#Elrond Peredhel x reader

[earthlybeam]

How would Thranduil, Elrond, and other elves react to a daring surprise kiss while drunk on wine at a festival?

elves react to a daring surprise kiss from reader/you while drunk on wine at a festival

how would the elves react to this?

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Thranduil, Elrond Versions below. Link to Gil-galad and Celebrimbor here.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The Starlight Festival had reached its peak, and the Woodland Realm was alive with a rare kind of energy. The air was filled with music, laughter, and the sweet scent of wine that had been generously poured into silver goblets. The scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth mixed with the sweet tang of Dorwinion wine, a drink that flowed freely tonight in honor of the rare celebration. Elves in flowing garments danced in the moonlight beneath the shimmering canopy of stars, their movements graceful, as if the very forest was celebrating with them. Thranduil, as always, presided over the festivities from his lofty seat—a throne carved of intertwined roots, where he observed the revelry with an aloof yet intrigued air. His golden crown of autumn leaves glowed faintly in the soft light, his sharp, calculating gaze following the festivities below.

𐂂 You, however, were not watching from a distance. You had already indulged a little too much in the wine, the smooth, rich liquid emboldening you as it slipped through your veins. It was easy to forget the usual careful restraint you maintained around the Elvenking when the mood was this jubilant, and the warmth of the evening wrapped around you like a cloak. You knew Thranduil well, perhaps even better than most of the elves present at the festival. There had always been an unspoken bond between the two of you, one built on mutual respect and an understanding that transcended mere formality. Still, there was something about the way he held himself tonight—distant yet softened by the warmth of the wine—that made you feel a surge of daring.

𐂂 Your friends had long since dispersed, lost in the crowd, but your eyes never left Thranduil. His poised, regal demeanor contrasted so sharply with the carefree atmosphere around him. A thought stirred within you, bold and impulsive—a sudden desire to break the boundary of formality and see if the Elvenking could be caught off guard. And with that thought, the idea bloomed fully in your mind. With a wry grin to yourself, you made your way toward him. As always, he noticed you before you could reach him, his silver eyes catching yours with a knowing flicker. Thranduil had been watching you, or perhaps simply waiting for your next move. His lips curved in a faint but curious smile, but he said nothing as you approached him. “Careful,” he warned softly, his voice rich and smooth, tinged with amusement, as he regarded you with an amused tilt of his head. “You’ve had enough wine, I see.”

𐂂 You smiled back, half-laughing, the wine thickening your tongue and your courage. “Enough for a little mischief,” you replied, your voice teasing yet warm, familiar. He raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in his gaze. “Misguided mischief, I suspect.” Before he could say anything more, before either of you could retreat into your usual roles—he, the dignified King, and you, the long-time companion—you leaned in. The crowd and the festivities faded into the background as you reached up, with only a moment’s hesitation, and pressed a soft, daring kiss to his lips. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the feel of his cool lips against yours and the steady beat of your own heart, which now seemed far too loud. His reaction was immediate and telling. Thranduil froze, his tall, graceful frame still as stone beneath your touch. The light from the lanterns around the clearing cast shadows across his face, and his piercing gaze opened wide, though it softened, just slightly, with a flicker of surprise. His lips parted from yours, but he did not push you away.

𐂂 The moment stretched, his fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he slowly pulled back, his breath still steady, though his expression had shifted from surprise to something darker, more guarded—like a king who had just been tested. His eyes, sharp and calculating, searched your face, almost as if he were trying to read your intentions.“You are bold tonight,” he said, his voice low, rich with something that wasn’t quite approval, but far from anger. “I never imagined you’d be so reckless.” You swallowed, feeling a twinge of vulnerability now that the boldness had worn off. You had never crossed this line with him before, and despite the warmth of the wine, the risk of the gesture suddenly felt very real. “I—apologies, Thranduil. I did not mean to—”

𐂂 “Mean to what?” His voice softened, the faintest glint of amusement breaking through his sternness. “To kiss your king?” His words, though still wrapped in an air of authority, were not unkind. But his eyes remained intensely focused on you. He was studying you, measuring you with the care of someone who had lived through countless years and seen many different faces, but whose trust was not easily won. Yet, to your surprise, he did not pull away. His hand, so careful and gentle, rested against your cheek for a moment longer than expected. There was a pause before he added with a wry smile, “Perhaps this wine has made you more daring than I thought.” You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve simply had enough of watching from the sidelines.” For a moment, it seemed as though he would respond in kind, but instead, his gaze softened just slightly. “I see,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. His hand fell away from your face, but not without a lingering warmth. “Let us see how long your courage lasts, then. I wonder… what else you might dare now?”

𐂂 You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you—something that suggested, despite his regal authority, despite his cool demeanor, he was intrigued by you in a way that went beyond mere courtesy. The moment was electric, charged with possibilities. The festival around you continued, the elves unaware of the quiet tension that lingered between you and their king, but as Thranduil’s eyes met yours once more, you knew this was a night neither of you would soon forget. Before he could respond, before the weight of his authority could pin you back into your usual deference, you made your move. With a sudden, audacious step, you ascended the small platform that held his throne. Gasps rose from a few nearby elves, though the majority were too engrossed in the revelry to notice. Thranduil straightened slightly, his head tilting as his cool gaze followed your every movement. “You would do well to tread carefully” he warned, his tone as calm as ever, but there was a new edge to it—a warning laced with intrigue. You ignored the warning—or rather, you took it as a challenge. Without hesitation, you placed your hands lightly on the armrests of his throne, leaning in just enough to catch the faintest hint of his scent: fresh pine and something more ancient, more elusive. Then, to his evident surprise, you swung yourself gracefully onto his lap, settling there as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

𐂂 For a moment, the air between you stilled, heavy with tension. Thranduil’s body stiffened beneath yours, his cool composure cracking just slightly as his eyes widened ever so briefly. He recovered quickly, his piercing gaze narrowing as he studied you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “You are either very brave,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety threat, “or very foolish.” You smiled, tilting your head as you met his gaze with an audacity you didn’t know you possessed. “Perhaps a little of both,” you replied, shifting slightly to make yourself more comfortable. “But if this is a throne, my king, it’s far more comfortable than it looks.” The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it—a fleeting sign of amusement that he quickly buried beneath his usual calm. His hands, which had been resting on the armrests, rose slightly, hovering near your waist as though he couldn’t decide whether to remove you or let you remain. The warmth of his palms was tantalizingly close, and you felt your pulse quicken under his scrutiny. “Is this how you honor your king?” he asked, his tone a perfect blend of mockery and authority. “By treating him as your seat?”

𐂂 “I thought it fitting,” you countered, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “After all, you’ve always said a king is here to serve his people.” The silence that followed was deafening, the festival below seeming to fade into a distant hum. Thranduil’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. Slowly, deliberately, his hands settled on your waist, his touch firm yet careful, as though testing the boundaries of this unspoken game. “You are playing a dangerous game,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think yourself untouchable, even here, in my domain?” You leaned in, your face mere inches from his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered back, “Perhaps I simply trust that my king knows when to show mercy.” His gaze darkened, the amusement fading into something far more serious. For a moment, you thought he might reprimand you, might cast you from his lap and return to the stoic authority you were so accustomed to. But instead, his grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles—one that promised you had not yet seen the full extent of his patience or his power. “Then let us see,” he murmured, his voice like silk over steel, “how far your audacity will take you tonight.”

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The night in Rivendell was alive with the magic of the Celebration of the Moon and Stars, a festival woven into the very fabric of the Elves’ connection to the night sky. The stars shone bright above the gathered revelers, their silver light cascading down upon the crowd like a blessing. The air was fragrant with the sweetness of wine, the murmur of laughter, and the distant hum of elven music, soft and ethereal. Elves in rich, shimmering garments danced and sang beneath the heavens, their movements fluid, their faces alight with joy. Among them stood Elrond, ever dignified and composed, his presence commanding yet serene. He was in the midst of a conversation with a circle of Rivendell’s noblest, the words flowing between them with the careful deliberation that was typical of their genteel society. His robes, dark and regal, billowed slightly in the evening breeze, and his hair caught the glint of starlight, giving him an almost otherworldly glow. His voice, deep and steady, resonated as he spoke with his companions, yet there was something in his eyes that reflected the awe of the night—the very essence of the celebration.

✶ You, on the other hand, had been swept up in the intoxicating atmosphere of the festival. The sweet, earthy wine had worked its magic, and you felt a playful, daring energy rise within you. The melodies of the Elves’ songs, the dance of the stars, the laughter of your friends—it was all too much to resist. You had known Elrond for some time now, though your bond had always been one of quiet companionship, and not of passionate or romantic entanglements. Still, the wine had emboldened you tonight. As Elrond continued his conversation with the nobles, his back turned toward you, you found yourself quietly approaching him. Your feet seemed light as you weaved through the crowd, your eyes focused on the back of his elegant form. You’d often admired him from afar, but this night felt different—spurred by the heat of the wine and the boldness that came with it, you decided that tonight would be the night you would act on your impulse.

✶ Without warning, you leaned in, closing the space between you and Elrond. Your lips brushed against his cheek, then, driven by the wine’s warmth and the flickering excitement in your chest, you pressed a quick, daring kiss to his lips. The world around you seemed to pause. Elrond’s noble face, usually so calm and composed, went still in the surprise of it. His eyes widened as he slowly pulled away from you, his gaze searching yours with a mix of surprise and curiosity. The nobles who had been speaking with him fell silent, their attention shifting to the unexpected exchange. Elrond’s hand, which had been resting by his side, stiffened slightly, and his lips parted as if to speak. For a moment, he seemed to have lost his voice. The stars above, those ancient and knowing witnesses, twinkled brightly as if watching this bold moment unfold. Elrond’s gaze softened as he studied you, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. He leaned back slightly, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You are most bold this evening, my friend,” he said, his voice low but warm, with the faintest teasing note threading through it.

✶ You felt a blush creep across your face, the wine making your heart beat faster, yet the nerves in your stomach were calmed by the softness in his eyes. “I suppose the night, the wine, and the stars all made me do it,” you said, your voice a little breathless from the unexpectedness of it all. Elrond’s smile grew ever so slightly, and his eyes, which were typically full of ancient wisdom and restraint, glinted with something else—something gentler, more open than you’d seen before. “The stars may indeed have their influence, but I doubt even they could have pulled you to such an action without your own heart in the matter,” he mused, his tone more thoughtful now, as if considering what had just occurred between you.

✶ The nobles, who had been silent until now, exchanged quiet glances, unsure whether to resume their conversation or acknowledge what had just transpired. One of them, an older Elf with a well-groomed beard and silver hair, gave a quiet laugh, his eyes glimmering with humor. “It seems we have witnessed something rare tonight,” he said softly, more to the others than to Elrond. Elrond, ever the composed leader, gave a small, knowing nod to the group, though his gaze never left you. “Indeed,” he said, his voice holding a deeper tone now, as though weighing the moment with more thought. “But this moment, like the stars above us, will pass into the tapestry of the night. I do not mind its place within it.”

✶ The music in the distance swirled around you both, the soft melodies of Elven harps and flutes mingling with the night air. For a moment, there was silence between you and Elrond, a quietness that hung heavy in the air, filled with unspoken things—things that neither of you could put into words just yet. Elrond took a step closer, his presence commanding yet gentle, his eyes searching yours once again. “I confess,” he said, his voice quiet and intimate now, “I did not expect this… tonight. But I do not find it unwelcome.”

✶ The night stretched on, the stars overhead twinkling in their eternal dance, but the air between you and Elrond had shifted. There was a lingering energy now, charged with something unsaid, an unspoken connection hanging in the cool night air. Elrond, though composed as always, no longer exuded the same distant authority. His eyes, deep and ancient, softened when they met yours, and there was a vulnerability beneath the surface that had been coaxed out by your unexpected kiss. You were emboldened by the wine, the atmosphere, and the way Elrond’s eyes lingered on you, his expression unreadable yet undeniably intrigued. The gentle hum of the music continued in the background, a soft melody playing against the tension building between you both. As you stood there, the silence between you both hanging heavy, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of playful, reckless desire. The wine still coursed through your veins, the warmth of it making you feel bold and mischievous. Elrond, his stance still strong, his features serene, was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. It was then that the audacity bubbled up in you once more. Before Elrond could react, you took a step closer, your hand casually brushing against the side of his waist, your fingers sliding down his body until they landed on his backside. You gave him a quick pinch—just enough to surprise him, to break through the cool façade he always wore. The action was bold, daring, and out of place for the dignified Lord of Rivendell, especially with the nobles still gathered nearby, their attention subtly shifting between you two.

✶ Elrond froze, his expression flickering with a mix of surprise and something that might have been amusement—or perhaps disbelief. His hand twitched slightly at his side, and for a fleeting moment, you saw him hesitate, caught between the composed leader he always was and the man caught off guard by your actions. “Ah,” he murmured softly, his tone still steady, though there was an undeniable flush creeping up his neck, his high cheekbones flushed just the slightest shade of pink. “You are most bold tonight.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the expression on his face—caught somewhere between bemusement and mild exasperation. “I suppose it’s the wine,” you said breathlessly, the audacity of your actions only heightening the thrill of the moment. “It loosens the tongue and, apparently, other things.” But before Elrond could regain his composure, your hand returned to him again, slipping down his side and giving his backside another playful pinch. This time, you couldn’t resist a mischievous slap to the same spot. The sound of your palm against his clothing was sharp in the quiet, drawing a few raised eyebrows from the nearby nobles. Their murmurs grew softer, but the silence between you and Elrond stretched taut as a bowstring. Elrond’s face flushed deeper now, his eyes widening with a quiet surprise, but he didn’t move right away. His usual calm remained in place, even as he seemed to battle with the unexpectedness of your actions. With deliberate slowness, he placed a firm hand on your wrist, guiding it away from his body in a motion that was both gentle and firm. “Enough, my friend,” Elrond said, his voice soft but carrying the unmistakable weight of authority, though there was still a faint tremble in his voice, a sign of the tension you had created. “You must sober up before you get yourself into more trouble.”

✶ You laughed, a light, teasing sound that only seemed to make the tension in the air more palpable. You didn't fight him— his grip on your wrist was firm, but you allowed him to move your hand away. Still, you weren't finished. The wine had filled you with more than just a sense of boldness-it had sparked something playful, something reckless. You took another step closer, this time slipping your arm around his, hooking it casually, a move that was as much for you as it was to keep Elrond near. "You're too serious," you teased, your voice lighter now, yet laced with an underlying current of something more. “I think we need a little distraction before you turn into a statue." Elrond raised an eyebrow at you, his lips pressing together in a tight line, though the flush on his cheeks hadn't entirely faded. He didn't pull away, but he did shift his stance ever so slightly, his arm becoming more rigid in your grasp. "You need to learn to behave," he said, his voice carrying that subtle teasing note that was becoming more pronounced as the night wore on. But despite his words, there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes, a glimmer of something unspoken.

✶ You grinned, the heat between you two palpable now, even as the crowd of nobles began to disperse, their attention returning to the festivities, though a few still stole glances in your direction. Elrond was still the dignified Lord of Rivendell, but the careful restraint he wore was now tempered with something else-something more human, more relatable, and maybe even more dangerous than the calm persona he usually displayed. "I'm afraid I can't promise to behave," you said mischievously, your eyes dancing with the thrill of your own boldness. "Not tonight. Not when you're so irresistible." Elrond sighed, though there was a quiet, amused glint in his eyes as he finally gave in to the playful pull between you two. He shifted his stance, his arm gently guiding yours to straighten it as he led you toward a quieter corner of the festival. "Then I shall have to guide you away from more mischief," he said, his voice still calm, but his fingers now subtly guiding yours, as though ensuring you didn't slip back into your previous boldness. "But I will not stop you entirely. For now." The music continued to play, the stars overhead continued their dance, and the laughter of the festival returned to its rhythm, but now, in the stillness of the moment, a quiet understanding passed between you and Elrond-one that had shifted from playful teasing to something far more intimate, even if neither of you fully realized yet how far it would go. The night was far from over, and the stars above still held their secrets. And so, you continued the evening in the company of the Lord of Rivendell-his arm still guiding yours, but with the lingering question of where this unexpected shift would lead. Would he resist the growing tension between you, or would the night, like the stars, reveal something deeper, something more? Only time would tell.

[morganas-pendragons]

sweet and soft | elrond peredhel

okay LISTEN

I read this prompt about the elves ears DAYS ago and it has not left me alone. it being their most sensitive part of their body along with touching their ears meaning you want courtship.... and I then had a dream about this with Elrond

not a drop of angst in here, I want to kiss him so bad

enjoy!

***

Sunlight cradles the two of you from where you sit among the gardens in Lindon. It is a rare day where the High King has given Elrond reprieve from his duties as Herald, and you both took the opportunity to spend the time together in the gardens where you’d met.

Elrond only had one condition: You had to play for him. As your skill with a violin was renowned, you’d earned your place as High King Gil-Galad’s violinist who was often called upon for important events. It was what had initially drawn Elrond to you, seeing you playing at Gil-Galad's feast.

That was almost six months ago. Now you find yourself enraptured by the Half-Elven man with his head in your lap, your fingers idly carding through unruly curls as you recite lines of poetry from the book he’d brought to read.

Your first mistake in being so engrossed in your poetry is that you miss Elrond’s breathing hitch when your fingers ghost the tips of his ears. He is aware, as are you, what the implications are behind touching the ears of another elf. Elrond has never made the depth of his feelings for you known.

He is cognizant of one detail, at minimum. Elrond wants to court you.

He is also aware that his cheeks are burning as he turns to press his head into your thigh.

Your fingers curl just beneath the neckline of his shirt before dancing upward once again and repeating the same motion. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond catches the faint smile upturning your lips as you peer down to meet his gaze. His eyes are astonishing already, but washed in the glow of the morning sun, he almost seems as if he is sent straight from the Valar themselves.

“Is something wrong, Elrond?” You ask innocently. He reaches up to snap the poetry book shut, allowing him the opportunity to sit up and face you. “I thought you were enjoying the poetry. This is our weekly routine, after all.”

He takes those next few beats of silence to allow his eyes to sweep across your face. Elrond has known you to be somewhat of a mischievous person, feigning innocence and naivety in situations where repercussions are demanded if fault is admitted.

“I was simply admiring the person who chooses to spend their waking hours with me instead of making practical use of their time,” Elrond remarks, voice stuttering as you curled your fingers into the lengthening curls at his temples to tug him close to you. “And how devious you are.”

You grin widely at him. Elrond is the only person you have ever allowed yourself to be genuine with. Being in Gil-Galad’s favor means that you so often have to wear a practiced facade of grace and poise. There is no room for child like behaviors.

Being with Elrond allows you to truly, truly embrace the very being of who you are. That is one of the many characteristics you have come to love about him.

“Me? Devious? Surely you are joking." You tease. "All I did was-“

He catches your hand before you can do it again. The two of you sit there in silence for a brief moment as you stare at your hand caught in his own. It’s the first time he’s really taken it. Sure, the two of you have walked with one another in these gardens plenty of times, but only as friends.

You have wanted Elrond for what feels like lifetimes. For the sake of yourself and for him as parts of Gil-Galad’s court, you chose to love him from afar. You didn’t want to impose upon Elrond. He already carried enough.

However, given the way he’s looking at you, part of you quietly wonders if he feels the same way and chose not to speak it for fear of your rejection.

