so here is a nice, neat masterlist of all of them in one place.

Epic Multi-chapters:

❀ Litost. Canon-divergence fic set decades after the events of S1 & S2. Sauron thrives in Númenor as the High Priest when Galadriel is taken prisoner, and they are reunited on the eve of disaster. Together, they re-establish themselves in Pelargir, creating Gondor with the help of Elendil and his Men, but deceit and lies run deep and the truth will out. 276k. Ongoing.

❀ Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den. Alternate Universe set in the First Age. The War of Wrath changes course. Instead of sending his wolves out to kill Finrod after capturing Felagund in his dungeons, Sauron demands an exchange for his life. Galadriel offers herself. 214k. Ongoing.

❀ Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be. After the final Breaking of the World when existence is remade by its creator Eru Ilúvatar, second chances are possible. Artanis meets Mairon and keeps coming by to visit him throughout the years. They develop a fast friendship, but it is hard to remain just friends. 25k. Complete.

❀ The Greatest Slavery. Dead Dove. Celeborn is Sauron's prisoner. If Galadriel wants her husband returned to her alive, there are terms. Many years later, Sauron comes back for his daughter, Celebrían. 48k. Complete.

❀ Symbiosis. Modern AU. Galadriel goes out drinking after a bad breakup, and Halbrand shows up to put all the pieces back together. 77k. Complete.

Completed One-shots and Short Stories:

❀ In the Golden Vein of All Your Broken Promises. It's a threesome fic with Galadriel, Annatar, and Celeborn. Pure smut. 15k.

❀ Jewel Spoilt. A tale inspired by The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty with Galadriel as Beauty and Sauron as the one to break the curse Morgoth has lain upon her. 15k.

❀ Crown, and Caress Thee, and Chain. Galadriel says yes, becoming his Dark Queen. Sauron transmutes her into a god in the fires of Mount Doom instead of creating the One Ring. 11k.

❀ Maybe You Were the Ocean, When I Was Just a Stone. A series of one-shots written for RoP Week 2023 featuring various relationships. 11k.

❀ À Côté de la Plaque. Another threesome fic, only this time it's Galadriel, Halbrand, and Bronwyn with a surprise entrance from Arondir. 10k.

❀ Light Weight. A story of Mairon and Artanis told in seven parts, spanning over thousands of years from their very first meeting in Valinor to the Sundering Seas — a tale of touch, obsession, and addiction. 9k.

❀ Heart of Gold. They bang on Celebrimbor's large anvil table, Your Honor. 6k.

❀ An Inexorable Fate. My very first Haladriel fic ever written that started all of this. Halbrand struggles to tell Galadriel how he feels after the eruption of Mount Doom. 5k.

❀ Abundance. Written for an anonymous tumblr prompt that wanted a take on Halbrand’s reaction to seeing Galadriel in the green dress in Eregion for the first time. 5k.

❀ Bite Hard, Lest Remembrance Come After. Galadriel and Halbrand take what moments of reprieve they can behind Celeborn’s back. Always wanting, but never quite together in whole. 4k.

❀ Mortal Laws. Galadriel says yes during Episode 8, "Alloyed." 3k.

❀ Just Deserts. After Sauron's successful assault on Eregion, Celeborn and Galadriel are both his prisoners along with the rest of the city. It's another threesome fic. Enjoy. 3k.

❀ Daughter of Death. ASOIAF crossover. Dany seeks out a sorcerer to help her preserve the life of her baby. The only sorcerer here, the red priestesses whisper, who could cheat death. 3k.

❀ With Music That Scares the Profane. Halbrand wakes up in Eregion for the first time. 3k.

❀ Twain Halves of a Perfect Heart, Made Fast. A child Artanis meets a child Mairon, only he is not an Elf like her. He is a Maia, and he hasn't been on this plane of existence for very long, nor had a body for very long. Artanis teaches him a few things—like friendship. 2k.

❀ Queen of Love and Beauty. A child Artanis reunites with a child Mairon at a festival for Vána the Ever-young and Queen of Flowers in Valmar. 2k.

❀ And I'll Ask for the Sea. The infamous bath!fic. 2k.

❀ It’s the Last Thing I Wanted (It’s the First Thing I Do). Mairon and Artanis during the Years of the Trees. 1k.

❀ Green-Eyed Fallacy. On the eve of the Sack of Eregion, Halbrand tries to reason with Galadriel once more before the war. Only now, it’s too late. 1k.

Completed Dead Dove:

❀ Eyes Closed. Morgoth Bauglir returns from beyond The Void, and draws his wayward servant, Sauron, back under his thumb with the one temptation he can't deny—his Lady of Light, Galadriel. 10k.