Elrond takes each one of your fingers and spreads them apart, laying a kiss on each fingertip before enclosing your hand with his own. Your breath stuttered in your chest as he leaned impossibly closer.

“You know what it means to touch the ears of another elf,” Elrond said lowly. It almost sounds like barely concealed restraint. “Do not tread upon a path you do not wish to walk down.”

You hum softly and grab his chin with your fingers so he will look at you. Trepidation lingers in the depths of the gray irises that stare back into yours. “And if it is a path I wish to tread upon?” You whisper. “Let it be my choice.”

Elrond shudders as your fingers trail upward to tangle in his hair again, and he finds himself unable to breathe as you slowly shift your positions so you can settle yourself into his lap. It's a bold move considering you have done little else outside of resting your head on his shoulder and holding his arm as you venture Lindon's gardens. You're quietly praying that you have not overstepped a boundary.

Elrond doesn’t push you away. He welcomes it. He welcomes you.

He tries to focus on the sights around him to avoid the fear of disappointing you lingering in the back of his mind. You are a sight to behold among Lindon’s gardens. Despite the wonders of the sights around him, none of the flora and fauna that have grown here over the centuries are comparable to you.

“Hey,” You call softly. “Where did you go, nin mel?”

Elrond is not usually one to fumble over his words, but they roll off his tongue before he can stop his rambling, “I do not want to bring any disappointment if I am not what you wish me to be.”

You’d be lying if you said the statement didn’t make you melt. He was so earnest and sweet when it came to ensuring he lived up to what other people wanted but so often gave himself such little credit. “Elrond,” You began, taking his hands into your own to press them against your waist. “I have wanted you for so long. You could never disappoint me, meleth nin.”

You bend your head to the juncture where his jaw meets his neck and place a kiss thereupon. As you anticipate, Elrond groans low in his throat and grasps you more tightly. “Please,” He breathes, breath hot against your ear as you drum your fingers against his neck. “Please touch me.”

It was the closest to a declaration you were going to get at that moment. He wants you to be near to him, to touch him, to be witness to the rawest and most vulnerable parts that he so often hid from everyone else. He had to hide. Who would want to see the human side of the Half-Elven Herald of the King?

You tilt your head and gently graze your fingertips over his ears as he bends his own head to meet your mouth halfway. It's cataclysmic. You've been dreaming about this moment since the first time he asked you to play for him at the very end of one of Gil-Galad's feasts with the other elves who dwelt in Lindon.

Elrond shudders as you come together and lifts a hand to touch your jaw just beneath your own ear.

The action alone causes you to gasp just enough for him to take the opportunity to kiss you more deeply, licking into your mouth with a low groan as you wind your fingers through his hair.

"Elrond," You breathe. The two of you pull away just enough to feel the warm breath of the other on your skin, your fingers twirling circles against his temples as he worked at undoing the braids that hung over your shoulders. You want more of him. You want to bury yourself in his heart and never let anyone hurt him again. "That was-"

"I would very much like to do it again. And again, and again, until you are rendered breathless," Elrond whispers, reaching to the side to pluck a lily from the flower bed before tucking it behind your ear. There is hope lingering on the edge of his tone as he looks at you. A hidden promise for something that you both can chase, not a futile dream he has to chase alone. "But only after I hear you play."

You stand to your feet and motion for the violin case beside him. "One on condition," You reply as you tuck your chin into the base of the instrument and poise your bow against its strings. "There must be more kisses at the end of this song."

You swallow the knot in your throat as the melody begins to echo in the gardens, allowing Elrond the opportunity to lean back on his elbows and peer up at you from his spot on the blanket. "I believe that can be arranged. Is there anything else?" He asks innocently. You raise a brow and pause as his shirt shifts to reveal the skin beneath. Warm, tanned skin that you wanted to... "You're staring. You're going to mess up your song."

"You are distracting me." You retort. "I do have one more condition."

There are several beats of silence between you two as Elrond goes quietly, enraptured by the melody that seems to encompass your entire being as if it comes from the very heart of you. You are the very essence of what makes music beautiful.

When your final note decrescendos into the serenity of the garden's life around you is when you open your eyes to look at Elrond once again.

"What's that final condition?" Elrond asks.

"A date, Elrond Peredhel." You muse, leaning down to return your violin to its case before swooping in to press a kiss to reddened cheeks. "Anywhere and any time. I will leave the rest up to you."

He does not dare move as he watches you walk back towards your rooms. You truly are a marvel, a sight to behold. You are the brightest light that has entered his life since he lost Elros. He would not dare to dim that light.

"Anytime and anywhere," He whispers to himself as he traces his fingers over his cheek. "For all my life-time."

[queers-gambit]

Commander

prompt: ( requested ) being on opposite sides of the Rings eventually sends your husband back into your arms, and between your legs. haha, nice.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.6k+

note: it is NOT said (that i've heard) that Elrond wears his father's cloak - that's just author being sentimental.

warnings: not edited, some obvious angst, mostly hurt and comfort, romance, established relationship, small relationship angst, smut, is this a Commander kink? i'm not sure. small spoilers, sibling reader.

bonus

The trees of Lindon glimmered gold and winked in the sunlight as vibrant veins of restored Light flowed through them all. It was a gorgeous sight; one you were happy to bask in after nearly losing it to the dark depths of evil corrupting Middle-earth. The only reason you had this glorious sight of twinkling beauty was because you had alined yourself with Galadriel and Celebrimbor about the distribution and use of the Elven Rings of Power - though you did not wish to claim one.

You merely desired the salvation of your people on this Middle-earth the Valar gifted The Children of Ilúvatar.

In order to support the Rings, you had to oppose the only person you had ever loved unconditionally, and nothing hurt like that. Despite the pain, disruption, turmoil, the angst it put you and Elrond through, you did not waver in your opinion - but he did not relent in his stance, either.

That was usually a quality you adored in your husband; how stubborn, strong, enduring, passionate, educated, and unrelenting he was. Yet for this, you were beyond frustrated.

You remembered the look of utter betrayal in his eyes when he stormed away the day the Rings were all claimed by Círdan, Gil-Galad, and Galadriel. He couldn't look at you, on those stairs, opposing him and defending the Rings. So, he fled the scene - unable to hide how displeased, unhappy, and horrified he felt.

After that, the two of you began to bicker over simple, common, mundane, marital situations; he instigated fights, prolonged arguments, even lit purposeful fires to force you into verbal altercations. You argued endlessly, needlessly, heatedly about things that voices didn't need raised for. Tension followed you everywhere, filled every room, and after just a few nights... Elrond decided he couldn't sleep in your shared chambers any longer.

You had returned from duty to find him sending several cases of his personal belongings away, freezing when he realized you had caught him. He looked akin to a startled animal. "I did not mean for you to see this," he offered stiffly as if embarrassed, "I-I thought you were on patrol."

"I was switched to the nightshift," you explained meekly, watching servants stream from the room with their arms full of his desired effects. "W-What's going on? What're you doing?"

Elrond sighed, unable to meet your eyes for several long minutes. Then, he licked his lips, nodded, and told you, "I just figured, considering the state of affairs, we'd benefit - "

"Our marriage isn't an 'affair', Elrond!" You snapped, tears filling your eyes. "We're just in a strange state, couples are allowed to disagree, there's a lot unknown - "

"I can't stay here anymore, love, and watch how much I'm hurting you," his head shook. "You think you're silent, but I hear your weeping. I know you avoid coming to bed because I'm there first. You used to pin my robes in the morning, and now, I'm lucky if I even catch a glimpse of your skirt as you rush out the door as I wake. We're not happy anymore, Y/N..."

You froze, lungs shriveling into nothing, shock pumping into your system. "Yo-You're not happy?" You stuttered, stumbling back a couple steps as if he had brandished a sword.

Elrond just stared at you, asking, "Are you? Truly?"

"Generally, yes! I am certainly not so unhappy that I want us apart! This is just a difficult position we're in, but we will get past it, Elrond, we always do!"

"This isn't just a difficult position," he snapped, shocking you back another single step. "We're at odds, starshine, and I hate to admit it. But this is bigger than us, than our love - this is fundamental - "

"And about more than us! Yes! That's what I'm thinking of, Elrond, our people!"

"And what of Sauron? What of his influence upon the Rings!?"

"What of the good they've done? What of the connection?"

"What do you mean - "

"Galadriel!" You snapped. "The obvious connection the Ring amplifies within her! There is a grave new sense she and the other Ringer Bearers have. She can use this Ring to-to-to sense evil, perhaps even see ahead of the enemy! It might be his influence, but aren't we stronger? Stronger than him, together?"

"Those who wear the Rings - "

"You speak of your former mentor, the Elven High King, and your greatest friend. Which of them will you predict to fall?"

"After Galadriel’s already fallen prey - "

"But she is the wiser, the stronger for it! She is thrice as determined before! Why must these Rings divide us, Elrond? Why can we not simply say we leave all politics at the door when we are together?"

Sadly, slowly, he shuffled closer and reached out to caress your cheek. "I love you, my star," he reminded, "but in knowing your stance, I cannot allow us to continue being so destructive to each other. Support the Rings, my love," he lowered his forehead to yours, "but I cannot stand at your side while you do so... Not when I know of Sauron's influence..."

You pulled back, sniffling down the tears that surfaced to nod with a sarcastic smile. "I thought when we took our vows of matrimony, we'd hold true... But I can see, you do not intend to see us through this bog."

"That's where you're wrong," he snarled, stepping closer to hold both of your upper arms and jostle you slightly, "don't you see? Don't you understand? We need the space or we'll keep hurting one another, and I don't know if there's a way for us to heal after that. As of now, we stand a chance, but only if we curate distance - so we need to proceed individually as we need best."

His reasoning was logical, but you were beyond hurt by his departure. Perhaps it was for the best; especially when the High King decided to send a scouting party after Sauron, anointing Elrond as Commander, and upon the news, you panicked. Like, fully broke down in worried tears, alone. Yet you did not go to him, you did not speak out, you just accepted the High King's command and gathered in the courtyard with any other loved ones wishing the company safe travels.

Yet Elrond just looked at you sadly and lifted his hand in parting before turning to lead his comrades out of Lindon.

You shed a single tear as High King Gil-galad was felt at your flank, slowly entering your peripheral. "They have passed out of my sight," you informed him, voice trembling.

"I know of the strife between you and Commander Elrond..." the King trailed off, "But I would like to commend you for remaining a pillar in your belief. These Rings," he showed his, "are a power and force we do not yet understand in full."

"Perhaps, in time," you agreed, sniffling. "If you would excuse me, my King."

He agreed, letting you go; and all you could do was return to your chambers and throw yourself into your pillows for a good cry. After a single day or moping, you got up and got back to work; working with the other trusted advisors to devise battle strategies, evacuation plans, and whatever else you could do preemptively. You didn't know how long Elrond was gone for because after leaving your chambers, you scarcely saw him - something you suspect was on purpose. All you knew was that he was gone and you missed him.

"Sister!"

You looked up when Tinnriel, or Tinnie, rushed into the council room. "What's wrong?" You asked in alarm, straightening up to take her in arms.

"I-I saw - I saw Elrond - he's on his way here - "

"Slow down," you pleaded.

"Something's wrong!" She sneered at you, pushing your arms down. "I've been telling you for weeks! But you do not listen! To myself or your husband!"

"Oh, not this again, Tinnie, I've told you - "

"That it is paranoia, yes, I've heard you, but you and Elrond are at odds! That's not my paranoia! You two never feud, he's been gone days and now returns, looking worse for wear!"

"High King, I apologize for my sister's interruption - "

"She's not wrong," Gil-galad muttered, making you pause.

"My King?"

"You are not wrong, Tinnie," He addressed your sister, finding her eyes and holding her hostage by a single look, "for I have felt the darkness, too. There is something amiss, I will agree, but..."

"It is the Rings!" She insisted.

"Oh, not this again!" You snarled, seizing her upper arm. "Out! Now! You will still your tongue before the King!"

"High King!" You heard Elrond calling, rushing down the hall you were surging up. He spoke your name, "Where are you going?"

"To have a word - "

"This is much more important. Trust me, please! With me, now!" He breezed past you, but caught your free arm in his hold - pulling you after him and forcing you to release Tinnie. "High King," Elrond addressed as he lead you back into the room, your younger sister lingering in the doorway to listen, "the Orcs are not in Mordor."

"Elrond, our reports - "

"We've encountered them!" Elrond cut you off, making you silence yourself out of sheer curiosity; not accustomed to seeing him so disheveled and manic... So authoritative. "A legion of them are headed for Eregion." He pulled out Nenya, showing the King, "My wife and Galadriel were right! They were right! You must send the army to Eregion this moment."

Your head bowed in disappointment, wishing beyond wishful thought that you had been gifted with foresight - then you could've seen this, withheld the Elven Armies from marching to Mordor, been better prepared. Elrond noted your silence first, ready to question you, when the High King stiffly informed, "That will not be possible. I have reason to believe that Sauron is the architect of all this."

Choosing his words carefully, Elrond argued slightly, "High King, Eregion is the very jewel of Elvendom. If it were to fall, it would be a mortal blow for all in Middle-earth. You must send aid!"

"Our armies cannot defeat both Adar and Sauron. Not alone."

Something clicked in your mind, straightening up and taking hold of Elrond's arm. You bowed your head in agreement, "Of course, High King, we understand. Allow me the day to catch my husband up on recent events, we might reconvene later - "

"I shall send for you when a decision has been made," Gil-galad waved off, you all but shoving Elrond from the room; almost tripping over Tinnie.

"Go, go, go, just go," you muttered to the two in Sindarin, releasing Elrond's arm - surprise coloring your features when he snatched your hand into his. Yet you did not comment. At the end of the hall, you halted them both, being aware of the stationed guards, keeping your voice low, "Tinnie, go attend to the rest of Commander Elrond's company. I imagine they'll need food, rest, perhaps aid?"

"Camnir was shot with an arrow..." Elrond muttered, "But Galadriel healed him."

"How?" Tinnie squeaked.

"Nenya... I saw it myself..."

You sighed, "Tinnie, please?"

She nodded, "Shall I speak to them?"

"They will want to give their account, please take record for the King," you instructed, Elrond's hand tightening in yours almost unconsciously.

"What're you going to do?"

"Speak with my husband," you sighed.

"No, I mean... If you and Galadriel were right, if the Orcs are marching on Eregion... What're you going to do?"

"We have much to discuss before a decision can be made," Elrond told her, tone hardened, "now, please, Tinnie, go."

Tinnie noticed the darker, deeper baritone to his voice and instantly nodded and scurried away towards the front gates. "How far back did you leave your company?" You asked softly, watching the last of Tinnie's skirts sweep around the corner.

"Far enough. Come," he directed, turning to start down the pathway; leading you towards the quarters you once shared. Yet before you could enter, you reared back; yanking his hand, his concerned expression turning down in gentle aggravation. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"You don't live here anymore."

Elrond heaved a great sigh, turning to you, "Truly? You wish to do this now?"

"For weeks, you've picked arguments. You've been combative, irritable, spiteful. You... You chose a ring over me - "

"That's not true - "

"How would you phrase it then!?"

"I chose ethics! Morality! You chose a Ring of Power, not just a ring!" He barked at you, both cracking under the pressure the Ring had subjected your marriage to.

"And look where it lead! You come storming in, declaring Galadriel and I are right to the High King, and now... Now it sounds as if you still defend your decision!"

"I do."

You shook off his grip, "Then perhaps we might find somewhere more neutral to discuss matters?"

Elrond heaved a sigh, "What's wrong with our rooms - your rooms? What's wrong with your rooms?"

"Exactly that, they're mine. Not ours. It seems, no matter where I look, I am reminded that my husband didn't love me enough - "

"Don't you ever say that again!" Elrond snarled, leering over you; back to a bannister, bending you back slightly as you refused to back down - keeping him in front of you. He was heaving for breath, body trembling; proximity allowing you to count the pores clogged by dirt, blood, and grime. "You may hold all the anger you wish, but never accuse me of something so heinous, impossible, untrue. So unfathomable."

"Then prove me wrong!" You fired back, shoving at his abdomen to force him back a step so you could righten yourself off the bannister. "You proved to me your anger, now prove your love! Your remorse! Show me an apology, do not just say it! You looked at me with such hate, Elrond, and you left our rooms, you left me - over a matter of opinion! Do you know what that felt like? What pain that caused? You swore to me - "

"I know what our vows were!" He snapped, tears tinging his eyes red; the air hot between your mouths as you both seethed in anger. "I know what we promised, but never did I think Sauron would return, let alone offer such threat!"

"I am beginning to think you are angry about something else! Is it Galadriel - "

"It's me!"

You were startled into silence, his voice echoing down the hall as his facial expression turned angry. Elrond turned from you to pace himself in a semi-circle, and for whatever reason, you softly questioned, "Where's your cloak?"

"What?" Elrond scoffed, having created distance that you closed to lay your hand on his bicep.

"Your father's cloak, Elrond, where is it?"

"I do not know - I don't..." His head shook, looking annoyed with himself. So, you sighed and nodded, dropped your hand to his and laced your fingers together before leading him into your quarters. "Don't - "

"Just come in," you nudged his shoulder, encouraging him into the room as you shut the doors and drew all curtains to keep your conversation private. You locked the main doors.

"You rearranged?" He noted, stalking around the room; slotting himself between furniture as he silently judged it all.

"Just trying something new, I can't sleep most nights and need something to occupy my mind," you explained, shutting the balcony doors, too. With a sigh, you spun on the spot and implored, "What did you mean, Elrond, when I questioned what you were angry about and said it's you? Please, talk to me. We did not talk about Nenya, and now..." You sighed deeply.

Elrond seemingly remembered he still had the Ring, looking at it in his flat palm with what you could only describe as terror. His eyes lifted to yours, asking, "Do you have a chain?"

With a nod, you ventured to your personal jewelry box and located a glittering braided chain; approaching him to gently drop it in a coiled pile beside Nenya. His hand shook, hating the feeling of the Ring... So, you gently took his hand to steady it and asked, "Tell me what you meant."

Elrond watched you thread the Ring onto the chain. "You're right, thinking my anger is sourced elsewhere... It's not Galadriel, per se - though, I am angry, for varying reasons. But it's me - I'm angry at myself."

"Why?"

"I did not see..."

You lifted the two ends of the chain slowly to his chest, but when he flinched, you reminded, "Galadriel entrusted it to you, nobody else should keep it." He nodded in acceptance, so, you lifted the necklace again, asking, "What didn't you see, Elrond?"

"Halbrand... While in Eregion, making the Rings, he helped Lord Celebrimbor and I, it was... He was there the whole time... So very present, innocent - feigning a King of Men - "

"Halbrand is Sauron."

"He is," Elrond confirmed, "and I did not see it."

"You are angry Sauron the Deceiver deceived you!?" You gaped, hooking the chain and retracting your arms. "Elrond, do you hear yourself? You are victim, none of you knew!"

"But the Rings - they work! You were right!"

"Elrond - "

"It's why I'm angry," he admitted, "because the Rings work, I've seen it, but also because I did not see Sauron for who he was."

"None of us did," you whispered, seeing the struggle behind his eyes.

"I couldn't protect them, either."

"Who?"

"Well, now, none of us - but Lord Celebrimbor and Galadriel specifically; they were with us, with Sauron. I..." He sighed deeply, "I did not see, now we all suffer - "

"We do not suffer, we are fighting back," you cut him off now, his sad eyes finding yours. "And you, our Commander, because you alone feel responsible for our entire salvation. You will lead us, Elrond," his head shook in refusal, making you insist, "no, listen - hear my words. You will lead our people, command legions of Elves, because you have proven strong and determined enough. Since you realized the truth of Sauron, you have fought tooth and nail for the rest of us - even me, you fought me - to see the truth. We have all been blinded, deceived, and now, we all must fight, but trust that the Rings... With the darkness they bring, they must also bring light - it is not just Sauron alone in them, but you all. Which means, in the grandest scheme, all your good overpowers Sauron's bad - proven by the Light of the Valar returning. By Camnir's rescue."

"I fought..." He whispered, reaching for your face - neither of you moving away, wanting the comfort, "At a time my words were needed most. And now, it's too late."

"It's never too late, Elrond, or have you not been paying attention?" You chortled lightly, sighing as you pet over his tunic; manicured nails gently fiddling with Nenya in admiration as it glimmered in the candlelight. "I... Had an idea I want your opinion on. Born of the High King's decision to send he army to Morodor..."

He nodded, stepping closer so his hand fully caressed your cheek and slid to hold the back of your neck. "Speak it," he whispered, "tell your Commander."

You could not repress the shiver of attraction even if you tried. He leered over you, holding you tenderly, close, pressing you closer as his eyes dared you to lose your train of thought. "We seek help... From the Dwarves, from Prince Durin," you whispered, "for they hold Sauron's Rings, they will need our aid in time - we just need theirs first."

"You would have me go above our King?"

"I would have you lead us, Commander."

Elrond smirked slightly, free arm coiling around your waist to hoist you into his embrace. "Something sounds as if you... Like this new position of mine?"

"It suits you - authority, I mean."

"Oh?"

"Being decisive," you listed as Elrond moved forward, walking you backward, "assertive, argumentative... It's a good look."

"Then are you ready to listen to your Commander?"

"At once, sir."

He paused you, lips hovering over yours; demanding of your ears only, "Strip."

"My Lord - "

"Aht," he tutted, pulling back; leaving you cemented in place.

"Commander," you amended, watching him nod subtly. Slowly, your hands lifted to start unlacing your corset; his eyes dark and concentrated, watching each movement you made. Elrond stood with his shoulders squared, hands clasped in front of him, feet spread apart; ensuring you were operating to his level of completion.

"All of it," he told you when down to your small clothes; pausing your venture onto the bed behind you.

So, you stripped those off, too. He nodded in approval, watching you teasingly turn to crawl onto the bed and settle in the middle of the mattress - facing him. Elrond's eyes locked with yours, only straying when your legs slowly spread to reveal your sweetest point for his viewing pleasure. His shoulders heaved upward as he drew in breath, lifting his chin, eyes darting around to note the speckling of honey collecting between your legs.

"Touch yourself," Elrond demanded, reaching for his weapons belt and unhooking it.

"Where, Commander?"

He smirked and simply repeated, "Touch. Yourself. If you can't take direction..."

You didn't question him again, watching him slowly unlatch the belts and hooks of his uniform; deft fingers rubbing through your wetness as others came up to pinch your nipple and roll the bud. Elrond shed his boots, discarding them to the side; tunics yanked from his bare torso, leaving the glittering jewelry around his neck. A moan escaped as you dipped your fingers within your cunt as Elrond ripped his trousers open - then paused. He admired the sight of you splayed out, both hands at work, watching him undress.

In Sindarin, Elrond questioned, "Are we still at odds, my starlight?"

You whined, replying, "If you're not inside me in the next minute, Commander, we will be."

Elrond chuckled and shucked his trousers from his hips, down his thighs, then stepping out of them. "Do you forgive me, my star?"

"Nothing to forgive."

"Don't feed me that," he reprimanded, stepping up to mount the bed; his own hand beginning to fondle his reddening cock, stroking himself to straining life. "I have wronged you and your Commander intends to show he is remorseful. Tell him how."

"Move back in," you pleaded, reaching for him as he allowed himself to hover over you, "and do not leave me - not again."

His breath exhaled against your lips, settling to lay against you while a single leg bent to secure his hips on yours. "Never," Elrond agreed, "but I'll need to hear you say it."

"Is that a command?"

Elrond smirked and lined himself up to notch his cockhead at your cunt's mouth; sinking in as he answered, "Of course, it is." You gasped and slapped a hand up to hold his flushing neck, mouth wide at the familiar sting; public hair grinding together as his balls pinned between you, cock fully sheathed. "You've been given a command, my star," he grunted in your ear, "don't disappoint your Commander now."

Like all Elves, your ears had increased sensitivity; creating a legion of goose flesh to shoot across your flesh. Without breath, you affirmed in his ear, "I-I forgive you - fuck - I forgive you, my love. Don't leave me," you whimpered, "and I forgive you."

"What side do you remain?"

You whined, "Yours, yours, my husband, I remain on your side, Commander."

"And will you obey your Commander?"

"Until the end," you nodded, his lips finally findings yours. A sharp whimper ripped from your lungs as Elrond retracted his hips, thrusting into you at his own set, even pace; lips messily sliding against each other from tongues and spit. "You were gone too long," you managed to whisper.

"We won't be apart that long again," he grit, grunting as he held your thigh in a bruising-grip, "I swear it - "

"You can't - "

"I swear it," he gnashed your bottom lip between his teeth, making you gasp in pain and shock before moaning when he suckled at the mark. Softly, he released your lips, whispering, "I promise, we won't be. We go together from now on."

Nenya dangled between you, tracing around your chest from his aggressive thrusting; you agreeing with a nod, "Together."

"Now," Elrond grunted, "'M not gonna last, pet, gonna need you t'cum with me - together."

"Yes, Commander," you moaned, seeing the way his eyes fluttered; cheeks, neck, and ears blushing bright as his orgasm mounted, trying in vain to hold back. Seeing the almost involuntary reaction your words caused, your hand found Elrond's cheek and directed his eyes to yours, encouraging, "I'm so close, Commander, you make me feel so good, so full, it's been so long - too long! I'm right there, my love, my Commander, please - "

"Ah," Elrond hissed through his teeth, "yes, love, I'm there, too; right there, right there - "

"Cum in me... That's a command, Commander," you demanded in his ear, and it was all that was wrote. Elrond bucked wildly his last few thrusts, pinning you to the mattress; your own orgasm triggered by the flooding of warmth filling your too-empty womb.

"O-Oh," he stuttered, humping into you in languid thrusts before slowing to a shivering halt. You watched Elrond try to regulate his breathing, wrapping your arms around him in an instant to bring him in close; resting him on your chest while your one arm wrapped around him, the other threading into his curls. "I love you," he whispered into your flesh.

"I love you, too," you affirmed. Then, while toying with the sweat-curled ringlets of his hair, you mused softly, "You need a cut."

"You told me for years to grow it out, now you want me to cut it?"

"No, I don't want you to; I just know, you prefer a cleaner crop."

"I've... Grown fond of the look."

You smirked, "That is relieving to hear."

Elrond sighed and slowly lifted off you; only enough to help maneuver you so he didn't have to pullout of your cunt but could still hold you as the big spoon. "So... Prince Durin, is it?" He asked in your ear.

You smirked, "Why not? He is a friend, his father wields a Ring of Power... He would more incentive to help than others. And the Dwarves are formidable in battle, it could help turn the tides, by uniting the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. Elf, Dwarf, Man..."

"What alliance of Men would - "

"We do not speak of Men, we speak of Prince Durin," you reminded him; his face nuzzling into your neck. "I think you should go in person. To plead the severity of our situation, how dire the need for aid is. To convey our desperation."

"The High King - "

"Leave him to me," you insisted, holding his arms around you. "I know we just agreed to not part ways, but you need to parlay with Prince Durin and I will keep Gil-galad at bay. When Durin agrees to march to our aid in Eregion, we march our remaining forces against Adar and meet the Dwarves on the field."

"It sounds good..."

"But?"

"Is it possible?"

"We will have to work in tandem, but I would assume the King would not argue asking for aid. I'll inform him of your departure and intention after you've left."

His arms tightened, "We can speak of it more later. I just want to feel you in my arms - it's been too long."

"You will hear no such complaints from me."

After a moment, where you both spent it resettling and nuzzling into the peaceful silence, Elrond asked, "Do you... Do you think one of the company managed to find and grab my cloak?"

In amusement, you replied, "Oh, I'm sure."

"And that Tinnie would have it?"

"Knowing her, by now, surely," you mused, reaching up to pet his cheek; requesting, "now, I have gone too long without the feeling of you beside me and wish to rest."

"As you command, my love."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[curiouser--and--curiouser]

Elrond Peredhel A-Z Smut Headcanons

Kinktober 2024 - Week 1

Warnings: SMUT, switch!Elrond, dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, cum, anal play, toys, dirty talk, etc., x reader, gender neutral reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Such a sweet and attentive boy. Elrond is immediately up on his feet, getting whatever you may desire. Especially if you'd just had a more rough session, he would always double check he didn't hurt you and pamper you. Definitely his body's last hurrah before he eventually falls asleep in your arms.

On the flip side, if you'd taken control for the evening, he would be so appreciative of you taking care of him while he stared at you with loving, glassy eyes, bringing him back down to earth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Elrond likes (how much you like) his hands. They are the link between his mind and the page as a herald, and the thing to make you truly fall apart. Some of his favourite memories feature him crowding you against a wall with his fingers inside you, gently shushing you so you are not caught.

On you, Elrond always comes back to your hips. Stroking them, grabbing them, kissing up and down them. His hands are always at your hips: to manhandle your pliant body into a new position, or just hanging on for dear life as you make him lose his mind.

Also, just a quick point about Elven ears generally: definitely a major erogenous zone for all elves, so if you even lightly brush your lips against his ears, Elrond is ready to give his soul to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he actually sees it as a sign of connection between you both. Either cumming inside of you and mixing his with your own, or spilling all over both you and himself, he just can't help but stare down between you while trying to catch his breath.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The first time he ordered you to ride his thigh, he came in his pants. The sight of you getting yourself off on him, the power he had over you - it was too much for him. He tried his best to hide it as you were coming down from your own high.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Elven life is so long, so Elrond is undoubtedly fairly experienced, having a fair share of elves and mortals lured by his charm and good looks. But I feel he may not have ever been as experimental as he may have fantasised of late at night, stroking his cock at great pace. However, despite his long life, Elrond had never loved someone so much as you; he is slightly stunned the first time you make love, forgetting for a moment what to do and where to put his hands.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Below you. In awe. Watching you. Seeing you in control in any situation does things to him, and you on top of him, riding him, controlling him, choking him, makes him lose his mind. Nowhere in the whole of Valinor does Elrond expect to see something quite as beautiful as you over him with your head thrown back in pleasure. All he can do is wrap himself around you and hold on.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Elrond can go both ways. He can be all cute smiles and giggling, all in your own little world. Or deadly serious, purely focussed on you and the love you share.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't believe he is completely shaven, but the small amount of curly hair that is there is very nicely kept and groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Such a hopeless romantic. The first time, he decked out his rooms with rose petals, dimmed lights, silk sheets - everything to give you the most pleasurable and intimate experience for your first time together.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He would always just prefer to find you. But if he is ever away on a mission for Lindon, Elrond can't help but spend nearly every night one hand fisting his cock and the other covering his mouth, muffling his moans and whimpers. He will always take a reminder of you with him, and it stays firmly between his lips when he dreams of feeling your touch again.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

First and foremost, Elrond is a switch - he is overwhelmed the moment you stand over him and use an authoritative tone, but can have you in a puddle on the floor with once single command.

Hair pulling - those beautiful curly locks are too gorgeous to not run your fingers through and grab, and it makes Elrond's eyes roll back in his head every time. And if you ever pull him by his hair, either back to your lips or back to his work under the covers, he's going to cum right then and there.

Face sitting - Elrond would die a happy man, suffocated between your thighs. Nothing is too much for him - he just wants to do good for you - so give him all you've got and watch him buck his hips up and rut against the air like an animal.

Commander kink - need I say more? You were there when Gil-galad ordained him Commander Elrond, and the name immediately went straight through you - and he noticed. Now, he will do barely anything until you have sufficiently begged your commander to keep moving, before he finally slams into you with a power you never thought he could possess.

Overstimulation - it doesn't come out often, but when he is angry with you - and you can't help but fight back - Elrond has no choice but to teach you a lesson. Soon, he has you on his lap, your back to his chest, fingering you harshly as you cum over and over and over again. And he just keeps going, even as your head lolls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, baby, one more. Just give me one more. I want to hear those beautiful moans again. Look at you, finally being so good for your commander."

"Yes, Sir."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Sometimes the simplest is the best: in the confines of your shared rooms and marriage bed, you can take all the time you might desire with each other, completely uninterrupted and focussed on each other. Otherwise, he loves to spend a day with you in the woods; take a picnic, sing to you, and make love to you under the canopy of trees.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just the sight of you. Also, pretty sure Elrond has a competency kink. Seeing you working and succeeding and leading really makes him weak and submissive. And for any little doubts and anxieties that may crawl there way into his mind, just simply knowing you want him, and only him, really frees his soul.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't believe Elrond would ever be into impact play. He may sometimes grab you with hard hands and leave bruises on your hips, but he would never intentionally hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Elrond is without a doubt a skilled and enthusiastic lover. At any possible opportunity, he will go down on you (or otherwise beg to) and how could you say no to him? His tongue was moulded by the Valar themselves just for you and his eyes close in pleasure as he plays your every string like a lute. Also, he has no gag reflex.

On the other hand, Elrond absolutely loses his mind when you suck him off. He is so overwhelmed and can barely breathe. Definitely when you surprise him by undoing his pants and distract him from work at his desk. And definitely when he stands before you, you on your knees, tears streaming down your face, taking everything he gives you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Elrond has a lot of energy, so he can't help but use it sometimes, pounding into you with his lips connected to your neck. But his roughest side comes out when he is stressed from work or angry with the world, your face pushed into the pillows and body pinned to the bed as he takes you in whichever dark way he may desire. If he is in more of a romantic mood, he takes it slower, deeper, more sensual, wrapped up in each other's bodies. Usually slow and sensual, but loses his mind sometimes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He always needs you, so whenever and wherever possible. In great hallways in between his meetings with the King, pushed up against the wall (something he had been thinking of doing the entire meeting beforehand. In the gardens in a little secluded corner you know, shushing each other to be quiet between giggles and low moans.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If he isn't busy with work, Elrond is always down for a quickie. So, you have both taken a lot of risks in your time with regard to location. He was a bit cautious when you first got together about experimentation, but he has become (very) open with time. Elrond just wants to make you happy, and he will do nearly anything to make that happen.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Elves, y'all… The lot of them have the stamina of the Valar, so you happen to be of a race with any less endurance, then good luck… Elrond is no different: bouncing with boundless energy, ready to go again with very little rest time. He can go all night long. Insatiable.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't believe his own personal collection would be vast before getting together with you; his primary possession a small metal vibe he teases himself with to thoughts of you. However, he is excited to delve into your own collection, eager to find out what you like and don't like, and which he could persuade you to use on him. He never expected he would ever react like this, but the moment you mentioned it, it lit a fire in him... and so did those nipple clamps he found at the bottom of your box.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He dishes it out but he can't take it. You really both drive each other insane. Private whispers of dirty promises just before he is called away by Gil-galad, or intentionally low-cut robes that make him choke on air when you bend over - you are both insufferable.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's so loud, he just can't help himself. He gets lost in you and your body that he sometimes forgets he's making noises at all. Loud moans all the time, and delicate whimpers when you climb on top of him. But this transforms into low, feral growls when he is jealous or angry, his animalistic and possessive side coming out. Also, no one in the whole of Middle Earth can stop this man's constant dirty talk whispered in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I don't think Elrond had done a lot of anal play before meeting you. He had experiemented with himself, fingering himself with breathless gasps in the confines of his chambers. But never particularly with other people; he had always been more of a giver than a taker. It intrigued him, and you helped to bring him into the light. You started slow, trying to relax his nervous trembling, but soon he was thrusting back against you or the toy, eyes glossed over as you hit the just the right spot again and again. Now, it is a frequent feature of your nightlife together, where he can embrace his little subby side and let go to complete pleasure.

"Please, my love, more, I need more. Fuck. I need you so bad, please give me more, I can take it. I love you. Please."

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is not the longest, but has a fair girth and is slightly curved up in just the right way to make you see stars.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Definitely high. He's so in love. He will physically tell himself to calm it before meetings with the High King (more frequently than he'd like to admit), and then he is able to stay focussed on the job at hand. But when he is writing speeches - and ultimately calm in his beloved art - he can start to feel his mind wandering to you. All the strength in his body is needed to make sure all his work is finished before running off to find you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he has taken of you thoroughly, Elrond gets very sleepy. He tries his best to engage in pillow talk with you, but soon his eyes start to flutter close - not without them leaving your beautiful face.

[sun-snatcher]

Your take of Círdan being an old man who enjoys pestering people is my absolute fave bc yeah if I was the oldest elf alive I'd be a little shit half the time too for funzies

( credits to the lovely @peregrintook for this beautiful gifset ! )

✵ — WATER-DAMAGED!

summ.  Elrond arrives at Círdan’s workshop. He finds his heart instead. or:  The Herald and the Artisan fall in love. pairing.  elrond peredhel / f!reader  w.count.  1.2k (a lil baby!) a/n.  set in s2e1, friends-to-lovers kinda , fluff galore , mutual pining , Círdan being a thirdwheel (but highkey enjoying it because he’s a little shit like that)

       YOU’RE QUICK TO attempt to bundle Elrond up like a child when he’d arrived. 

Frantic, almost, at the sight of Lindon’s renowned Herald— drenched to the bone, head-to-toe, and dripping river water from his mess of curls, leaving puddles and a wet track wherever he went on the stone of the workshop.

“He’s not here yet,” is what you’d said, when he’d urged you for Master Círdan. The shipwright had gone off to appraise proper timber for the frames of the vessels prepared for Valinor, now that High King Gil-Galad has decreed preparations to set sail. 

“But he should return by nightfall, latest. So will you please sit down, Elr—”

“I cannot,” he overrides, wholly unconvincing through the chatter of his teeth. “You’ll be at risk if I stay.”

You blink. “…From who?”

“I—”

In the distance, a horse whinnies. 

Elrond tenses instantly.

“…Are you— hiding?” you realise, as he springs to his feet to make headway for the sidedoors. “Elrond, wait!”

“Thank you, truly, for your kindness, but I cannot allow the King’s Guard—”

“That was just Silef,” you say incredulously, muscling the door back shut and stubbornly standing in his way. “My mare, remember? From the stables just uphill?” 

A pause. 

He listens with pricked ears: gates of a stable door squeaking; hooves clopping from paddock ground onto pasture grass; the sound of grain and feed being chewed on, after a moment's pass. A notable absence of marching Elven armour and feet stamping its way downhill towards him. 

Just Silef. You’re right. He’d been paranoid. 

“Á quildessë, Elrond,” comes your quiet voice, gentler now as you chase to meet his anxious gaze. “I will make sure no one comes into this workshop, unless it’s Master Círdan himself,” you assure, resting your hands on his forearms. “Just please, sit down. You’re shaking.” 

…He is. He hadn’t even realised. 

It might have been adrenaline, or the bite of the cold from wind and water— but he’s trembling, nonetheless, like a leaf. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, much, much later, when you’d stoked the coals of the workshop hearth to life, and set him upon a wooden seat beside it.