❀ Into the Light of the Dark Black Night. Modern AU. He winds their fingers together, holds her hand like a lover that has never caused her harm. Their rings are cold side by side. Metal against metal. A binding link holding them together against her will. 8k.

❀ Dark, Dark My Light, and Darker My Desire. In which Artanis thinks Mairon is her rescuer, but it couldn't be further from the truth. 18k.

❀ Vestige. He wants her for her power. He never wanted her for her love. 3k.

[starsofarda]

Hi, hello, so because of this post I have gotten attached to my random Elven maid who has to sew all of the banners.

So, because I have also been rotating her in my mind like a rotisserie chicken, have some fun facts about her.

Her name is Molinde (Mudriel in Sinda)

She's obviously a Noldo and by Elvish standard she's average. Pretty, but average. She grew up sewing and embroidering, she adores it.

She also follows Feanor and sons out of Valinor when they get exiled, she has not counted on actually starving, so she gets crafty with sewing the sails of the ships.

She eventually gets hired among the others as embroiderer for the Feanorian war banners (bc let's face it, it's Feanor and sons mainly doing that, we will have to wait until the end of the Helcaraxe hike to see more).

She's young and bushy tailed and her faith in the world is still intact. This all will pass by the tenth banner she has to sew, but she's fueled not by law, not by love, not by league of hell, BUT BY SHEER SPITE. A very Noldorian thing to do.

She has had to embroider and sew SO MANY banners one more complex than the others, and she has seen them destroyed, set on fire, torn apart, thrown in the marshes, seized by Morgoth's army. She's fed up.

"Ugh, can't these Elf lords have simpler designs?"

She says, beefing up to the Elf that comes up with these designs.

"One less star is not gonna be noticed!"

"One less star is going to be too close to the Nolofinweans' banners!"

"So WHAT, they are COUSINS!"

And so on. She absolutely knows how to use a battle axe. She has to get revenge on the orcs that set on fire her workshop.

And that's when she says, at the nth request for banners: "Yes, my Lord, I will sew these stars all over, but IF I AM NOT GETTING MY WEIGHT IN GOLD and *Insert Elvish king/prince* as my SPOUSE you are gonna go into battle with barely threaded banners and Morgoth will LAUGH at you all".

She has tried to get married to an unmarried Son of Feanor like that many times, unsuccessfully. She has gotten the gold tho, a meager consolation.

By the Second Age she's in Eregion, basically mothering Celebrimbor and still sewing. It's not war banners (yet), but by then she is known for being That Bitch in her restricted circle of embroiderers.

"Oh no, Lord Annatar, it's fine. By the way, you do look somewhat similar to someone I saw in the First Age, any relation?"

And Eregion gets destroyed and her workshop is once again destroyed. More fuel to her spite. And also she embroiders a huge "FUCK YOU, I TOLD YOU THAT ANNATAR GUY WAS FAMILIAR!"

She does end up in Elrond's Homely House and teaches embroidery to Arwen.

She KNOWS that ""Lindir"" is Maglor. At least one of them survived, that's enough for her.

She sails back to Valinor dragging Lindir/Maglor with her. I reckon that by the Fourth Age all the sons of Feanor are re-embodied. Will she finally get to marry one of them, after all she went through? That's for y'all to decide.

NOTES:

She has had generations of cats. The first one was given to her after the fifth unsuccessful try at marrying a Son of Feanor as a "haha you are going to be alone forever lol" kind of move, but she got attached to the little beast and becamea catlady.

She has embroidered a lot of cat-themed stuff.

Thoughts so far?

[fatcatlittlebox]

It’s interesting that we are going to see Sauron repeating “touch the darkness” to Galadriel. Before that, he says to Celebrimbor, “True creation requires sacrifice.” Words of wisdom twisted for sinister ends. And yet, the boy is listening. This is meaningful because even if it is said in mockery, something inside is resonating enough for him to remember. If this is the case, the greatest lesson Celebrimbor actually imparts upon him is that he, the Great Deceiver “can deceive even himself.” The truth hits home immediately and you can see Sauron is wounded by it. Celebrimbor doesn’t say this because he needs to have the final word. He says it because even in the end, he is driven by compassion. He is still trying to teach his student. I hope he absorbs those words. I hope they haunt him. Because if part of his story arc is the development of self-awareness that would be tragic. Right now he is the embodiment of a Lost Boy. No home, no one to trust and a moral code of his own invention. And the viewers see that at the very beginning of this season. He is adrift and desperate for direction and purpose.