From the open foyer of the atelier, the sea-reflected hues of the setting sun does little to hide the tentative worry in your features. Your voice is as gentle as the lap of tidewater. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I shouldn’t have… barged in.” 

I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place, and put you at risk for treason for harboring a dissenter.

The firelight paints your face in soft, flickering licks of ochre as you tenderly dry off the dampness in his hair, the water trickling down his face. “You were afraid,” you reason generously.

(You don’t tell him that he looks adorably… pitiful. With eyes like that of a kicked puppy, almost. Even worse that he looks half-drowned.)

Elrond doesn’t argue. You’ve always been a kind friend to him. So, so kind. Ever-ready and steadfast to extend an olive branch, impervious to tactlessness, or even offence, from the sheer tenacity of your patience. Elrond has always admired you for it. Elrond has always—

Liked you. Cared. Loved.

(Too much to allow himself to let you get caught in this tangle he’s been forced into.)

He lays a hand over yours, and you pause mid-wipe of a droplet down his lined jaw. His eyes are shut briefly, as if falling into the comfort of your touch— candid indulgence. It makes your heart stutter.

That you’re allowed a quiet moment to admire him this close, so much so you can see the rings of sundering blue in his eyes; or to touch him this affectionately, so much so you could feel the very change of temperature on his skin— 

You think you’ve been blessed with a handsome vision by the Valar themselves.

“You must be curious,” he says, voice a low murmur. His palm swallows yours entirely. His fingers are warm by now. (You shouldn’t notice such details— but you do. You’re an artisan, after all. Or perhaps hopeless romantic is a better suited term?) “But this is beyond even me.”

He slides your hand down, much to your dismay, and uncurls the pouch he’s been clutching onto since he arrived. Now that it’s infront of you, there’s a pull to it you can’t quite understand.

You reach, almost too keenly— 

—but you close his fingers around it instead.

If Elrond had shown any surprise, you didn’t notice. 

“Must be why you’ve sought out Master Círdan,” you muse, looking up at him. “If it’s beyond you, it’s most certainly beyond me, a mere shipwright’s apprentice.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Elrond adds quickly, realising how he must have come across. 

“I know,” you laugh, before he can take off into a tangent. (It’s bright and musical to Elrond’s ears— thinks if he could drown in its sound, he would have done so willingly.) “You forget I know you.”

Not entirely, he doesn’t say. You don’t know how much my heart sings to be near you. How much your presence— or the very thought of you, even— have always brought comfort to me. 

You don’t know how much I’ve been resisting the urge to kiss you since you first sat me down by the fire.

He feels a little smile coming, the kind he couldn’t help, that would light his whole face whenever he cast his gaze on you. “You do, don’t you?” he whispers, voice sinking into something almost— nostalgic, at the sudden unravelling of old memories shared with you throughout the age.

“Well, when it comes to Kingdom politicians…” you shrug teasingly. “As much as I’m allowed to be privy to.”

He barely laughs, too busy looking at you with rapt, reverent attention. It curls a timidness in your heart. “You are allowed all of me. Always.”

Something takes wing in your chest. Butterflies, maybe. Doves taking flight in your ribcage. 

As are you, to me.

At least, that's what you would’ve said, had your ears not caught the distant clop of hooves headed downwind towards the river edge. “Master Círdan is here,” you say instead, diverted. You recognise the huff of his steed anywhere.

You watch Elrond perk up and tune into the approach: the rustle of saddle and stirrups, the shuffle of robes and footsteps. When the doors squeak open and shut, the Kingdom’s shipwright finds the Kingdom’s herald standing in the heart of his own workshop.

“Elrond,” he says, by way of greeting. There’s naught a hint of surprise in his voice— Círdan had felt a call louder than the sea long before he’d arrived, and now he can understand it’s carried in the herald’s charge. “Have you come to seek a certain apprentice of mine?” he asks, regardless.

It’s playful. Knowing.

“He seeks you, Master Círdan,” you answer politely, rounding from the corner where you’d grabbed your spare pelerine cloak to pass to Elrond. “Here, to keep warm.”

“Thank you.”

You bow your head to them both. “I shall be at the lighthouse just across.”

Your fingertips brush against Elrond’s hand as you leave. It tarries; merely a millisecond— enough, however, for Círdan’s keen eyes to catch— before he watches you depart through the sidedoors to give them the privacy they needed. 

Elrond's hand flexes reflexively. Longingly.

A beat passes.

“…Are you sure it is still me you seek?” Círdan muses, brows shot to his hairline.

The tips of Elrond’s ears burn. 

[vaile-elenya]

listen... i have been thinking a lot about this post:

i don't know what it is exactly, but something about a frustrated Elrond almost yelling out, still gently, that he'd live for his love instead of dying for it, is very very touching for me.

last night i might have gotten a bit carried away, and i wrote a little something about that. it's my very first shot at writing a fanfic of my own so please bear with me!

it's under the break and on AO3 if anyone wants to read 🫶🏻

In the twilight of Imladris, as the stars began their nightly vigil, you stood on the balcony of Elrond’s chamber, your heart heavy with frustration and hurt. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of evening blooms, but tonight, the beauty of the valley seemed distant, overshadowed by the turmoil within.

Elrond stood a few paces away, his serene demeanor a stark contrast to the storm that brewed in your soul. The gentle sound of the Bruinen river, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the tension between you.

“Do you truly hold me in such low regard?” you challenged, your voice trembling with emotion. “Am I of such little consequence to you that you can remain unmoved as I bare my soul?”

Elrond’s eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his usually composed features. “You misunderstand me,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.

“No, I understand all too well,” you interrupted, your words cutting like a sharpened blade. “You, with your timeless wisdom and boundless patience, have already revealed your true feelings. I ask again: would you be willing to lay down your life for me, for all of us, or does fear restrain you?”

For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, as if a dam had broken, Elrond’s composure shattered. His eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice rising in desperation. How could you not see? How could you not know that every moment with you was etched into his very soul? He could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions.

“To die for love is simple!” he nearly screamed, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of longing and regret. “A brief surrender of mortal coil to the embrace of eternity,” he added while the soft moonlight cast shadows upon his features, accentuating the lines of sorrow etched upon his noble visage.

“But to live, to truly live, is so much greater! For you, I would live instead of die,” he looked at you, his gaze piercing through your soul, laying bare his raw emotions. You felt the depth of his admission, each syllable heavy with the burden of his unspoken devotion, and the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if bearing witness to his words.

“Do you not see the love, as brilliant as the leaves of Laurelin, that shines forth from my eyes each time I cast them upon you?” he asked desperately, on the edge of weeping. Elrond’s voice cracked, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “Are you blinded to it?”

Not awaiting your response, Elrond turned his gaze towards the lofty trees, their branches murmuring in the gentle breeze. As the night deepened, Imladris lay shrouded in a serene glow, its gardens veiled in shadows that swayed gently in the flickering dance of firelight and the soft embrace of starlight. The fading remnants of daylight whispered their farewell, surrendering to the celestial canvas unfurling above, adorned with the sparkling jewels of the heavens. The tranquility of the valley belied the weight of its history, a history that Elrond bore witness to through the ages. Memories of battles fought, kingdoms risen and fallen, and the relentless march of time haunted his thoughts.

Torches blazed brightly, casting dancing shadows upon the ancient stone, their fiery tongues licking at the velvety darkness with a fierce determination as Elrond’s mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the Second Age, a time of great upheaval and sorrow.

“I have seen the glory of Númenor crumble beneath the weight of its own pride. Powerless I have stood as the Last Alliance marched to the very gates of Mordor, and I have borne witness to evils so immense that even the stoutest of our warriors could not withstand them,” he said, desperation building in his voice; his silvery eyes now shone with something you could not decipher. “I have gazed into the eyes of death countless times, her blades twisting within the depths of my wounded heart. So many of my kin have I lost to the ravages of war, their lives laid to rest in pursuit of a noble yet hopeless cause,” he took a step closer, his face now inches away from your own. “It is not the fear of death that prevents me from yielding to its embrace for you, meleth nîn.”

“You awaken within me the very spirit of endurance that Eru bestowed upon his children,” he paused, his gaze turning towards the fire illuminating the terrace. “A spirit that has waned over the long ages of my dwelling, and yet... your mere existence rekindles it.

“In your presence, I find a light that guides me, a reason to embrace each new dawn. My heart, though burdened with the weight of ages, finds solace and renewal in your faintest smile. To live for you is not a burden but a blessing, a path I would tread willingly, every day anew.”

Elrond’s hands delicately encompassed your face, and you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips, each point of contact a deliberate caress. There was a steadiness to his touch, a silent reassurance as if he sought to convey a message that words alone could not express.

“For you I would find joy in the simple pleasures that weave the intricate tapestry of our days. Through the darkest of hours, I shall cling onto hope, tending to each seedling of kindness as a gardener tends to his beloved blossoms. For you, I would dive willingly into that terrifying inkwell known as existence, with all its uncertainties and fears.”

“I would live for you.”

[the-fiction-witch]

After Dinner

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (wife) Rating - 18 + kissing/ nudity/ Word Count - 596

Elrond and Y/n arrived back at their elegant home in Lindon, a sense of contentment lingering from the memorable and eventful dinner with the high king, Prince Durin, and themselves. The clock had struck late, and the tranquil night was alive with the gentle flickering of fireflies in the garden just beyond their balcony. Y/n gracefully approached her ornate mirror, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating her features, and began the meticulous task of unravelling her long, lustrous curls from the meticulously crafted, jewel-encrusted updo she had fashioned for the esteemed royal gathering. With each delicate movement, her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the jewels glinting in the moonlight as they were carefully removed.

Elrond came up behind her and began massaging her shoulders. He worked out the tension there and began his hands slipping down and unlacing her gown.

she chuckled rather amused, "Yes?" She raised her eyebrow looking at him in her mirror

he leaned over her shoulder and nipped at her neck. “You looked so beautiful tonight,” he murmured against her skin. His hands continued to work, stripping her gown from her body then slipped inside and caressed the soft skin beneath. His lips trailed over her shoulder, down her back, his hands caressing her waist.

"Well I wanted to look nice. Not everyday we get to have dinner with the king. Much less so with Durin." She explained as she worked allowing him to work on her gown as it gave her one less task to do,

he reached down and finished untied the laces, the dress pooling around her feet. He pressed into her, his hands pulling her hips back against his, molding her body against his. All of her bare flesh against his still clothed body, “And you did.” he breathed against her neck, burying his face against her skin, inhaling her

when the dress and slip hit the floor she was bare but her star necklace that she’d worn since their wedding, "Did I do something to arouse such attention?" She chuckled,

he chuckled when he saw it still around her neck

Hardly. he replied, his hands roaming her body, tracing her curves. He moved her hair aside so he could lavish her neck with kisses. “You didn't have to do anything.” he murmured against her skin, his hands gliding up her stomach, stopping just below her breasts. “I always want to ravish you.” he turned her around to face him, his hands roaming her body, his eyes dark with lust. He pulled her flush against him, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue darting out, seeking entrance to her mouth,

she kissed back and allowed him entrance gently sucking on his tongue when he did as had long known the affected it had on him,

that small action was enough to drive him to the edge, his breathing deepening into a moan. His hands gripped her hips, needing something to hold on to. He walked her backwards to the bed, gently pushing her to sit on the edge of the mattress

she giggled as he almost tossed her on the sheets, she playfully kicked her feet before elrond crawled between them

he chuckled, grabbing her ankles to pin them down. He knelt between her parted legs, his body towering over hers, “You are too playful for your own good my love,” he captured her wrists with one hand, holding both above her head, “Now… let me show you what happens when you parade how beautiful you are in front of me all night.” He growled pinning her to the bed with his harsh and lustful kiss, 

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

King of the Forest-land

Elrond x reader. The name Taurdôr literally means forest land in Sindarin - or at least I hope!

This fic was previously titled Behind closed eyes I see you just the way you were.

*****

It was strange, Elrond mused as the carriage proceeded along the muddy terrain, how one could look forward to a certain event, after years spent hoping it would indeed take place one day and having counted the weeks and even the days leading to it, and at the same time feeling so nervous, anxiety mounting to such a degree the person in question couldn’t even sit still, that part of them would have wanted nothing better than turning around and forgetting the whole matter. 

This is how he felt as, peeking out of the horse-drawn vehicle and looking beyond the heavy rain curtain that surrounded him and his escort, he saw the gates of Taurdôr’s royal palace tower in front of him. 

As Elrond imagined, they were -well, he was- expected. He and his escort had passed the borders of the kingdom soon after dawn that day, and as a sign of trust towards the envoy of a kingdom their ruler was to hopefully establish diplomatic relations with soon, they had been allowed to proceed without Taurdôr’s soldiers accompanying them, but the captain of the border patrol had promised to send a dispatch rider to the palace to announce the ambassador’s imminent arrival. The messenger must have promptly carried out their task, because a small assembly had gathered in front of the gates to welcome them: a dozens of soldiers, their captain in the front, and five silk-robed courtiers, huddled under the canopy a pair of servants were holding above their heads to protect them from the rain. 

“Hail and well-met; we escort lord Elrond Half-Elven, ambassador of King Gil-Galad of Lindon.” the captain of Elrond’s escort announced formally. It had rained continuously since they had passed the borders of the kingdom, and the captain had begged Elrond to let them rent a carriage for him in one of the towns they had passed, because it wouldn’t do to have their King’s ambassador present himself to his host soaked to the bone and shivering for the cold. Elrond had acquiesced, recognizing the need to make a good first impression on his first diplomatic mission, even though he couldn’t help feeling guilty for the soldiers, who had been forced to brave the rain for hours, riding on as he sat, comfortable and dry, inside the small vehicle, reading the scrolls and letters he had brought from Lindon.

“Of course; welcome to our court, the ambassador was expected.” one of the courtiers answered courteously, the sound of his voice barely rising above the soft murmur of the rain. A moment later the door of the carriage was open, and the captain bowed to the passenger.

“We have arrived, my lord.”

“Thank you, captain.” Elrond answered; he smiled gratefully to her, and the other Elf answered in kind before stepping back, allowing him to dismount. Almost instantly, a second canopy appeared, allowing Elrond to take refuge under it without even having to lift the hood of his cape. 

“Welcome to our court, lord Elrond.” the same Elf who had spoken earlier greeted him; he was a blonde, relatively short individual, who bowed deeply before stepping back, an open smile on his face “I am lord Gwestor, part of Taurdôr’s council. We are grateful for your presence here.”

“Thank you, lord Gwestor.” Elrond replied, already put at ease by his interlocutor’s friendly disposition. Of course, the person he had to hope would be well-disposed towards him was Taurdôr’s king, not simply one of his councillors, but despite his nervousness, Elrond felt he had reason to feel optimistic; after all, according to the letters he had exchanged with Gil-Galad, Taurdôr’s new ruler was better inclined than his predecessor, and he had been the one to request the envoy of an ambassador, in order to build a diplomatic and hopefully military alliance between the two kingdoms. Whatever the King’s actual intentions and plans were, he wouldn’t have Elrond embark on a long journey, and send a representative of his to welcome him, just to refuse collaborating. Or would he?

“You must be exhausted; such a long and difficult journey.” Gwestor commented as he, having quickly introduced him to the other courtiers, led the guest towards the gates, the canopy fortunately large enough to cover both of them from the deluge that gave no sign of slowing down “And it has rained incessantly for days; truth to be told, we were relieved to learn you had reached our borders safe and sound.”

“That is very kind of you; we encountered no troubles along the way, and I was well-protected.” Elrond admitted, sighing inwardly as he felt himself stepping in a puddle, large and deep enough to drench his boots. The truth was, he was a more than competent warrior, capable of holding his own against most foes, but the absence of bandits ready to ambush them along the way had meant he had one less thing to worry about “Will you please make sure my escort is housed for the night? They deserve to rest much more than I do, and our horses as well.”

“Of course; the King has asked me to make sure you and your retinue have everything you need.”

They soon passed the gates, the other courtiers and the soldiers following them, and Gwestor led Elrond across a large circular courtyard, high buildings of white and pink stone surrounding it; in front of them stood an imposing staircase leading to the main entrance of the palace, the double doors surrounded by a small crowd of servants and courtiers.

Elrond’s heart leaped in his chest as he observed the many Elves arrayed in front of him; there were many females among them, both maids and ladies of the court, and he anxiously searched for a familiar faces among them -a pair of kind, expressive eyes, a smiling mouth, thick hair that eschewed any attempt to tame them- but to his disappointment he found none, strangers’ faces staring blankly at him. 

It wasn’t surprising, he had to admit in his heart. He and the person he had hoped to see had lost contact years before, he wasn’t even fully sure she still resired close to Taurdôr’s palace, perhaps she had even left the kingdom altogether; perhaps the friends she had made at court would be able to help him, tell him where he could write to her and propose they meet, but the person he was looking for, and hoping to see whom he had undertaken that long journey, was more than likely lost - safe and sound, hopefully, but beyond his reach, having probably forgotten about him altogether. She was probably married as well, with a devoted and loving spouse who had been quicker than him in realising their feelings and courting the object of their affection… 

Of course, he had much more pressing matters to attend to, Elrond reminded himself; it was his first mission as Lindon’s ambassador, and Gil-Galad had entrusted him with the task of building a closer, mutually beneficial relationship with Taurdôr, a remote kingdom famously jealous of its independence and that had long looked with suspicion at Lindon -and any other realm-’s offers for an alliance. 

Heartbreak and disappointment had to be put aside, for the moment at least; he had to focus on his duties, on making a good impression on the King of Taurdôr and convincing him that a military pact, or at least a trade agreement, with Lindon was in his people’s best interest as well. His mission was more important than any private matter; he would do his utmost to accomplish it, and then, at least, he could be satisfied with his work, even though he would never have the chance to confess his feelings to the person who had aroused them in him. 

“Shall I have the opportunity to meet your lord soon?” he inquired as he and Gwestor reached the top of the staircase, and the small crowd in front of them bowed as one before parting to admit the guest inside “I… fear I need to change my clothes, but…”

Gwestor looked at him kindly. “Our King looked forward to meeting you, and begs for your forgiveness, but unfortunately a conference with the kingdom’s guild masters had been scheduled for this afternoon. A room has been prepared for you, and you’ll have plenty of time to rest after your long journey, and our lord will be happy to meet you at dinner tonight. I hope this arrangement doesn’t displease you.”

Quite the opposite, it was perfect, Elrond decided, since a few hours to himself gave him the chance to take a rest, make himself presentable and gather his thoughts before the meeting with the King. “Dinnertime is more than convenient, thank you.”

Gwestor smiled; Elrond suddenly wished there were more Elves like him at Gil-Galad’s court. “I’m glad to hear that. Allow me to accompany you to your rooms; I very much hope you’ll enjoy your stay here in Taurdôr, my lord.”

Having crossed the palace’s large doors to a well-lit chamber, Elrond was finally safe from the pouring rain, even though a line of wet footprints followed him. He moved to follow his guide towards a long corridor, its walls covered by rich tapestries, and a moment later he hesitated; after all, in a sense, his mission wouldn’t officially begin until he met the King, so… “May I ask a question?” he inquired of Gwestor “Have you been residing here at court long?”

“Four or five centuries at least, even though I have admittedly lost count; I was cup-bearer to the previous King in my youth. Why do you ask?”