At first glance, his journey has little to do with the Stranger. But there’s a reason the writers dropped misdirecting hints last season that the Stranger could be Sauron. The point is that he could be. Their stories are parallel. They are both Maiar. They are both lost when we meet them in this story. The difference is one has the grace of the Valar and the other has turned away from it. One was taught mercy and empathy. The other was taught cruelty and manipulation. Sauron is literally an amoral blob, alone and abandoned for thousands of years with only a distant light to turn to, that he follows but is always just beyond his reach. Contrast that with the Stranger. He is given the stars to guide him and on his journey, friends to show him the way.

Which isn’t to say Sauron doesn’t have his chance. He meets Diarmid. The Stranger finds Tom Bombadil. And it is Tom Bombadil who teaches the Stranger in no uncertain terms what his purpose is, what patience and humility mean. And when the Stranger asks old Tom how he may learn to “master” the Secret fire, that would have been a question Sauron would have had. But Tom sets him straight - there is no mastering it. He is a servant to it. When the Stranger asks to be taught to command the wind, the fire and the trees around him, old Tom tells him that all beings "belong each to themselves." This is a lesson Sauron never got or never understood.

With Diarmid, he calls him “friend.” He is advised to have hope, to “choose good.” Over and over. He had refused judgement of the Valar, but here he is already granted mercy. Sadly, he cannot recognize mercy because he was never taught it before. He cannot understand the path to remake himself, because he only comprehends reformation and renewal as being paid in death and pain. Sauron is left unsatisfied by Diarmid’s answers and so misses the point. The Valar are telling him that that is his purpose. That is his payment. Right then and there, his purpose is to choose good. Simply choose good. He hears it, but doesn’t learn. The meaning was right there, in front of him.

Which brings us back to Celebrimbor, who brings up choice again. He says Sauron chose to inflict the same pain upon him that Morgoth had wrought. Yet still Sauron doesn’t see. He insists that he never had a choice. But we know he always had. The lesson was there from the beginning. He did have a choice. He still has a choice. A servant and a pupil who cannot serve and cannot learn.

[emyn-arnens]

Threads of Song

Eärwen, Galadriel, Celebrían, and Arwen | G | 1.1k | @arafinwean-week day 5: heritage | AO3

Galadriel learns her first enchantments at her mother’s knee, watching as her mother weaves sailcloth at her loom and works enchantments into the weave. Her mother places her small hands upon the loom, guiding her fingers over frame and beams and teaching her shuttle, warp, and weft.

Galadriel’s fingers follow quickly after Eärwen’s, following the threads as they dance through the loom and spill out into sailcloth. Eärwen sings as she weaves, and Galadriel joins her, leaping and skipping through her mother’s melody and weaving in words of her own, words to strengthen and sustain, to brace and to billow.

The sailcloth twines around the roller, lightweight and yet stronger than anchor rope. Eärwen removes the cloth from the loom and presses it into Galadriel’s hands, bidding her to examine their work. Galadriel’s fingers rove the cloth, plucking at the veins of song woven into the sailcloth—here a thread of strength, there a thread of unerring course.

“The work we do,” Eärwen says, “should not only be beautiful; it should be strong and mighty, too, for by our hands do our ships sail or sink.”

“Do not the ship-builders also do so when they shape the planks of the ships?” Galadriel asks.

Eärwen smiles. “It is not merely the weaving of the sails that makes them strong, but the enchantments we weave within them—to take wind, but not too much wind; to guide the ship always towards calm waters; to hasten the ship out of a storm. That is the difference of our craft.”

Eärwen stands so that Galadriel sits by herself before the loom and bids her to try weaving alone. Galadriel takes the shuttle in hand and weaves, weaving song and thread together as the shuttle dances back and forth in her hand across the loom. Strength, she weaves into the cloth, and steady course . Fulls sails and full nets.

When she finishes, Eärwen takes the cloth in her hands and smiles with pride. “Just so, Nerwen,” she says. 

Finrod affixes the sail to the skiff he, Angrod, and Aegnor take out into the bay, and Galadriel sets upon her next sail, intent on improving.

Later, her brothers blow through the chamber doors like a summer squall, their hands and arms flashing silver with the glint of scales stuck to their skin. Great nets of fish bulge in their hands, and Eärwen drives her sons from the room with a cry.

Finrod slips past Eärwen’s shooing hands and presses a salty kiss to Galadriel’s brow. “You have helped us catch a mighty haul today, sister.”

Galadriel glows with pride.