Elrond bit his lip, suddenly shy. “Well… it may sound strange, but I was wondering if you knew a person I was acquainted with, long ago; an Elf of Lindon, who moved here in Taurdôr years past, by the name of (name). She was a hunter, an Elf-woman with (hair/colour) hair, and a capable archer.”

If Gwestor found his question strange, or if he disapproved of the ambassador more focused on searching for his old friends than on the mission he had been sent to carry out, he didn’t betray his feelings. For a moment, he even seemed to smile.

“I do, in fact. I have met (name).” he answered “In fact, she still lives here, at court.”

Elrond’s heart leaped. “Are you serious?!” he inquired, unconcerned that any servant or lord of the court could hear him; he felt ready to embrace the other Elf.

“Quite serious, I assure you.” 

“Where is she? I… I know I’m here on official duty, but it would mean the world to me if I could talk to her…”

This time, Gwestor’s smile was open, almost amused. “You’ll meet her soon, I assure you.” he said “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

The lodging the King of Taurdôr had had prepared for him was more spacious and refined than Elrond’s rooms at home, with a bedroom large enough to accommodate the whole Lindon party, an almost equally ample washroom and a study with a bookcase full of tomes and scrolls; a young servant was waiting for Elrond when Gwestor accompanied him, ready to serve him in any way the ambassador requested. Flattered, the Half-Elf decided to interpret it as a sign of the good-will of the King who, beside fulfilling his duties as a host, was perhaps equally anxious to make a good impression on Gil-Galad’s envoy.

A hot bath had been prepared for him, and Elrond thoroughly enjoyed it, warming himself in the large tub while the servant took care of his bags, retrieved from the carriage, and damp clothes. He felt better already, he reflected as he used a scented oil to wash dirt and dust away from his hair and skin, more lucid and sure of himself, ready to meet the King and negotiate a treaty that would benefit both realms; there were a few documents Gil-Galad had entrusted him with that he wanted to review again before dinner, and maybe then he’d have time for a short nap on the almost ridiculously soft-looking bed in the adjoining room…   

Yes, everything would go well, and he’d soon return to Lindon having secured a stable alliance with Taurdôr. Resting his head against the brim of the tub, Elrond allowed himself to smile, joy and excitement filling his heart for reasons that went way beyond the prospect of the successful conclusion of his first diplomatic mission. 

He had found (name)! He still couldn’t believe it. Gwestor had said he would meet her soon, and Elrond felt he could trust him, even though the councillor had told him nothing about the Elf-woman he had missed so terribly, beyond confirming that she still lived at court. Were they friends? Or more than friends? Discovering that (name) had an intended, or worse a spouse, would have broken his heart, even if the Elf in question was a kind and friendly individual like Gwestor, but he couldn’t blame his friend for having pursued a relationship. Elrond was also aware that, with the two of them now living in different kingdoms, there was little chance (name) would accept his offer of courtship, even if there was no one in her life at the moment and he found the courage to tell her what he felt. 

Elrond sighed, his joy imperceptibly dimmed, as he lifted an arm from the water and contemplated the tiny drops falling from the tip of his fingers. Overall, the secret hopes that still burned in his heart, so many years after he and (name) had said good-bye, seemed unlikely to come true, he reflected, and the fault was entirely his. How could he not realise his feelings for (name) went beyond friendship, in the centuries they had spent together, meeting almost every day at the court of Lindon and happily spending their time in each other’s company? How could he think that there was nothing romantic about the way his heartbeat accelerated every time she took his hand or rested her cheek on his shoulder as they pored over a scroll or a book together?

It had been only after she had left, to move with her relatives in Taurdôr, that Elrond had felt a part of him was missing, and soon realised how special (name) had been for him - that he was in love with her, and would carry that affection in his heart forever. Galadriel, the only person he had confided his feelings in, had urged him to go after her, to travel to Taurdôr himself to tell her what he felt, or at least write her a letter, but the Half-Elf had decided not to; after all, (name) had moved away to help her sister, left alone with her children after the death of her spouse, and he would have felt the most egotistical Elf in Arda in asking her to return for him. 

Still, he would be happy to see her, even if she had already a spouse and a brood of children of her own; they hadn’t seen each other for so many years, but Elrond felt, in his heart, that (name) had not forgotten him, and the deep friendship and affection they had once shared. That night, after he had dined with the King and hopefully begun discussing the alliance, he would ask discreetly around for her, preferably if he happened to meet Gwestor again. And then he and his old friend could spend some time together, reminiscing about the years they had both spent at the court of Lindon, and perhaps promise to write to each other from then on.

While he couldn’t help wanting more, Elrond knew that would be enough to make him happy.  

Once Elrond had been chosen for the diplomatic mission to Taurdôr, the tailors and seamstresses of the court had prepared a whole new wardrobe for him, with rich tunics, capes and other garments suited for his new role of ambassador; the Half-Elf had never cared too much about the latest trends, content with his elegant but simple tunics and comfortable boots, but he did know that presenting himself appropriately dressed could help him make a good impression on the King, not too mention to express Lindon’s power and affluence and, consequently, its value as a commercial and military ally. 

As he regarded himself in the mirror, clad to head to toe in the precious velvet the tailors had chosen specifically for the first meeting with his host -there were also garments expressly for a meal with the court, for a ride in case the King honoured him with an invite, for a conference with the council and even for a walk in the gardens; as he contemplated the long list of instructions left to him, Elrond had felt lucky he had been allowed to bring his own nightgown at least- and the servant had retrieved from his bags and quickly freed from any wrinkle, Elrond reflected that he would need more than an elegant cape or an embroidered tunic to convince the King an alliance with Lindon would be advantageous to his realm. 

Still, it couldn’t hurt. And he did look good in blue, if he said so himself…

“I can accompany you to the King, my lord, if you’re ready.”

“Of course.” Elrond answered, turning from the mirror. He briefly contemplated bringing his most important scrolls with him, but he decided that opening and reading from them at dinner would be considered impolite, and he better simply rely on his memory until a more formal discussion, scheduled for the next morning. Fortunately, he had read most of the documents so many times during the carriage ride he could almost recite them by heart.

The servant bowed low before leading him out of his rooms, and along a maze of corridors and vast chambers. The maids and pages they met along the way were quick to bow and give way, but a few of the courtiers openly stared and exchanged whispered words; Elrond wasn’t able to assess whether those comments were of blame or support. 

Their short trek ended at the door of an elegant but surprisingly small dining room, the circular table at the centre large enough for perhaps six commensals, and only set for two. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, illuminated by tripod-mounted torches; the only Elf present in the room was busy observing one of them, their back turned. 

“Lord Elrond of Lindon, your Majesty.”

“Of course, let him in.”

Elrond, tenser than he ever remembered he had felt, didn’t notice the pitch of the voice that had answered to his introduction; he knelt, his head bowed low. 

“Your Majesty.” he greeted his host; he had to swallow twice “I am Elrond Peredhel, at your service.”

He heard the rustling of fabric, the noise of soft-soled shoes covering a brief distance.

“Arise, lord Elrond; welcome to Taurdôr.” the King greeted him, voice solemn but not devoid of a touch of amusement. The Half-Elf obeyed, raising his gaze to meet the one of his host… and he was suddenly relieved he hadn’t brought his scrolls, not to mention the precious and fragile gifts he had been entrusted with by Gil-Galad, to dinner, because otherwise they would have fallen from his hands.

He gaped; he tried to speak, but his words failed him, and all he could do was stare while the King dismissed the servant after instructing him to have dinner served as soon as possible.

Then, the Elf turned to face Elrond once more, smiling broadly - the smile Elrond had carried in his heart ever since he had seen it for the last time, but then she bit her lip, suddenly shy. “Hello, I… I am not sure you remember me; how could you, after so many years? We… we were acquainted when I lived in Lindon, I am…”

“(name).” Elrond murmured; he couldn’t be mistaken, the Elf in front of him, wrapped in sumptuous garments, was undoubtedly his old friend, who he had said good-bye to years before and then never stopped caring for, and he did know she had moved to Taurdôr and still lived at court, but this… her, here, now… was unexplainable, and made him fear he was walking in a dream, soon to awake and feel more lonely and dejected than ever… “Is… is it really you?”

(name) grinned; relief seemed to fill her like clear water in the cupped hands of the thirsty. “It is me; I… I was afraid you had forgotten about me…”

“I haven’t; I never could.” Elrond reassured her; he was still struggling to make sense of the unexpected revelation and its implications -where was the King of Taurdôr? Why was (name) here instead of him?- but he didn’t care. He had found her; (name) was here and still remembered him! Elrond’s heart was singing, and as he struggled to decide what to say, he decided that he had kept his feelings hidden for far too long; waiting even just one more moment was unbearable “I… I am so happy to see you again. Truth to be told, I hoped I could take advantage of my journey to Taurdôr to look for you; I have missed you so much.”

 “And I have missed you, Elrond. I am so glad Gil-Galad sent you, and that we have the chance to talk once more.”

“As am I. But now, tell me… where is the King?” Elrond inquired; even in the midst of his and his friend’s joyful reunion, he couldn’t forget he had come to Taurdôr on an official mission, and he couldn’t focus on (name) -specifically, on confessing that he was more than a little infatuated and had never stopped thinking about her for years- before at least presenting himself to his host, and hopefully starting to discuss the new alliance between their kingdoms “I was supposed to meet him here. Were you sent to receive me? Are you part of Taurdôr’s council as well?”

“No, I… well…”

(name) sighed; suddenly she seemed… tense, almost worried, as if she were about to reveal some shocking truth and had no idea how her interlocutor would react. “No one sent me; rather, I sent for you.” she said, taking Elrond’s hands in hers, as if afraid he would disappear into thin air - or run away “Elrond… I am the King of Taurdôr.”

“It all happened only a month after I had moved here to be close to my sister after the death of her husband. There is a dense forest a few hours’ ride from the palace, and one day I decided to bring my nephews there, so that we could hunt game for dinner, and also to distract them from the thought of the loss of their father. We had just arrived when we heard sounds of a struggle; I told my nephews to hide, and peeking through the bushes I saw a group of armed Elves on horseback attempting to kidnap another, dressed as a lord.”

“He was the King.” Elrond guessed, a still untouched chalice of wine in his hand; the servants who had served dinner had been dismissed, leaving him and his host alone, which was good, because while not a secret, that conversation was too private and delicate to be carried out in the presence of witnesses.

(name) nodded; she was sitting in front of him, almost apologetic but already more relaxed, as if reassured her revelation would not make her old friend run for his life “He was, even though I had no idea; I had never met him, since I had moved to the kingdom only recently, and my sister, the court’s librarian, had never brought me with her when she worked. Still, I realised what was happening; the Elf was fighting desperately to defend himself, but the guards who had accompanied him had been killed, their bodies lying on the ground.” she went on, and shuddered; as a capable hunter, and having served in Lindon’s army as captain of the archers, she knew death up close, but she had never gotten used to it, and she had once confided in Elrond she feared she never would “We would have been outnumbered even if I had intervened to defend the lord, not to mention I only had a hunting knife at my belt, and I was still responsible for my nephews; so I remained hidden, and used my bow and arrow to kill the kidnappers from afar.”

“So you saved his life.”

“Apparently I did. When I could finally reach him the Elf was barely awake, so I loaded him on my horse and brought it back to the court to entrust him to the healers; you can imagine my surprise when they recognized him, and told me who he was.”

The King had wanted to meet her to thank her personally as soon as he had recovered, (name) went on explaining; he had gone hunting with his escort, as he was wont to do, and a lord who was secretly conspiring against him had sent his guards to kidnap him. Hadn’t (name) been there, he would have been captured, taken hostage, and perhaps even killed. The King, grateful, offered to reward (name) in any way she wanted, and gained even more appreciation for her when his saviour, admitting there was nothing she especially desired, ended up asking for her nephews to be admitted to the court’s school, so that they could benefit from a good education. Learning she had been captain of the archers at the court of Lindon, the King had asked for a test of her abilities, and then, more than satisfied, had asked her to join the same corps in his own army. In time, he had developed a deep affection for her, coming to regard (name) as the daughter he had never had; because of this, no one had been surprised when, only a year before and in conjunction with his long-discussed decision to abandon Taurdôr and sail to Valinor, the King had asked (name) to let him name her his heir and ascend him to the throne after him.

“Well, no one but me; I’d like to tell you I didn’t need to sit because my legs were shaking, but that’d be a lie.” (name) sighed as she toyed with the pendants of her necklace, an instinctive gesture Elrond had seen her made often when she was tense - even though now, for the first time, those pendants were of solid gold, probably precious enough to ransom a lord “I told him I was the worst choice he could make, that I had none of the abilities required of a ruler, that I was too blunt, too outspoken and rigid on my principles to deal with the courtiers and the lords and all those who constantly came to him requesting favours and concessions; I was not a diplomat, and all I could say was what I thought, nothing more and nothing less. The King smiled, and told me this was exactly why he wanted me to succeed him on the throne.”

Elrond had never met Taurdôr’s previous ruler, but he found himself appreciating the older Elf’s wisdom. “And so, you became King.” he recapitulated as he placed his chalice back on the table “King and not Queen, I seem to gather.”

“I know, it’s odd. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but Taurdôr has never had a ruling Queen before, and Kings’ spouses do not really have a role beyond child-rearing and hosting parties. This wasn’t obviously the sort of ruler I wanted to be, not to mention I had started receiving marriage proposals less than ten minutes after my predecessor had announced his decision to name me his heir, so I declared that even though I am a woman I wished to be styled as King, and not Queen, to make it clear that the throne was mine and mine alone, and I’d let no one take it from me or use me as a puppet for their own purposes. I meet with the council once a week and I have a number of advisors, but you’d be surprised to learn how many Elves seem to think I’d be easily influenced simply because I wear a skirt.”

“Well, those Elves don’t know you as well as I do.”

(name) shrugged. “No, they don’t.” she acknowledged; her eyes shone with pride and happiness, and Elrond had never wanted to kiss her as much as he did then “Or at least, they didn’t when I ascended to the throne, even though I am proud to say many of them quickly changed their mind, and had to recognize I have a will as strong as any male Elf if not more.” 

Elrond smiled. “I’m sure you are a capable ruler, whatever title you use.”

“I try my best.” 

(name) rested her chin on the palm of her hand. “You know, had many other Elves here at court told me those words, I’d at least suspect they were trying to adulate me.” she said “With you, instead… I know you are being sincere; that you actually think that.”

“I have always been sincere with you, (name). And I always will be.” Elrond answered; it was not fully true, since there was a single but important matter he had kept from his friend, but given the context of their conversation the Half-Elf was confident his little lie could be excused… especially considering he planned on filling the gap as soon as possible. The fact that the object of his affections was now the ruler of a powerful kingdom, and he was simply an herald that many looked down to because of his mixed heritage, could change things, since no one was less free to follow their feelings than a King, but he had promised himself he would tell (name) how he felt, and he would - even if he had already prepared himself to have his heart broken “You… you look splendid, really.”

He strongly doubted he was the first to pay that sort of compliment to her, but he was surprised to see her blush. 

“Thank you.” she murmured, clearly flattered; she smiled, and he smiled at her, and suddenly the few days he had been promised to plead his case at the court of Taurdôr felt not enough - not enough by far “Now, why don’t we enjoy dinner? I want to know everything about Lindon, and what you have done since we last met.”

They did. Since (name) had dismissed the servants, Elrond offered to serve dinner to both, but she assured her there was no need, and was perfectly capable of filling her own plate and goblet. They spoke at length, their old familiarity still vivid after the long separation. (name) asked after Gil-Galad, more concerned for the King she had once faithfully served and trusted than in a peer she was supposed to negotiate with, and her old friends; more than anything, she wanted to know about Elrond’s life, and he gladly answered all her questions, secretly flattered by the attention. In turn, he asked his old friend about her life as King, and was pleased to perceive she was happy, confident in her capacity to reign and fulfilled every time she was able to carry out her duties, settling a dispute between two courtiers or allocating the necessary funding to support a feud stricken by famine. She was still close to her sister, who had not remarried but had been able to overcome the pain of her loss and was now focused on raising her children; (name) even found the time to practise archery, and to go hunting in the woods, even though it pained her that she had to formally retire from the army’s archery troops before ascending to the throne. 

She never mentioned whether there was someone special in her life, either privately or through a formal betrothal, the sort Kings often used to seal an alliance or put an end to a conflict; the matter didn’t concern him, but Elrond allowed himself to find some comfort in it. Unless, of course, Gil-Galad, who was also unmarried, decided an union was exactly what Lindon needed to seal an alliance with Taurdôr, and tasked Elrond with proposing to (name) for him…

At the end of the meal, a comfortable, pleasant silence fell on them; the soft light of the torches made the stately room look homely, almost, Elrond thought, as if they were still in his quarters at Lindon’s palace, enjoying a simple meal alone as they talked about their day and joked about the court’s latest gossip. He already loved her back then, even though he wasn’t aware of it; but still, he had cherished those moments, the simple and innocent intimacy they afforded, when he knew he could be himself, without fear of being judged or blamed. (name) wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind, and would freely tell him she didn’t agree or thought Elrond had made a mistake, but the Half-Elf knew she never ceased supporting him, and caring for his well-being, and being ready to defend him.

Was that love? He didn’t know; but just looking in her eyes was enough to perceive (name) still cared for him and had not forgotten everything they had gone through together, and Elrond was happy for it. Happy, and grateful.

“Was everything of your liking, Elrond?”

“It was delicious; the best meal I have had for a long time.” he replied; the compliment was due more to the good company he had been enjoying than to the admittedly good food, but the Half-Elf thought it would have been too forward to say it “You needn’t have worried so much for me.”

“Of course I needed to; and I wanted to. I…” (name) began, and then hesitated, biting her lip “... I wanted you to feel welcomed here; not just as the emissary of a King, but as my guest. Lindon and its people will forever be part of me, but Taurdôr is my home now, a great kingdom full of beauty and kind people; I hoped you would come to love it, just like I did.”

“If the people here are good to you, I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“No one could beat you in goodness, Elrond. This is what I have always liked about you the most.” 

(name) smiled; she had stopped touching her necklace. “Shall we walk in the gardens for a while?” she proposed “Unless you want to retire, after the long journey.”

Hadn’t he slept for a month, still Elrond would have gladly walked with her. He offered her his arm, which the Elf-woman gladly took as she led him out of the banquet room and along a new series of corridors. A couple of courtiers who crossed their path attempted to talk to the King, but (name) quickly stopped them, postponing the discussion to the audience already scheduled for the next morning, or instructing them to talk to someone else.

“Sometimes I feel guilty.” she confided in Elrond as they finally stepped beyond a stone arch, the lush vegetation enveloping them under the trees’ canopy “So many people depend on me, but I can’t be available to talk and do things at all times day and night. I need some moments for myself, otherwise I’ll lose my mind.”

“Of course. You told me you still have time for your archery.”

“For that, and for spending time with my friends.”

(name) smiled; she took Elrond’s hand in his to pull him towards the heart of the large greenhouse surrounding them. “Come.” she invited him “I want you to see all of my favourite places.”

Elrond let himself be led among the trees and bushes, his heart heavy with joy and anticipation. 