— — —

By the shores of Nenuial, Galadriel sets her daughter upon her knee and shows her shuttle, warp, and weft. Celebrían does not attend at first, loving rather the forests and their birds and foxes than sitting still and weaving. But as she grows, she stills and listens to her mother’s instructions, and she sets her hands upon the loom and snakes the shuttle back and forth and sings, and together with her mother, she crafts sails for the boats the Elves of their settlement sail across the wide expanse of the lake and cloaks of grey for the guards and scouts that will shield them from unfriendly eyes.

She does not weave for mastery, as her mother does, but out of love. 

Out of love does she weave for Celebrimbor, her friend, a mantle richly threaded that will draw the gaze of all and mark him as lord of Eregion and chief of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.

Out of love does she weave for her father plain robes that will make him seem unobtrusive and beneath noticing, to turn Annatar’s sharp eye from him as she and her mother flee to Khazad-dûm.

(Out of love does she weave for Celebrimbor a burial shroud that will never be used, and she buries it beneath the trees in Lórinand and weeps.)

Out of love does she weave blankets of softest comfort for the survivors of Eregion who lay injured in Imladris, having taken the arrows and blades that might have felled her father, when she and her mother at last arrive and find Celeborn safe and whole.

Out of thanks does she weave for the new lord of Imladris, whose eyes are kind and warm—too kind for the horrors he has seen—a robe woven of the colors of the sun and nearly as warm to keep him warm during the coming winter, for Imladris is still only partially built, and its lord, she notes, often goes without when others are in need.

Later, when news of war again rises, she thinks of the kind eyes of the lord of Imladris, who shall soon have to look again upon the wreckage of war, and weaves for him a cloak that shall turn away all wayward arrows and stay the arcs of glancing blades.

— — —

Arwen’s eyes are large and dark as Celebrían guides her small hands upon the loom. She is a serious child, and she watches silently as Celebrían demonstrates how to draw the shuttle across the loom and to sing enchantments into the cloth.

When Celebrían places the shuttle in Arwen’s hands, Arwen weaves silently. Celebrían sings for her, threading into the cloth small enchantments. 

Arwen shakes her head and Celebrían falls silent, wondering. Arwen finishes, and Celebrían removes the cloth for her daughter to inspect. Arwen’s fingers trace the threads of enchantment woven into the cloth.

“Do you wish to learn that?” Celebrían asks.

Arwen shakes her head again.

Celebrían does not press the matter, not even as years pass and Arwen continues to weave without singing. It is not a lack of desire that compels Arwen to do so, Celebrían thinks, but of ability, for the strength of the Noldor dwindles. Even the greatest of her own enchantments could not compare to her mother’s.

But though they hold no enchantments, Arwen’s works are things of surpassing beauty, often inlaid with threads of gold or silver, and that catch the eye as surely as if they were threaded with enchantment.

When Celebrían sails, Arwen continues to weave, and at last she sings. There is no enchantment in her voice, but it fills the silence of the weaving room and the emptiness of Celebrían’s chair. She weaves and weaves, and her skill surpasses that of any other in Imladris.

And when the heir of Isildur leaves Imladris in the midst of winter, she embarks upon her greatest work, for though she does not have her mother’s skill in enchantments, she has a little of her father’s foresight, and she sees in her mind a city laid to waste and dark sails on a river of red, and a banner of sable and mithril heralding the coming of the king.

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (4/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

There isn’t anyone left who knows how to do Maglor’s Mourning Braids, but they are described in a lament for Fingon that’s still doing the rounds, so Elrond and Elros make their best try. That style is henceforth known as Elrond’s Mourning Braids (because Elros gets forgotten by the elves a lot after he dies, let’s not lie to ourselves).

A decade of nothing but Mourning Braids really hammers in that Elrond and Elros weren’t just hostages.

It doesn’t do a lot for their reputation, but they don’t particularly care.

Bit by bit, Elros adopts mannish customs after making his Choice, and even goes so far as to cut his hair above the shoulder. Elrond is pre-grieving his brother too much to be properly shocked about this.

(It’s still long enough to braid. It’s fine. It’s not like his brother is leaving him on purpose. Or rejecting him. Elrond knows that.)

Everyone thinks Elrond should wear his hair in the Sindarin custom but he refuses to give up his Noldor braids. Elros braids his brother’s hair until he leaves for Númenor.

Elrond and Gil-galad do each other’s hair through the Second Age. Because they’re the last of their family and the only ones to keep to the old traditions. Not at all because they’re close. Of course not. Wouldn’t be proper. (They spend two hours at it every morning alone in Gil-galad’s chambers.)

Elrond revives his Mourning Braids on his 500th birthday.

Celebrimbor learns about dwarven hair culture. It’s Very Different but kind of similar, in that fancy hairstyles are a status thing. (Or really, long hair/beard is a status thing and then you have to do something with it because otherwise it catches everywhere.)

Narvi isn’t in fact the first dwarf to touch elven hair, but that’s only because Finrod had a very extended concept of family.

Annatar magically braids his own hair, when he even bothers (his hair doesn’t even singe in the forge if it falls into the fire). This hurts Celebrimbor’s sensitivities, but he adapts to Annatar’s ways, and adapts again, and adapts, until he really can’t.

Sauron cuts off Celebrimbor’s beautiful dark braids full of dwarven beads and ties them to the spears of his personal guard. Elrond never quite manages to get that image out of his head.

At war again, Gil-Galad invents locs. Well, re-invents them really, because Silvan elves have worn them forever, but he’s the first Noldor to do it. (He has Fingon’s hair texture. Does that mean he’s Fingon’s son? Who knows. He’s not telling.)

It’s only after Gil-galad’s death that Elrond teaches himself how to braid his own hair.

He hates it.

But he won’t wear his hair loose.

(The first style he masters is Maglor’s Mourning Braids.) (It really shouldn’t be because it’s Intricate but Elrond is nothing if not stubborn.)

Imladris has a full salon, like the Noldor palaces of old.

It doesn’t get that much use, to be honest.

Erestor learns to braid really tiny braids into Glorfindel’s hair, so that he never wears his hair fully loose but it still looks like it’s loose. Everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. Glorfindel thinks it’s the best thing. Elrond watches them with a knowing smile.

Celebrían wears her hair half-loose in the Sindar style until she marries Elrond. It takes him several years to find the strength to ask her to do his hair, but she lets him do hers and he sneaks in more and more braids until they settle on a mixed-style. When he finally allows her to do his hair, Celebrían makes her mother grumpily teach her proper Noldor braids.

Elladan and Elrohir only wear practical Sindarin braids for the day to day, but they delight in doing each other’s hair in complicated styles for feasts and ceremonies. Elrond cries the first time they accidentally replicate Maglor’s favourite hairstyle.

Arwen is a little gremlin who squirms out of her parents’ lap when they try to braid her hair. She’s also inherited even more of Melian’s hair than Elrond, so even when they manage to do a braid, it’s gone in a few hours.

It takes years after Celebrían sails, because they’re all grieving, but eventually Elrohir offers to do his father’s hair, and Elrond lets him. They don’t do it every day, but it’s a large step in their recovery process.

By the way, Thranduil’s thing for flower/leaf crowns isn’t a Sindar or Silvan practice, it’s just that he wanted to be Fancy but Not In a Noldor Way, thank you very much. He’s also very vain. His servants do his hair.

Little Estel is very cute, has very silky hair for a man, even of his line, and makes a great doll for the twins to play with. He likes his hair touched A Lot.

Arwen learns about that early on. She’s a very good silver smith. Aragorn now owns a lot of hair jewellery. He can’t make a braid to save his life, but that’s fine, because Arwen can’t wear them anyway.

In the North, he wears his hair like Elros, cut above his shoulders. Once he becomes King, he lets it grow to his waist. He’s the first Man since Tuor to casually wear his hair in elaborate Noldor braids. He accidentally sets a fashion.

Arwen also does Éowyn’s and Faramir’s hair regularly. The first time is for their wedding. Éowyn isn’t a fan of the unpractical Fëanorian styles, but the Nolofinwëan battle braids look incredibly good on her.

Wandering on the coast for two ages, Maglor no longer does anything with his hair. It doesn’t enjoy the salt at all.

When Elrond finally finds him, he almost has to cut it all off. Instead, he spends weeks carefully untangling and moisturising Maglor’s hair until he can finally braid it in the old style for him. Maglor cries.

Elrond cries too. He cries even more when Maglor sits them down on the floor and braids his hair like he used to.

They sail together with the other Ring bearers, and there’s a lot more crying when they find Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros waiting for them together.

Celebrían is wearing her hair in one of the Fëanorian styles that can be done one-handed.

Galadriel isn’t entirely happy about that, but she sees Finrod and forgets about it.

There’s some more crying.

Fingon is also there (the amount of gold in his hair is a bit blinding, not that Elrond will ever tell him) and also wearing a one-handed braided style.

There are some fights over who gets to do Elrond’s hair in the next few weeks.