The next few days saw Elrond and (name) spend as much time as they could together. The King was comprehensibly busy, but the alliance with Lindon was an important enough matter that less urgent duties and tasks could be postponed or delegated, and the Half-Elf soon realised his friend had prepared herself in advance and renounced the little free time she had for herself, for him. When she was otherwise occupied, with audiences or other obligations that kept her in her study or away from the court, she always made sure Elrond was entertained, tasking either lord Gwestor or other courtiers she was close to and trusted to accompany him to visit the most beautiful places of the kingdoms or organise some diversion to occupy his time.

They were old friends who had not seen each other for a long time, and he was the emissary of a powerful King (name) needed to make a good impression on; but Elrond allowed himself to feel flattered, and even hopeful, for such care. 

They went riding in the woods, followed by a contingent of bodyguards who hung back, giving the King and his guest all the space they could while still watching over them; they lunched alone in the gardens, sitting on a blanket as they poured their own wine and laughed to tears remembering some small adventure of their youth; they danced in the ballroom of the castle, under the watchful eyes of the court, and (name) wondered in her heart whether Elrond’s hands had been so warm on her hips, and the beauty of his smile so blinding, when she still resided in Lindon and he saved her from being the only Elf-woman who had not been invited, gently twirling her around and making her feel as if no one else existed in all of Arda. 

In those moments, they both regretted wasting so many years without each other, and hoped in their heart things could change in the future - for the better, hopefully. 

Nor the King nor the ambassador had forgotten Elrond was not in Taurdôr on vacation. They started discussing the alliance on the day after his arrival, and the Half-Elf was relieved to learn his old friend was more than favourable to the idea, at least as far diplomatic and trade relations between the two kingdoms were concerned.

“My predecessor, and all of Taurdôr’s Kings for centuries, have been highly protective, even jealous, of our land’s independence.” she explained to him one afternoon, after they had moved their audience to the King’s own apartment, enjoying a bit of peace and quiet as they sipped a goblet of wine “Many Elves, both here at court and in the kingdom, view with suspicion the simple presence of foreigners within our borders, to say nothing of their interest in our affairs. They wouldn’t even ask for help in case of aggression or famine; it sounds absurd, but I think the Elves of Taurdôr are so proud of the strength and prosperity of their kingdom, they instinctively believe others only wish to steal them.”

Elrond was not surprised, since (name)’s predecessors had constantly refused any sort of friendly pact with Lindon and other kingdoms, at one point -Gil-Galad had shown him a letter received two years before- proudly declaring Taurdôr needed no support or protection from its neighbours, and therefore saw no reason to get embroiled in their business.

“But you are different.” he stated as he moved on the high-backed chair he was sitting on, searching for a more comfortable position; for a moment, he felt (name)’s thigh press against his “I mean… you are of a different opinion.”

“I am. I have sworn to protect and defend the well-being of Taurdôr and its people, and I will; I simply believe that shutting oneself away, and believing everyone else is an enemy ready to steal from us, is not healthy, let alone intelligent. Both I and my sister have been looked at with suspicion after we moved to the realm, as foreigners bearers of who knows what trouble, even though all we wished was to remain close to the people we loved. This is not good, Elrond; if we erect barriers all around us, even only to protect ourselves from danger, we will end up suffocating.”

(name) sighed; she had already confided in Elrond that, while she had been able to earn the trust and respect of many at court and in the kingdom, there were also those who still treated her with hostility because she had lived in the kingdom for a relatively short period of time, and vocally disapproved of her intentions of opening the borders of Taurdôrs to other realms.

“No one can succeed alone; no matter how strong, or wealthy, or wise.” she muttered, once again playing with the heavy necklace she wore; for a moment, Elrond wondered if she were actually talking about her kingdom, or rather herself “United we are stronger, in the face of war, famine or any other danger; and even if a place is completely self-sufficient, we could all benefit from close contact with our peers, exchanging ideas and working together for a common goal. Even the wisest can still learn; and while we cannot always be sure of the intentions of others, and it is proper to defend ourselves and what we own, suspicion, contempt and fear can bring nothing good. I hope the alliance with Lindon will only be the first of many; that one day, I can show even the most suspicious Elves of this kingdom that even if we remain protective of our autonomy, our rights and the treasures of our land, we can still help others and, in turn, receive support when we need it.”

Elrond didn’t doubt she would succeed, no matter how difficult the goal she had set herself was; she had nothing but the well-being and the security of her land and her people at heart, and while good intentions weren’t always enough to ensure success, they had to count for something. 

“It will take time.” he pointed out, and his friend sighed before nodding; as King, she had formally the power to take decisions by herself, without having to consult or ensuring the approval of anyone, but Elrond knew perfectly how difficult, potentially even dangerous, the situation of a ruler who could not count on the support of their people could be. (name) had to make sure the most influential nobles of her court, the members of her council and probably also the chief officers of the army, were on her side and supported her project, otherwise she could find herself isolated and potentially even deposed by those who preferred that Taurdôr’s borders remain closed to strangers and potential allies “I know this realm has been isolated in itself for centuries; this state of things is everything many Elves have ever known.”

“I know, unfortunately; I think many Elves here are simply afraid, and worry that forming an alliance with another kingdom will lead foreigners to lord over our territory and steal our riches… which of course I plan to avoid. And fortunately we are immortal.” (name) mentioned, and smiled “I have all the time to win them over.”

They laughed together; (name)’s foot touched Elrond’s. He smiled at her, and then looked down, suddenly shy; his face felt as if it were on fire, and he was pretty sure the Elf-woman next to him could see it despite the dim light. He had nothing to feel embarrassed for, especially in (name)’s presence, but suddenly his resolution of confessing his feelings to his friend, especially when they were working on changing centuries of tradition and opening Taurdôr’s borders to the rest of Arda, felt ridiculous, even egotistical. What if she didn’t return his affection? Would the awkwardness make things difficult between them, both at a personal level -which would be painful enough- and making it harder for him and his friend to work jointly for the alliance between their kingdoms? Could he put his own feelings ahead of the mission he has been entrusted with? Perhaps it was better to wait, make sure relations between Lindon and Taurdôr had improved before breaching the subject, so that he could request to be replaced in his role as ambassador, in case (name) weren’t interested in him like he was in her…

She had seen him blush. “I’m sorry.” she whispered; suddenly the King of Taurdôr looked lost, as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands, and the rest of her body as well “I… made you uncomfortable, Elrond, forgive me…”

“You did not.” he reassured her “You never could.”

“Still, I should remember I need to be more careful when I… approach other Elves, given my position at court. The truth is…” (name) started, she hesitated, and then took Elrond’s hand in hers; she had freed her hair from the elaborate updo her maids arranged every day, and that, in the Half-Elf’s eyes, simply enhanced her natural beauty - a beauty so unassuming and radiant it made him tremble “Elrond, for all these years I… I have never ceased to carry you in my heart, and…”

“Your Majesty.”

They were both startled, their hands separating brusquely; Elrond stood, suddenly ashamed as if he had been caught as he committed a crime, while (name) glared at the servant who now stood in front of them, for a moment unable to hide how displeased she was.

“What is it?”

“Your pardon, my King; lord Voronil requests an audience.” the servant explained; hearing that name, the Elf-woman frowned.

“It is very late. What can be so urgent, he asks for me at this time?”

“He didn’t say, your Majesty. I told him you had retired to your rooms and asked not to be disturbed, but he insisted.”

“I’m sure he did.”

(name) sighed; she looked regretfully at her now empty hands, and stood. “Very well.” she said, her tone firm and openly displeased “I’ll go, and he better have a good reason for disturbing me now. Elrond, forgive me, I…”

“It is alright; I don’t want to keep you.” he said, forcing himself to smile; what else could he do? Unwilling to remain in his friends’ apartment without her, he bowed low and departed to return to his own rooms, as (name) looked regretfully at him a last time and then walked away herself, the servant following her closely.

Eight days later, at the end of an interminable list of audiences and meetings with the members of the council and other courtiers, (name) and Elrond signed together a trade agreement that formally opened Taurdôr’s borders to a selected number of merchants from Lindon, while a few (few) of their own goods would be sent to the largest towns of the other kingdom to be sold. A diplomatic pact was also ratified, with which the two parts formally recognized each other and formally pledged their friendship - without elaborating on the rights and duties the pact entailed.

It was little, a drop of water in the sea compared to what the two old friends hoped to build, but it was a start and, more importantly, they had been able to convince a majority of the council members and a few of the most influential nobles of the court of the goodness of their project - quite a task, all things considered.

That night, a great feast was held at court, to celebrate the beginning of a more proactive role for Taurdôr in the politics of Arda… and to honour Elrond, whose departure from the realm was scheduled for the next day.

As he stepped into the huge, festively decorated ballroom, the Half-Elf felt suddenly overwhelmed, all too aware that all the eyes in the room had immediately turned to him; he smiled, vaguely embarrassed, and greeted a few of the courtiers he had gotten to know since his arrival. Several of them seemed to interpret the gesture as an invitation, and a clump of Elves quickly gathered around him, asking about the court of Lindon, the goods that could be bought and sold in its markets, and even the presence of unmarried ladies in its most powerful noble families. 

Elrond did his best to answer every question posed to him, but was relieved when Gwestor, having noticed his uneasiness and taken pity on him, forced his way through the throng, slipped his arm under the Half-Elf’s, and led him away towards a more peaceful corner of the hall, close to the harpists and lute-player whose sweet notes were livening up the evening. A large table held refreshments of every kind, including gallons of strong beverages, while a number of couples had already started dancing, the central area of the room having been reserved for such activity. 

“I hope you will forgive me, but I thought you needed saving.”

“I really did; thanks for saving me.” Elrond said, returning the amused smile of the other Elf; they obtained chalices of mulled wine from the tray of a passing servant, and sipped it together as Elrond looked all around him, quickly finding (name), more radiant than ever in a lavish dress of a colour that emphasised that of her eyes and hair; she was patiently listening to a richly-dressed Elf, who talked insistently not so much to but at her, clearly pleased to have the King’s attention focused on him. 

She was beautiful, Elrond thought, and so more than that; she was the most amazing and precious creature in all of Arda, and he was desperately in love with her - he had been for a long time, and he would tell her soon, he promised himself once more, all too aware that the time at his disposal was running out, even though the possibility of his dreams coming true seemed fainter with any passing hour.

Almost as if she had perceived that his thoughts were focused on her, (name) turned to Elrond and smiled at him, before briefly nodding towards the Elf next to her with an exasperated face she was then quick to hide; the Half-Elf smiled back, amused, but in his heart he had to admit he was more than a little jealous of her interlocutor.

“That is lord Voronil.” Gwestor murmured, having perceived the exchange of looks between the two old friends. (name) had told Elrond Gwestor was one of her closest allies at court, an Elf whose integrity and loyalty she trusted fully, and who had been kind to her since a chance meeting soon after the Elf-woman’s arrival in Taurdôr; Elrond liked him, and had appreciated the other Elf’s support as he and the King pleaded their cause with the court “His family is less powerful than many others, but he knows how to ingratiate himself to others and now there are many at court who favour him or are in his debt.”

“Oh, I know.” Elrond answered “Lord Voronil was quick to introduce himself to me when (name)... when the King and I presented our project for an alliance to the court; I had the impression he would have readily objected even on the sort of boots I was wearing that day if he could.”

Many Elves of the court supported Voronil against the alliance, and at first it had been disheartening to see how large and committed the opposition to their project was; but (name), who knew the Elves of Taurdôr much better than he did, hadn’t looked intimidated, and Elrond had decided to follow her example. With time and patience, they had been able to convince many of their critics that a trade deal and a few diplomatic visits wouldn’t hurt, especially if it helped find new buyers for their goods, and business partners of other sorts. Voronil had remained one of the few who refused to even discuss the matter, and had not hidden his discontent when a majority of the court had voted in favour of a commercial agreement with Lindon.

Gwestor smiled gently. “Don’t take it personally; Voronil disapproves of many, especially of those who do not fawn over him but the King favours.” he confided; lowering his voice to a whisper, he added “I have also heard that he requested an audience with her when the two of you were alone in her apartment at night.”

Elrond felt panic rise in his stomach. “How do you…?”

“The servant who came to call her is the son of my steward; he confided in me that Voronil had paid a few pages to inform him as soon as the two of you were alone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have anything important to tell her, but simply kept her occupied long enough your time together had to be postponed.”

According to what (name) had told him on the next day, Voronil did apparently have an important matter to discuss with her, if not something so urgent it couldn’t wait until the next morning -namely, a request for military help from a relative of his, whose neighbour kept invading his domain, taking advantage of the lack of guards at the borders- but when Voronil had shown her the letter his relative had sent, (name) had read it had been sent weeks before, as if the lord had forgotten about it until that moment - or had decided not to plead it with the King until it had realised the letter could be the excuse he needed to interrupt her and Elrond’s moment together.

“He’s interested in her.” he pointed out softly, noticing the discreet but insistent way Voronil attempted to take (name)’s hand, indifferent to the King’s polite but determinate refusals “Is he not?”

Gwestor grunted. “He is interested in her power, which he hopes to share in becoming Prince consort.” he corrected “I’m sure he doesn’t care for the King in the slightest. He could never make her happy; he would not try either.” 

Elrond remained silent.

“I have also heard some courtiers discuss whether your King could marry ours, in order to consolidate the relations between the two realms and ensure a lasting peace.”

“That… would be reasonable.” Elrond admitted; Gil-Galad had never mentioned the possibility to ask for (name)’s hand in order to secure the alliance, not to mention he had always seemed perfectly at ease in his bachelorhood, but one could never know “Our King thought well of her, and has sent her precious gifts.”

“I’m sure he did. Of course, there is more to a marriage than that, is there not?”

Elrond didn’t answer; he reflected for a while, looking at how (name) was clearly growing impatient at how Voronil tried to monopolise her attention. In the end, he brought the chalice to his lips and swallowed the wine in a long gulp.

“Could I beg a favour of you?” he whispered, without looking away from the Elf-woman “Would you distract Voronil for a minute?”

Clearly amused, Gwestor answered he would try, no matter how unpleasant Voronil could be; he approached the couple and, after bowing low to the King, turned towards the other Elf and put himself between the two. Elrond couldn’t hear what he was saying, but a minute later the councillor had all but dragged away a partially recalcitrant Voronil, who seemed too taken aback from the intervention to protest.

(name) was now alone; Elrond knew he had no time to waste, unless he wanted someone else to approach her.

“You look lovely.” he murmured as he joined her; she had probably been paid the same compliment dozens of times already, but the Elf-woman smiled, clearly flattered. 

“Thank you. I hope you enjoy the evening, Elrond; you’re the guest of honour, and I will never forget all the help you have given me. If one day an alliance will exist between Lindon and Taurdôr, it will be in large part thanks to you.”

Elrond waved his hand to gently refuse those compliments. “We have worked together.” he pointed out “The credit should belong to both, and don’t forget we still have much to do.”

“We do.” (name) admitted, and she smiled “But I think we can rest for one night, and indulge in a bit of merriment.” 

Elrond agreed. He considered inviting (name) to dance, or offering to get her something to drink, but then he remembered his bags were already half-packed on the floor next to his bed; he swallowed. “Would you like to go outside for a moment?” he asked in a whisper, hoping against hope for a positive answer; he knew the King was expected to entertain his guests and welcome visitors, and she couldn’t very well hide to spend time with a single person - even the guest of honour.

But (name), once more, surprised him. “Please.” she promptly answered “I’ve been here for less than an hour and I feel myself suffocating already.”

They left the ballroom together, indifferent to the many who saw them and immediately started gossiping about it, and (name) led Elrond towards a small patio surrounded by tall ivy-covered marble columns, soft grass rustling under their feet.

“And so you're going to leave tomorrow.” (name) stated, her tone neutral.

“I am. I am grateful for your hospitality, and everything you have done to make my stay pleasant.”

“Of course; you know how happy I have been to have you here, after so many years. I…”

“Yes?” Elrond prompted; he stepped closer to her, close enough he could smell her perfume, sweet and intoxicating. His friend bit her lip, as if unsure of what to say; Elrond had already seen shyness on her face, but now… now (name) looked terrified.   

“I was simply thinking… how good it would be, and how happy I would feel, if you could stay a little longer; much longer, ideally.” she confessed in the end precipitously, as if afraid her courage would fail before she could reach the end of her statement “I… I miss you already, even though you haven’t left yet; and if I think that tomorrow we’ll have to say good-bye, and I might not see you for months… it makes me want to cry.”

Elrond didn’t speak.

“Forgive me, I’m… I’m behaving like a petulant child. You have your own life, and things much more interesting to do than… entertaining a lonely Elf-woman. This is embarrassing, I’m sorry, I must have made you…”

“What if I did?” Elrond murmured; he took her hand, and (name), who was blushing furiously, turned towards him.

“W-what?”

“I said, what if I could stay much longer?” he specified, growing bolder with any passing second “What if I could stay here, with you, as long as we both wanted me to? Perhaps… even forever?”

(name) looked at him, almost incredulous, as if she didn’t dare believing what his friend’s words seemed to suggest. “Elrond…”

The Half-Elf smiled; a tenderness he had never experienced had filled his heart. “My darling (name)... I have been in love with you for so long, even though it took me a long time to realise it.” he murmured; he brought her hand to his lips, and he felt it shaking as he devotedly kissed her fingers “I know my standing at court is different from yours, I know you may decide to marry for the sake of your kingdom; I ask nothing of you, but to believe my heart is yours and forever will be, and nothing would make me happier than…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t need to, because he had already said enough, he had said everything he felt and more than (name) hoped him to say; radiant of joy, she gently took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, a sweet kiss, relatively chaste but fierce, a kiss that was quickly reciprocated, with a moan that was joy and relief.

She didn’t say I love you too. She didn’t say I have loved you in silence for a long time and I would have told you soon, had I not decided it was my duty to leave and take care of my family. She didn’t say I have never stopped thinking about you, and hoping one day I would have the chance to tell you what I felt. She couldn’t have, since her mouth was otherwise and happily occupied, but (name) knew her actions spoke better than her words ever could, and that Elrond knew her well enough to perceive her joy, and gratitude, and hope in the future they could build together. 

And even if he couldn’t, that was fine; she’d make sure to prove her devotion to him from that day onward, until he had to depart and even beyond that; destiny had given her a second chance at love, and she was determined not to waste it. 

“Are you sure?” Elrond wondered after a while, having finally broken the kiss; he was breathless, and he had never looked so enticing “You’re a King, you should… marry an Elf worthy of you…”

“And you are not?”

“You know what I mean. There are many both here and at the court of Lindon who would rather see you marry Gil-Galad, or another King, to secure an alliance; I know how devoted you are to the well-being of your kingdom, I do not want to… complicate things…”

(name) smiled; she knew how honourable Elrond could be, and she loved him for that, but she also wanted to show him that she would let nothing, and no one, separate them.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure the safety and the well-being of Taurdôr.” she stated, holding Elrond’s hands in hers “And yes, I might have decided for an arranged marriage, had things been different; but you, Elrond… you are too important and too dear to me to be renounced. I love you; and I will have no one but you. Whatever the future may bring, I want to be with you forever.”

They kissed again, laughing, crying, and exchanging promises; (name) moaned softly as Elrond gently pushed her against one of the columns, their bodies so close they could feel each other’s heartbeat against their chest. Soft music reached the patio from the ballroom, but neither noticed it, both King and herald too engrossed in each other to pay any mind to what happened around then.

“I have been thinking about sending my own ambassador to Lindon.” she murmured, her mouth still busy worshipping Elrond’s “I think lord Gwestor would be perfect for the role; he could stay at Gil-Galad’s court for a while, discussing the alliance and proposing a closer relationship between our kingdoms. What do you think?”