Celebrían wins most of them, because she’s inherited Galadriel’s viciousness, but she lets everyone have a turn.

Elrond would like to know why he doesn’t have a say in it.

(He does. They would never touch him if he didn’t want to. They’re just very happy to see him.)

He does go to visit Elwing and Eärendil in their tower, and he goes with his hair down, because he’s a peace-maker at heart.

But in Tirion, he always sports the most complex hairstyles, just barely coming short of overshadowing the High King’s (mostly because his hair is still too silky for it to hold well), because his family all want to outdo each other.

He earns the reputation of being the most beloved of all the Noldor.

It’s not wrong.

Some visuals & more in my art tag

[zeizeizeizei]

Unpopular Headcanons for Celebrimbor Pt. 1

✨Cook and Gardener

While known for his work in the forge, Celebrimbor found peace in mundane tasks like cooking and gardening. He often drew inspiration from the natural world when designing the Rings of Power.

✨Musical Talent

Celebrimbor could play the harp or lute with incredible skill, but he saw music as a hobby, not a serious pursuit. His compositions were often melancholic, reflecting his inner turmoil.

✨Wary of Magic

Despite his association with the Rings, Celebrimbor was deeply skeptical of magic in his youth. His fascination grew only after encountering Sauron as Annatar, who convinced him of its potential.

✨ Left-Handed

Celebrimbor was left-handed, which was considered unusual among Elves. This trait made him a unique swordsman and forgemaster, giving his creations a subtle asymmetry that became his signature.

✨Hates Gold

Celebrimbor loathes gold, finding it gaudy and heavy. He much prefers the lighter, ethereal beauty of mithril and silver, which he believed better represented the purity of his work.

✨Hates Sauron’s Aesthetic

Celebrimbor has a particular disdain for Sauron’s architectural style, often critiquing Mordor’s towers and fortresses as “crude and uninspired.” He dreams of tearing them down and replacing them with structures of true beauty.

✨Harsh Mentor

Celebrimbor has no patience for mediocrity, even in teaching. He often pushed apprentices in Eregion beyond their limits, believing failure was an essential part of mastering the forge.

✨Morally Flexible

He sees morality as a spectrum, not an absolute. This pragmatism often leads him to make questionable decisions that he justifies as necessary for the greater good, even when they leave lasting scars on his conscience.

✨Secretly Hates Fëanor

While many assume he respects his grandfather’s genius, Celebrimbor harbors deep resentment toward Fëanor for creating a legacy so overwhelming that it tainted every descendant who followed him.

✨Loves Rain

He found the sound of rain soothing, particularly when it fell on metal rooftops. It reminded him of the flow of molten silver and often sparked new ideas for his creations.

✨Fidgeterbrimbo

When deep in thought, Celebrimbor would absentmindedly trace patterns on surfaces with his fingers. This habit sometimes annoyed those around him, though he was oblivious to it.

✨Coded Notes

To protect his designs, Celebrimbor wrote his notes in a personal code that blended Tengwar with Dwarvish runes. Even those fluent in both languages found his system difficult to decipher.

Oh Tyelpé...

Source: my🍑

Thank you

[malkaleh]

Because Everything have a little bit of like, comfort re @nocompromise-noregrets having the idea that Bronwyn and Arondir co-founded Dol Amroth (this is Gold Cages verse but).

Miriel is laughingly telling Elendil that their baby daughter is a little too baby right now to go in the ocean.

Soraya (Bronwyn and Arondirs daughter) is attempting to become one with the ocean. She is not going out of the ocean. OCEAN FRIEND.

Elrond (who has caused most of Dol Amroth to fall for him since he got here) is happily teaching Gerda and Gamli to swim, while Durin and Disa are like ‘anyone comes near him we will kill you’ (also Persian Jewish biracial Elrond is canon and thus he is particularly olive skinned right now)

Gil-Galad metaphorically has sunglasses on, lying on a towel and reading the middle earth equivalent of a beach read.

Galadriel is jumping off rocks and Celeborn is alternating between swimming and cheering her on.

Islidur (yelling delightedly with Theo) COMMANDER GALADRIEL YOU SHOULD TOTALLY DO A TRIPLE FLIP.

Celebrimbor is sitting under an umbrella, drinking his little drink in a beach chair.

Feel free to add on.

[lyragoth]

I have so many questions for you and your gf about Happy Elfling and Golden Elfling !

Did Fëanor teach at Happy Elfling in person, and on a scale from 1 to 10 how much of a terrifying experience was it ? (if closer to 10 than 1, for how long did he teach before someone wiser convinced him he was more needed in the forge ?)

Who were Happy Elfling star students (I'm assuming Curvo, but beyond that ?) ?

Who were Happy Elfling's not so good students ?

Did Fingolfin's children attend Happy Elfling, and if yes, a) whose idea was it ; b) was it a good idea to?

Did Finarfin's children attend Happy Elfling, and with what result ? Did Finrod hate it so much that he swore no elfling would ever have to go through this again ? Was Galadriel the best but also by far the most annoying student ?

Did Finrod teach in person at Golden Elfling, and on the spectrum of inspiring to goofy to crazy out-of-body-experience, what was it like for the students ?

Were Finrod and Curvo fighting because Finrod wanted to put more Men stuff in the curriculum of Golden Elfling, and Curvo thought it was taking precious time away from studying the dwarfish stuff he was pushing instead ?

Later on, was Celebrimbor's patchwork education a cause of insecurities, and did Annatar play on it (I'm assuming he would have been hardcore Happy Elfling and would have made Celebrimbor feel very inadequate for having been educated in the equivalent pot-smoking methods of Golden Elfling) ?

Was Elrond homeschooled in the purest strictest Happy Elfling tradition (or did his education mostly consist of Maglor playing music and crying, with the occasional bout of martial training ?) ?

Was Gil-Galad educated in the Happy Elfling or Golden Elfling tradition ?

If Elrond was Happy Elfling trained and Gil-Galad Golden Elfling, did Elrond feel just a little bit smug about it ("Oh, you do not know the etymology and Cuiviénen pronunciation of the word for the underside of a beech leaf, High King ? Well, figures") ?

If Gil-Galad was Golden Elfing trained, was he able to retaliate in kind when it came to the long-lost traditions of the House of Bëor (extensively covered at Golden Elfling - "Oh, even though you are a peredhel, you did not know that in the third day following the Spring Equinox, the people of the House of Bëor while still leaving in the East used to fashion a clay-pot in the shape of a fish and leave it outside overnight ? Well, figures", goes Gil who has himself fashioned about a dozen such pots over the course of the years for the yearly recreations of the House of Bëor Spring Equinox traditions at Golden Elfling) ?

I must say (before saying anything else) that the idea of Happy Elfling originated in a rather silly context between my girlfriend and me, so we didn’t really consider in-depth lore or how the ages of the elves aligned. I will try my best to answer everything. So, Happy Elfling and Golden Elfling worked like what we humans have in "kindergartens" and "Elementary school". Happy Elfling: Initially, Happy Elfling began small, with Fëanor teaching Maedhros as his first student. Maedhros was everything but a happy elfling lol Fëanor hoped to instill a love for forging in his eldest son, but Maedhros, pragmatic by nature, preferred mathematics, and Maglor preferred musical theory. So for the love of his sons, he started to teach different subjects and invite different people to teach what he couldn't. As word of the school spread, Happy Elfling grew into a prestigious institution, and soon every noble family was sending their children there, Feanor also accepted exceptionally bright elflings.

Feanor likely taught Maedhros, Maglor, Finrod, and Fingon. But he stepped back from teaching once the school became too large. Nerdanel took over as principal, implementing new subjects like sculpture, Teleri and Vanyar history, and elfling psychology.

New students often asked old-schoolers like Fingon or Finrod about what it was like to have Fëanor as a teacher. The typical response was sweaty foreheads, nervous chuckles, and vague replies. They simply said they learned a lot, but "at what cost?” Maedhros and Maglor, meanwhile, had a more resigned perspective... because those amateurs had no idea about what was like dealing with that in AND out of school.

Fëanor returned to teaching temporarily when Curvo entered Happy Elfling. He wanted to oversee Curvo’s education personally. Finrod studied in Curufin's class, and they competed for grades constantly, especially in linguistics. Most of the time, their scores were even, but whenever Finrod won, Curufin would argue with the teacher that he was entitled to better grades because he was the founder's son. It’s rumored that Celegorm wasn’t academically bright, but he excelled in athletics, zoology, and surprisingly poetry (he hid this fact from his brothers). In other subjects, he was disinterested, often disrupting classes or fighting anyone who mistook him for one of Finarfin’s sons or punching elflings who drew trash cans on the blackboard with sentences like "Tyelko-Finarfin's-Trash-Can-Baby". Celegorm’s violent outbursts frequently landed him in the principal’ (his mother’s) office, which put him in double trouble. Being in the principal’s office weekly was considered fortunate. He was also known for jumping out of classroom windows to explore nature, playing with birds and colorful snails, and rarely returning to class.