“It sounds like a splendid idea, my King. This would also mean, obviously, that I’d have to remain here with you.”

“Exactly. Unless, of course, you’d rather return home…”

Elrond smiled; he circled (name)’s hips with his arm, moving slightly as he felt her hands rest on his shoulders. “I’ll never leave.” he promised, before claiming her lips in a kiss once more “I’ll never want to leave, at least. I promise.” 

[insomnimoni]

fellas how we feelin w this description for an upcoming elrond fic 🫣

are we ready for some angst ?

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

i will carry you always

fandom: The Lord of the Rings

pairing: Elrond Peredhel x Reader

summary: Elrond joins your patrol group for a day. Unfortunately, danger befalls you when you find yourself injured and stuck in a ravine. Elrond must decide whether to wait for help to arrive, or take you back to Rivendell himself.

tags/warnings: injury, blood, hurt/comfort, healing, angst

word count: 2596

a/n: I realized after writing this that Elrond can like. heal people. so just ignore the fact that he doesn't do that.

Daily patrol is one of your favorite tasks as a member of Rivendell’s guard. The tranquility of the forest, the gentle bubbling of the Bruinen in the distance, it all served to set you at ease. You felt at home outside the borders of Rivendell – well, at least within the protection of Vilya. Outside that, you were more on edge.

Today’s patrol wasn’t meant to be anything special. You’re buckling the last straps of your light armor when Lord Elrond approaches your group. This in itself was not uncommon; Elrond often comes to wish the patrols luck on their journeys. But he, too, is clad in armor, which is strange.

Your patrol captain, a kindly elf by the name of Estedir, nods to Elrond respectfully. “My lord,” he begins, “how can we assist you?”

Elrond bows his own head, a display of humility not often shown by other elves. “I heard your patrol was uneven, Estedir. If it pleases you, I might join your company.”

Estedir’s eyebrows raise slightly and your own heart picks up its pace. Your own partner is the reason your group is uneven, having injured himself during yesterday’s patrol. You expected to be lumped into a group of three, but Elrond’s presence might change that.

“Of course, my lord,” Estedir permits. “If you’re ready?” He gestures to the gates as your fellow patrol members begin to mount their horses.

“Lead on,” Elrond smiles.

You mount your own horse, a beautiful Arabian named Mereneth, keeping Rivendell’s lord in the corner of your eye. As you follow your patrol out of the gates, Elrond takes up the rear, just behind you. You suddenly feel self-conscious, wondering about your riding form and your armor… Did you polish it enough? What if you look sloppy in front of him?

Before your thoughts can race out of control, Estedir stops the patrol on the border of Vilya’s protection. You figure Elrond must be actively wielding Vilya to keep its protection around Rivendell rather than himself – otherwise, the border would be traveling with you.

Estedir turns to face the group. “Pairs, everyone. Standard routes. Report back here in two hours.” His eyes meet yours for a moment before glancing behind you. “My lord Elrond, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying Y/N.”

“It would be my honor,” Elrond’s smooth voice responds, and you cringe slightly. If you weren’t on edge already, you certainly are now.

You have nothing against the elven lord – quite the opposite, actually. You find him rather attractive, and for that reason keep your distance. He has too many responsibilities and is too important to waste time on a simple member of the guard.

Elrond rides up beside you, his own horse dwarfing yours and making you feel small. “My lord,” you greet in a quiet voice.

“Y/N, yes?” he confirms and you nod. “Lead the way then.” His smile is gentle and kind, just like everyone says.

You begin to steer away from the quickly dissipating patrol, heading into a thick patch of forest. The dense canopy filters the sunlight in a beautiful mosaic, casting a serene golden glow upon the forest floor. You breathe in the earthy scent of moss, exhaling the tension that you realize you’re holding.

Elrond keeps stride beside you, weaving through the tree trunks with ease. You’re afraid to strike up conversation, unsure if he wants to patrol in quiet or not. Your usual partner is chatty – you honestly sometimes wish he would shut up.

Before you can make up your mind, Elrond makes the decision for you. “I used to patrol these woods. I have missed it.”

You hum, trying to come up with an adequate response. Suddenly everything you have to say sounds silly. “It is beautiful,” tumbles out of your mouth. A good enough response, you suppose.

“Beautiful, yet deceiving. Past the protection of Vilya, these parts are dangerous.” He turns slightly to look at you and you meet his eyes.

“My usual patrol partner had an unfortunate accident here yesterday. I’m familiar with the dangers.” The words come out a little snappier than you meant, and you hope you haven’t offended.

Elrond chuckles, a beautiful sound. “I’m sure, my lady.” The title sends a chill through you. “You are far more experienced in this area than I.”

“I’m hardly a lady, my lord. Nor deserving of such a title.” A fierce blush races up your cheeks.

The two of you go silent for a while, just the sounds of birdsong and hoofsteps filling your ears. You keep an eye out for any signs of orcs or other creatures that might pose a threat. So far, the journey has been as peaceful as usual. You’re even almost becoming comfortable with Elrond’s presence beside you. You decide to steal a glance at the elf lord. He looks at peace here in the forest, just like how you feel. You admire the light that plays upon his features, highlighting the timeless wisdom and grace that seems to radiate from him.

Whilst you’re not paying attention, Mereneth stumbles. Her hoof catches on something and she startles. For a moment you’re disoriented as you’re tossed from the saddle. Then the breath is stolen from your lungs as you impact with a rock wall, tumbling into darkness. The sensation of rocks and branches scraping against your skin goes unnoticed as you struggle to gain your bearings. Finally, the world stops moving around you and you come to a jarring halt on hard, rocky ground.

The pain hits you immediately. First your head, a deep, aching throb that emanates from your forehead. Then, a sharp stabbing pain in your thigh. You blink rapidly and stare up. You’ve fallen into a deep ravine with high, steep walls. Your ears ring, the sounds of the forest muffled.

You can just barely make out the sound of Elrond shouting, although it sounds far away and echoey. You attempt to move, but agony forces you still again. Your vision swims, a haze of red filling your right eye as blood trickles from your forehead.

“Elrond…” you mumble, the name barely a whisper on your lips.

“I’m coming, hold on!” Elrond shouts. You can hear him scrabbling down the rocks, his steps small but sure as he finds footholds along the walls. Finally, he enters your vision, his face a blur of panic and concern.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” his voice is urgent, but there’s an undercurrent of calm through it, and you suddenly remember that he’s not just a lord, but a healer.

“Hurts,” you manage to grit out, pain and confusion filling the word.

“I know, I know.” Elrond’s eyes sweep across your crumpled body, stopping on your leg. His breath hitches for a moment and there’s enough clarity in your mind to know the look on his face is nothing good.

“What… What is it?”

Elrond meets your cloudy gaze again. “Your leg is bleeding heavily. I need to stop it, but it’s going to hurt.”

A droplet of something wet flows down your cheek, but you’re not sure if it’s blood or tears. “Alright,” you ground out.

Elrond places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You must stay awake, do you understand? I know it will hurt, but you have to stay awake.”

You nod, stopping when a fresh burst of pain flashes through your head.

“Try not to move too much,” Elrond says as he rips a piece of his tunic off.

You stare up at the forest canopy, seeming so far away now. Then there’s a searing pain in your leg as Elrond fastens the cloth around your leg. You cry out loudly, body tensing and vision blurring.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” Elrond urges, tightening the makeshift tourniquet. “I’m almost done.”

The pain in your leg has localized into a tight, aching sensation, but it hurts no less. It’s just more concentrated now. Elrond continues to murmur reassuring words, pulling you back from the brink of unconsciousness.

“There,” he finally says, leaning back onto his heels. “Now let me see that head wound.” He crouches closer to your face, his hand resting on your unbloodied cheek. He gently moves your head, turning to get a clearer view of it. “Mostly superficial,” he murmurs, “but you likely have a concussion. Head wounds always bleed excessively.” He rips off another piece of his tunic and presses it against your forehead. You hiss and attempt to pull away. Elrond tuts, a small smile curving his lips. The expression doesn’t reach the rest of his face though. “Still, now.”

“How are we going to get back?” you ask, your voice still weak and trembling.

Elrond’s jaw tightens and he refuses to meet your eyes. “The patrol should notice our absence and send a search party. It shouldn’t be long now.” He glances up at the sky, noting the darkening of the forest. He doesn’t say it but you both know – it is imperative to get you back as soon as possible before you bleed out or lose your leg.

“Mereneth?” you breathe the name out slowly. At Elrond’s confused look, you clarify, “My horse.”

“Ah. She’s waiting at the top of the ravine, along with my own, Arahael. Her hoof caught in some brambles, which is what set her off. She’s fine.”

“Good,” you sigh. The encroaching darkness sets off your circadian rhythm, and a heavy wave of tiredness suddenly overcomes you. Your eyelids droop despite your best efforts.

Elrond shakes you gently. “You have to stay awake, melethel. It is unsafe to sleep with your injuries.”

You flutter your eyes open again, meeting his eyes. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed, concern splayed across his features. “It’s so hard,” you murmur. “I’m so tired.”

“Tell me about yourself,” Elrond says, moving the cloth on your forehead to clean up the blood across your face. “Do you have family?”

You smile. The world around you feels hazy, almost like you’re floating, but you can indulge in this conversation. “A brother. Lennor. He works in your library.”

Elrond nods. “Yes, I know him. Lennor is a wonderful friend. He helps me often. I did not know you were related.”

“Only by adoption,” you explain. “My parents sailed to the Undying Lands shortly after my birth. Lennor’s father took me in.” A new kind of pain strikes your heart, a pang of longing. While you love Lennor and your adoptive father, a piece of you wishes you’d known your real parents.

“Do you and your brother share any traits?”

You scoff, grimacing as the movement jostles your leg. “We’re practically opposites. Lennor is always stuck in his books. While I can see the value in it, I find no enjoyment in reading. I feel most fulfilled in the guard.”

“You seem adept at it,” Elrond praises you. “I must admit, Lennor’s devotion to his texts surpasses even my own. I would make the same choice as you.”

This stuns you. “You would rather be a guard? Over Lord of Rivendell?”

“Well, not exactly. Being the protector of Rivendell grants me freedom to do as I wish, within some limits. But if all I had was my texts and politics, if I had no chance to do things such as this… then yes, I would give it up.” Elrond smiles at you. “Does this surprise you?”

You think for a moment. “I suppose I don’t know you well enough to be surprised. I always imagined you were… further away.”

Elrond chuckles lightly. “Such is the curse of my position. Many don’t see me as just like you, as a member of the Eldar. They think I am above them somehow. But I am similar in more ways than you know.”

Silence grows between the two of you. By now, night has almost completely fallen. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots.

“You called me melethel,” a delirious smile forms on your lips. “I like that.”

“Yes?” Elrond responds, his hand rubbing small circles on your shoulder. “Then I shall continue to use it for you, melethel.”

You hum in response, feeling too weak to form words. The world falls into a haze around you again as your eyelids droop closed.

“Y/N?” Elrond’s voice grows louder as he repeats your name. “Stay with me, melethel.”

“Sleepy,” you grumble, the danger of the situation not registering.

Elrond is quiet for a moment. “I have to carry you out, Y/N. It is unsafe for us to stay here, I worry… We need to get you treated as soon as possible.”

You hum again, barely comprehending his words.

Elrond’s hands move to cradle you gently, being careful not to disturb you too much. He worries about internal injury, something he has missed, but he knows that time is of the essence.

As he picks you up off the ground, your eyes fly open with a cry of pain.

Elrond tightens his grip, whispering, “I know, I know. Just hold on. I’ll get you out of here.”

He works his way down the ravine, spotting an area where the wall slopes gently enough for him to climb. He begins to work his way up, stopping every time you cry out to reassure you. The climb is arduous, each step a struggle.

Finally, after numerous stops and a few close calls, Elrond emerges from the ravine with you still secure in his arms. He carefully settles you onto the back of Arahael before reaching for Mereneth’s reins. He ties the two horses together before mounting Arahael behind you. One hand holds onto the reins, the other around your chest to keep you steady.

Elrond does not hold back as he commands Arahael forward as fast as he can. He feels you drooping in his arm, and he continues to murmur assurances. “Almost there, melethel. Hold on.”

The journey back to Rivendell seems endless, the night seeming darker than usual to Elrond’s half-elven eyes. Elrond feels the protection of Vilya wrap around them once again, and you slump back into his chest. He knows you’ve fallen unconscious, and he spurs Arahael on faster.

Just as the gates come into sight, a small group rushes out to meet the two of you. Elrond recognizes Estedir, your patrol captain.

Arahael has hardly stopped before Elrond dismounts and gently pulls you down. He shouts to Estedir, “She’s gravely injured; help me get her to the healing halls.”

…

You wake to the sensation of sunlight on your cheek, the warmth filling you with life. A dull pain aches through your leg and head, but other than that you feel worlds better than you did before. You open your eyes to see the soft light of morning filtering through the windows of the healing halls. You turn your head to see Elrond seated beside you, his expression a mix of relief and joy.

Elrond leans in, one of his hands reaching for yours. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Achy,” you answer honestly. “But better.”

The elven lord hands you a tall glass. “Drink,” he commands.

You sip slowly, the water tinged with a medicinal taste. “Thank you,” you reply once you finish. Both of you understand that your gratitude is not just for the water.

“I am sorry you had to endure such pain, melethel,” Elrond murmurs.

You squeeze his hand. “It is no matter. What matters is that I am safe, and you are here.”

Elrond smiles at you, his eyes filled with affection. “Rest, now. Recover. I will be here when you wake.”

[septimaseverinawannawrite]

With Talk of Summertime

Fandom : Prime's The Rings of Power

Type : One Shot

Pairing: TROP!Elrond x Wife! Reader

Summaries: It's not easy to cope after slaining the Orcs, even a few decades ago. But, luckily, Elrond is there for you.

Content : Fluff. Established Relationship.

Warning: Angst. Depiction of mental health (PTSD). Depiction of gore. Hurt/Comfort. My first English poem it's silly please forgive me. My hypothetical Sindarin. My English (is my second language). Using of Y/N.

Rate: T+

Word: 1,810

A/N: This is my affection to TROP!Elrond. He is adorable, wise and nerdbrave, it hurts. 🥺🥺🥺. By the way...feel free to correct any mistake!

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You thought they would not disturb you anymore and any further.

But you were totally and completely wrong after all, what had you just seen and experienced them in your own sleep – dream.

And why did they wrong you now? Especially this time of the year, when you were supposed to be joyous and pleased with one-week long celebration; all days, all nights.

You had woken up when most of musicians, bards and poets – who had stayed up since the previous evening – were retreating to their quarters, sparred just undertone notes and tunes lingering in the air. Climbing out of the bed, hobbled out of the room to the door that led to a balcony, and you sat down on cold hard floor.

You stared outward, through the gaps between trees, leaves, and monuments, wanderingly and aimlessly: sat still right there without moving; even chill and frigid breeze from western wind that numbed on your exposed skins could not irritate you.

And you could barely breathe. Right here. Right now.

Little had you known was the moment you pulling a blanket out and moving away from the bed; your husband, the High King Gil-Galad’s Herald, Elrond Peredhel was returning back to the quarter – perfect timing. Since he must stay for the basis of courtesy and rank, until honourable guesses and the High King dismissing, while you had retreated earlier than him, when one noble elf from Eregion mentioning about recent irregularity nearby his house.

That was not supposed to aggravate you, as you ignored that tale.   

In spite of murksome bedchamber, Elrond sensed, no, saw you sitting on a cold floor in a mere thin and lucent nightgown. Dim light from candles outside the bed chamber cast hued shadow behind where you were; stiffen straight manner became crooking, knees closed up to a chin, both arms hugged both legs tightly – trying to protect yourself from what had lurked in your mind.

He removed the brooch and pin that hold his cloaked together and a leather belt of his sword, hung them on cloth-pole next to the vanity, before approaching you in quiet manner – afraid that he would panic you more than this presence.     

‘No, I am not really there, where the darkness and those abominably twisted creatures are; I am home, I am under the light of the Great Tree, bright cloudless sky with my beloved’

Closing your eyes, tears ran down along your cheeks, you started muttering the phrase, the reminder that kept you staying sane, quietly.

‘No, I am not really there, where the darkness and those abominably twisted creatures are; I am home, I am under the light of the Great Tree, bright cloudless sky with my beloved’

And kept breathing; breathed in the fresh air of this pleasant night, breathed out while continued the litany repetitively:

‘…No, I am not really there, I am home…No. I. Am Not. Really There…’

All indistinct pictures, even sounds and chilliness from earlier began to prevail, more and more distinctively. You shook your head, orally reciting them.

“I am under the light of the Great Tree…I am home…I am under the bright cloudless sky…”

Nevertheless, those visions and sound completed themselves right in your imagination, as if it was pulling you back in time:

Sword and daggers in your hands slew those abominable and twisted creatures – the Orcs – with rapid and sharp blows. Dark liquid splashed across your face, as the darkness crept around you…until you could not see anything but protruding eyeballs.

“…I am under the light…”

You whimpered, murmured, then started sobbing. The four sides of bedchamber’s wall squeezed you, both physically and mentally; the hitching breath, at the very first of this struggle, gradually became chokes and smothering.    

Seemed as likewise as the weir breaking out; pool of tears in your eyes’ sockets rapidly fell down along your cold cheeks, fisting the material of your nightgown tightly, you shook harder.

“No…I…I…I…” You tried reciting those words, even if they were almost smothering, “I am…I…am…I am under the br—”

Perilous completely blurred before your senses and your mind. Darkness and death, finally, overwhelmed and defeat the light that you persisting to seize with whole of your own body; they were impeding you from the smooth and soft voice ringing behind you, totally deafness.

“No! Silence! Stop…Please…Please don’t…”

Sniveling, cried and screeched like maniac, you pushed and teared a pair of big, yet soft hands which holding your shoulder and forearm.

“Y/N…”

“Let me go!”

“Y/N!”

“Hands off!” 

You shouted, wriggled and screamed in high pitch. Over and over. Again, and again. Gripping and tightened your skirt tighter, almost tore it down.

“Elen Nîn!”   

Then you heard the words; meant for only your ears, just yours alone. The voice that seems far and distance away gradually became clarifying. You woke. coming back to sense; not all, those illusion faded out, replacing by gentle and familiar face.

“I’m here…” Elrond had sat beside you, whispered softly, “I’m here with you, Y/N.”

“Meleth Nîn?”

Raspy voice slipped out from your quivering mouth, your eyes got wider, before blinking twice; dispelling wetness away.

“You’re safe now, my star. Those dreadful and horrific deeds are long gone, out of reach and far away.”

“But I see them…Grotesque, ghastful and—”

“Shh...Forget those monstrous terror, Elen Nîn. They can neither hurt nor haunt you now.

“Elrond…”

You still sobbed and whimpered; trying to take control over your own body again, nevertheless, tears kept traveling its path. All you could do now was closing your eyes.

Elrond tenderly pull the back of your head close to his forehead. He cradled your cheek, wrapped his other arm around your body like a blanket, murmured and solacing you:

“…Of what and where darker than darkness dwelt, with the grace of Elebereth; O luminous and light expand from her shining hands, over the sunless and moonless land – million sparkles through velvet sky, they fly…”

It was his own poem. The poem he wrote you after he confessed his heart out to you, and proceeded courting you, about two decades ago, but it never ceased to please your ears.