Galadriel excelled as an A-grade student in Happy Elfling, bringing her international renown. Her fame as a wise elf originated from her achievements in HE. However, she considered the school’s teaching methods overly ruthless and vowed to one day establish a better and less dangerous institution. She was so traumatized by the experience, that when Feanor asked for her hair for scientific and artistic purposes, she denied him. She was more than happy to help her brother Finrod develop Golden Elfling when he later founded it.

Legend says Nerdanel still runs Happy Elfling in Valinor in her husband's place. She is not soft at all. And like Feanor, she manages the school with an iron hand.

Golden Elfling: In Middle-earth, Finrod, aided by Galadriel, founded Golden Elfling, Nargothrond’s elfling school, which Celebrimbor attended in the same class as Gil-galad. Orodreth and Curufin often argued because Orodreth claimed Tyelpe had kicked Gil-galad many times. Curufin would counter that his son was not in the wrong and that it was Orodreth’s fault for raising a dullard slow child.

By then, Galadriel was in Doriath, but she occasionally visited Golden Elfling as an invited teacher. She convinced Melian to come along as well. Melian eventually taught culinary arts and singing, but the elflings begged her to teach them "cool magic" and "dope power-shields" instead. They had zero interest in learning about lembas. Celebrimbor, especially curious, bombarded Melian with questions about the Ainur and why she looked different from most elves, with her larger stature, long ears, and unique aura. Tyelpe’s relentless annoying questioning led to the addition of "Maiar Physiology" to the subjects' curriculum.

Finrod didn’t teach in Golden Elfling because of his kingly duties. Curufin was also too absorbed in forging and dark deeds with his brother. Celegorm, except from Tyelpe, disliked elflings in general and had no interest in teaching Finrod wouldn’t have allowed him near the school anyway. However, despite his busy schedule, Curufin always joined Celebrimbor for parent-son scavenger hunts or sports contests. He taught Celebrimbor important questionable lessons like how it was fine to throw sand in an opponent’s eyes if they were bigger. Little Tyelpe would show up at these contests with war paint and a Feanor-star bandana, yelling, “House of Feanor doesn’t enter wars to lose! House of Feanor will slaughter the Golden House!” This unsettled Finrod greatly, who tried to teach Tyelpe that it was okay not to win, as long as he had fun, Curufin disagreed. Finrod also emphasized that "respect and honor" was Golden Elfling’s motto, Curufin disagreed with this motto entirely, arguing there was nothing wrong with his son being confident.

Curufin thought the meditation classes where the elflings drank a small glass of ayahuasca to have prophetic visions, were a waste of time. He suggested replacing them with pyrotechnics, teaching the art of burning things without getting burned. Finrod refused for the children’s safety. Curufin also disapproved of Golden Elfling’s student group trips to human villages because he harbored many prejudices. Whenever Celebrimbor returned home, Curufin would bathe him with enchanted herbs and use elvish healing magic, convinced that humans had infected his son with all sorts of ailments.

Although Celebrimbor was educated in Golden Elfling, his entire culture was rooted in Happy Elfling teachings, passed down from his father, uncles, and grandparents. Aftermath:

Annatar gently persistently argued that everything Melian taught about the Ainur was wrong. He never again attempted to offer his opinion on the teachings of the Happy Elfling or Golden Elfling, because Tyelpe wouldn’t allow him to comment on elvish education, especially that of his grandfather. That said, Annatar once suggested replacing Fëanor’s statue with one of Tyelpe himself, which got him fired from the forge work. He was later rehired, arguing that his work contract stipulated he couldn't be fired for 300 years, much to Tyelpe’s annoyance.

As for Elrond and Elros, although I didn’t think much about their "kidnap family" upbringing, I believe they were taught in the Happy Elfling tradition—albeit a toned-down version because Maglor wouldn’t allow Maedhros to teach pyrotechnics to children. Elrond and Elros loved astronomy, often using the big telescope to observe celestial bodies. In reality, they used it as an excuse to look for their father every night. Their weird curiosity about birds led to the inclusion of ornithology in the curriculum.

As for Elrond and Gil-galad, they certainly had some clashes, as Gil-galad was Golden Elfling schooled, while Elrond came from a Happy Elfling background. Their disputes often revolved around proper pronunciation, with Elrond politely annoyingly insisting he was correct and Gil-galad was not. Your final note about Gil-galad and Elrond debating House of Bëor’s long-lost traditions is pure Golden Elfling teaching and absolutely perfect as it is—I wouldn’t change a thing! @erendur