Meanwhile continued reciting fine proses and proses, he lifted you up, straight to the bed, before laying you down on soft and feathery mattress.

“Weep no more, my star.”

He lolloped beside you. An arm reached behind to hold you in his arm until his curls touching your skin, another one – caressing your hair – trail down your temple, nose, cheek, ear and chin.

Though looked up, meeting his orbs with yours; puffed red pair; pale face; messy hair and bruised fingernail marks upon your forearms, Elrond still reckoned that you were captivating him.

He smiled down at you, sealed your forehead with his plushy lips, continuing his verses:       

“For the time passes by, Kementari ploughs and pries, for tall trees and pines sprout sowing… In blooming, summer arriving, brightening every evening like eternal.”

You felt warmness of the world again, eventually. His gentle tone in his delicate and mild voice soothed your utmost core; you stopped shaking and shivering, breathing was much slower and more even, pursing lips unraveled into relax form, altogether with your feet.

“Darkness and winter but just the endless season on earth, my dearest.”

In Elrond’s embrace, you snuggled up to his chest, as you listened to the smooth rhythm of his heartbeats; they calmed your cadence down until it was grown closing to state of normal. Henceforth, you prolonged this one of his masterpieces. Your sound was less quiver – steadier:

“After the frozen and withered, as Tilion’s journey on the heaven above at endings of Springtime, and Anarien’s ascendant from the most eastern horizon beyond the sea; Summertime has begun…”

“…Summertime has begun…Yes…The Golden Leaves, and thin delicate Daisies to big Bignonias, shall wave countless shining gleaming colours onto greenery floor.”

He repeated the phrase, nodded leisurely to affirm your words. Both of you smiling to each other, giggling a little. 

For Elrond; your tears had ceased, beginning to dry and fading away under the light outside which passing through bedchamber – glittering like the million diamonds and plain golds around.

For you; Elrond’s face and expression were beautiful and much more softening, as always, when those haunted memories struck before getting the best out of you. His gentle touches and kindness brought the light – your eternal Sun – within you back again.

“Other glore to bloom, to blossom here and there.”

You sighed with delightful and pure bliss nearby.

“When you write the High King speeches under the Beech, I shall adorn you with orange’s blossom crown.”

“Then I shall write you more songs and poems, so we are going to be exceedingly indulging ourselves, under the golden light; tasting all sweet and sour berries, dancing and singing until we fatigue, and so, looking above the ocean of stars and listening to the sound of seagulls and the streams.”

“Elsewise, just jump into the streams and swimming with lovely creatures wherein they reside…” You purred, enchantingly, as he kept stroking your hair and brushing your face with delicate in every touch of his fingers “But you, no need to deliberate me about how they arriving this world, promise me?”

Elrond chuckled amusingly tinting with a little bit nervous. You knew the redness and hotness had been creeping along his face to his ears and neck already.   

“Don’t you treasure my attainment at all, Elen Nîn?”

“Oh…I do always more than treasure your intellect, Meleth Nîn, no doubt…”

You, at this moment were happier now, bent your husband head down, giving a long, but chaste and loving kiss upon his mouth, and could sense his wide smile spreading on your lips.

“Gi melin, i-galad e-guil nîn.”

You breathed, of course, unruffled now, playing with his curls on your face.

“No, Gi melin rovaer.”

He kissed back, shifting his weight down from your body, yet hovering those lips over yours.

“Should I trust the man who prepares and arranges words into numerous soul-propelling speeches?”

“Believe me, you would not let me roam this world without you forever, since your smile captivating me from that day, if you have never trusted me until this minute.”

“You wordsmith!” Merrily laughing out louder than earlier, you push him to his side. “Go get change, Meleth Nîn, or I would not let you lay on the same bed to me!”

Elrond stole one more kiss on your nose, warm and joyful grin still plastered on his face, before turned away and taking his outer robe off – again, turned toward, lounged on the bed, leaned in, and pecking your chin.

“Please bid me into your mesmeric dream…”

The consciousness that remained in you humming quietly to his appeal. Seem like the Valar heard his desire, so they blessed; you and your beloved now and forever did meet each other in same visions.

[earthlybeam]

Hii, if your requests are open may I please request something a bit bittersweet but with a good ending? Sort of?? With Legolas , Thranduil and Haldir (and/or anyone else you'd prefer more!)Something like them and the reader being separated in war/battle and them thinking the other is gone but then they reunite after a long time and it's tears and happiness and all that soft stuff. Bonus points if the reader is also mortal/human

A bittersweet tale with a heartwarming ending—featuring Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir and bonus character Elrond love him too much. 🫶❤️‍🩹

So Imagine the reader you a mortal (gender is up to you as non state) , and the elves being separated during a fierce battle or war. Both sides believe the other is lost, the grief of separation weighing heavy on them. Yet, after an agonizingly long time, fate intervenes. Against all odds, they reunite in a moment filled with overwhelming relief, tears, and joy. It’s a tender celebration of love enduring through loss, hardship, and the passage of time. 🫶🥹❤️‍🩹

If anyone else has any requests feel free to ask 🫶

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The Battle of the Five Armies had come and gone, leaving behind scars that no time could ever truly heal. For Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, the toll of loss weighed heavily on his heart. Amidst the chaos—the relentless clash of swords, the anguished cries of the fallen, and the suffocating haze of smoke—he had searched for you. His human love. His heart. His beloved starlight. He had fought against the tide of battle, his mind only on you, but in the confusion and chaos, you had been swept away, lost to the carnage.

In the days that followed, Thranduil himself took to the battlefield, disregarding the pleas of his soldiers to return to safety. His silver armor, once gleaming, was now dulled with blood and ash, his movements precise yet desperate as he turned over fallen bodies, scanned the shattered terrain, and searched through shadowed crevices. When the wind carried no trace of your scent, his heart constricted. When he found only a scrap of your bloodied cloak caught on the jagged rocks of a cliffside, he knew despair.

𐂂 Thranduil did not cry out. Kings did not weep in the presence of their people. He held the torn fabric tightly, the blood staining his palm as he returned to his soldiers with an expression that betrayed nothing. His orders were delivered with icy precision: count the dead, tend to the wounded, prepare for the long journey home. The Woodland Realm must endure, for he was their king, and they needed him to remain steadfast.

𐂂 But that night, in the solitude of his chambers, Thranduil crumbled. He sat on the edge of his ornate bed, your bloodied cloak still clutched in his hand. The walls of his chamber, once grand and filled with life, now seemed to press in around him, cold and suffocating. The emptiness in his chest felt like a wound that would never heal, and his grief clawed at him like a living thing. The silence mocked him, for he knew the sound of your laughter would never fill these halls again.

𐂂 Thranduil had lived for centuries, enduring losses that few could understand. He had stood on the battlefield when his father, Oropher, fell during the War of the Last Alliance, his grief then a sharp and sudden wound. He had watched his beloved wife fade away, claimed by the creeping darkness that plagued the woods. That grief had been a slow, relentless ache. But this? This was different. Your absence was not a wound or an ache—it was an emptiness, a hollow void that had been carved into his very being.

𐂂 He missed you in ways that made his chest tighten and his breath catch. He missed the sound of your voice, so soft and full of warmth, the way it caressed his name when you spoke it. He missed the human lilt in your Sindarin words, a melody that was uniquely yours. He missed the way your laughter would echo through the halls, bright and carefree, a sharp contrast to the somber atmosphere of the palace.

𐂂 He longed for the nights you spent together, tangled in one another’s arms beneath the moonlight. He could still feel the press of your lips against his, kisses so full of passion and fire that they left him breathless. A kiss from you had the power to undo him, to strip away his crown and his burdens until he was not a king but simply a man who adored you. He missed the small, human things you brought into his immortal life. The way you would coax him out of his solemnity with your mischievous smiles and playful demands. One rainy evening, you had dragged him into the gardens, insisting that he join you to dance in the storm. At first, he had resisted, scolding you for risking your health, but when your fingers entwined with his and your laughter rose above the thunder, he had relented. Together, you had spun and swayed beneath the deluge, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin. In that moment, he had felt something he had not felt in centuries—freedom.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was sharpest in the quiet moments, when the absence of your presence was most keenly felt. He missed waking up before the sun just to hold you a little longer, your body warm and soft against his. He missed how your fingers would trace the elegant lines of his face, your touch reverent, as if you were committing him to memory. He missed the ritual of dressing together each morning, your hands brushing as he fastened the clasps of your gown/robe or adjusted the delicate circlet you wore.

𐂂 Evenings in the library were the hardest to endure. The two of you would sit close, a fire crackling softly in the hearth as you read to one another. Your voice, clear and melodic, would weave through the ancient stories, and he would pause every now and then to press a kiss to your temple or trace a finger along your jawline. You had a way of making even the longest nights feel too short. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty.

𐂂 There were nights when you’d set the books aside, pouring glasses of deep red wine and lingering over its warmth. He’d sit on the floor between your knees, his broad back leaning into your lap, while your fingers deftly braided his hair, weaving intricate patterns as you talked. You’d trade stories, share secrets, laugh until your sides hurt, and unravel the mysteries of one another until the fire burned low.

𐂂 Eventually, you’d settle together on the chaise, his arms wrapped around you, his head tucked into the curve of your neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat would lull you into a sense of peace, and you’d wonder how hours could slip by so quickly when they were spent in his arms. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty—a hollow echo of what they once were.

𐂂 He missed your presence at his side during council meetings, your steady gaze meeting his when the weight of his crown became too heavy. Though you were mortal, you had a wisdom that he cherished, and he often leaned over to murmur in your ear, seeking your insight on matters of politics or war.

𐂂 He missed the sound of your voice. How it could rise in fierce defiance, matching his intensity when you challenged him, or soften into a gentle melody when you spoke of your dreams. You had a way of looking at him that unnerved him at first, piercing through the layers of his arrogance and pride, as if you saw the man beneath the crown. And he had let you see him—a rare gift, one he now regretted giving so freely, for it left him feeling more exposed in your absence.

𐂂 Thranduil carried himself as a king should, his grief hidden behind an unyielding mask. But when he was alone, the cracks in his composure showed. He wandered the halls of his palace late at night, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a shroud. He imagined he could hear your footsteps, the soft echo of your voice calling his name.

𐂂 The gardens, once a place of solace, now only deepened his sorrow. He would kneel by the flowers you had tended, his fingers brushing over their leaves as though he could touch a piece of you. He remembered how you had once knelt beside him, your hands dirtied from planting new blossoms, and how you had laughed when he teased you about your lack of grace.

𐂂 He would sit beneath the ancient trees, staring up at the stars, and wonder if you could see them too, wherever you were. His fingers would stray to the ring he had meant to give you, the one he had carried in his pocket for months, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment would never come.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was a testament to the depth of his love. He had lived for centuries, but you had taught him what it truly meant to live. Your absence was a void that no amount of time could fill, and though he remained every inch a thin the walls of his heart, he was simply a man mourning the you who had been his world.

𐂂 Three years had passed in the lonely corridors of his palace, years marked by an unrelenting stillness that clung to the Woodland Realm like a shroud. The celebrations of the victory at the Battle of the Five Armies had long faded into memory, their songs and triumphs reduced to whispers of the past. For Thranduil, there was no solace in victory, no joy in the enduring peace. His thoughts, no matter how he tried to quell them, always wandered back to you.

𐂂 He thought of your laughter, so bright it seemed to illuminate the shadowed halls of his realm. He thought of your touch—soft, grounding, and warm, a balm to his weary spirit. He thought of the way your eyes shone, even in the darkest moments, like stars breaking through a storm-laden sky. But these thoughts were no comfort. They were daggers, sharp and cruel, reminding him of the emptiness that had taken your place.

𐂂 The elves whispered of their king, pitying him. Thranduil, who had endured centuries of loss and seen his kingdom thrive despite it, now seemed diminished. His grief was a weight that bent him in ways his people had never seen. Once proud and untouchable, he had become a man lost in memories, a king trapped in mourning.

The return:

𐂂 Three (or more up to you) years had passed since fate last smiled upon Thranduil. Three years of silence, of searching, of despair. The Woodland Realm had recovered from its battles, but its king had not. His people spoke in hushed tones of his sorrow, how he spent long hours gazing toward the edges of his forest, as though willing you to emerge from the shadows. Yet the forest, which once seemed endless and alive, had remained achingly empty.

𐂂 Then, on an autumn evening when the air was thick with the scent of fallen leaves and the golden hues of the forest began to fade into dusk, hope returned. A scout came to the palace, his face grave but his icy blue eyes bright with news. A figure—a lone, weary traveler—had been seen wandering the edges of the forest. The description matched you.

𐂂 Thranduil needed no further confirmation. Without so much as a word, he swept from the council chambers, the echo of his departure leaving the room stunned in silence. Mounting his great elk, he rode out into the deepening twilight, his silver armor catching the last remnants of the sun. The colors of autumn blurred around him as the wind tore at his hair, but he paid no mind to anything except the direction the scout had pointed.

𐂂 He pushed his elk harder than he ever had before, the urgency in his heart an unfamiliar but undeniable ache. As the shadows lengthened and the forest grew darker, Thranduil urged his mount deeper into the woods. The only sounds were the rhythmic beat of hooves against the forest floor and the faint rustle of leaves. It was then, when all seemed still and silent, that he heard it. A voice. Faint, carried by the wind like a song drifting through the trees. It was fragile, almost unreal, but it was unmistakably yours. “Thranduil.”

𐂂 His hands tightened on the reins, his heart stuttering in his chest. Could it be? The voice that had haunted his dreams, the name spoken in a way only you could, both familiar and utterly sacred? Fear warred with hope. What if it was a trick? An echo of his grief? Yet deep in his heart, he knew it could only be you. Urging his elk onward, Thranduil rode toward the sound, his sharp eyes scanning the darkening forest. The trees seemed to bend and shift as though guiding him forward, and at last, the forest opened into a small clearing bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

𐂂 And there you stood. The Sight of You. The world seemed to stop. Time itself held its breath as Thranduil dismounted, his cloak swirling around him in a cascade of silver and forest green. He moved forward slowly, his steps hesitant, as though afraid that the vision of you might dissolve into mist. But you were real. Time had touched you, softening the youthful glow of your face, marking you with lines that spoke of trials endured and years spent apart. Yet you were unmistakably, gloriously you.

𐂂 You turned at the sound of his approach, your eyes widening with shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, as though the earth itself shifted beneath your feet, you ran to him. Thranduil caught you in his arms, lifting you from the ground as though to anchor you to him, to banish the years of emptiness that had carved their mark into his soul. His grip was unrelenting, his hands clutching at you, trembling as they mapped the reality of your form.

𐂂 “Thranduil, my love,” you whispered, your voice breaking as your hands framed his face, tracing the sharp angles of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. Your touch was desperate, needing to confirm that he was real, that this was not another cruel dream.

𐂂 “You… you are here,” he murmured, his voice cracking with disbelief. His icy-blue eyes brimmed with emotion as his hands rose to cradle your face, his long fingers trembling against your skin. “Alive.” He traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, as though committing every inch of you to memory. A shuddering breath escaped him, and his composure—the centuries of restraint he had so carefully mastered—crumbled in the wake of your presence.

𐂂 Then, unable to hold back any longer, he kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of years lost and love enduring. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation, as though he could pour every ounce of his grief, his longing, his unyielding devotion into that single moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil wept.

𐂂 Tears slid silently down his pale cheeks, unchecked and unashamed, as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath came in uneven bursts, and his voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, “I thought I had lost you. I searched every shadow, every corner of this forest. I found nothing. I thought…” His voice faltered. “I thought you were gone.”

𐂂 Your hands tightened on his cloak, clutching at the rich fabric as though to anchor him to you. “I told you, my king,” you said, your voice trembling but steady with conviction. “It would take more than a war to keep me from you.” Your words broke the last of his resolve. He let out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and pulled you closer. “You never stopped hoping,” he murmured, his tone one of wonder. “I never stopped,” you confirmed, tears shimmering in your eyes.

𐂂 For a long moment, there were no more words, only the silence of the forest and the quiet communion of two souls reunited. The weight of the years, the pain of your separation, melted away, leaving only the undeniable truth of your love.

𐂂 When Thranduil finally led you back to the Woodland Realm, his people watched in awe. Their king, who for centuries had been distant and untouchable, now radiated a warmth they had never seen before. It was as though you had brought life back to him, restoring a light that had been long extinguished. Though the years apart had changed you both, your love endured—fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. And for Thranduil, who had carried the weight of loss for so long, you were his salvation.

Aftermath:

𐂂 Thranduil had always known what it meant to love a mortal. He had known it from the moment his heart first stirred for you, from the way your smile softened the edges of his carefully guarded world. He had known it when you walked beside him through the gardens of the Woodland Realm, your steps so light yet leaving an indelible mark upon his soul. And he had known it when he held you for the first time after your return, the warmth of your presence a bittersweet reminder of how fleeting your time together would be.

𐂂 He no longer let the weight of his duties keep him from your side if you needed him he try get their as fast as he can. Every stolen moment was precious, every shared glance and quiet word a treasure. He found himself lingering in the small, human routines of life that he had once dismissed. He would rise before dawn to watch you sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest a melody that soothed his ancient heart. He would sit beside you in the evenings, reading to you in the lilting tones of Sindarin, the stories of old taking on a new significance with you nestled against him.

𐂂 Yet, beneath the surface of his newfound joy, a shadow lingered. He could not ignore the truth of your mortality. It was a quiet ache that never left him, a silent countdown that ticked away in the back of his mind. He knew there would come a day when your hand would no longer be there to hold, when your laughter would no longer fill the halls of his palace. And though he was no stranger to loss, the thought of losing you—his love, his heart—was a wound he could not bear to dwell upon.

𐂂 On days when your mortal strength faltered—when the weariness of your journey or the limitations of your human frame caught up to you—he would lift you into his arms without hesitation. His steps remained graceful and unhurried, as though carrying you was the most natural thing in the world. You protested at first, laughing softly at the indignity of being treated like a child, but his calm, unwavering expression silenced you. “You are mine to protect,” he would say simply, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me carry you.” And so you would rest against him, your head on his shoulder, as he bore you through the forest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his steps became a comfort you cherished deeply.

𐂂 The evenings were your favorite time. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars emerged one by one, you and Thranduil would retreat to the quiet solace of his private gardens. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and the hum of life, a testament to the harmony he had nurtured in his realm.

𐂂 You would sit together beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the space around you. Thranduil often brought a delicate glass of Dorwinion wine for himself and a fragrant tea for you, brewed with herbs from the forest.

𐂂 “I have lived so long,” he said one night, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Too long, perhaps. And yet, in all that time, I have never felt as I do now.” He turned to you then, his blue eyes bright with a vulnerability few had ever seen. “You have given me something I thought lost to me forever: hope.” You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cheek in a gesture of comfort and devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” you promised, your voice soft but resolute.

𐂂 His hand covered yours, his thumb caressing the back of your fingers. “I know your time here is fleeting,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I will not waste the gift of your presence. Every moment with you is a treasure, meleth nín, and I will cherish it until the end of my days.”

𐂂 Though the inevitability of your mortality weighed heavily on him, Thranduil chose to focus on the present. He insisted on celebrating the small joys of life: the laughter you shared over a quiet meal, the way your eyes lit up when he presented you with a token of his affection—a delicate circlet of silver leaves or a rare flower from the depths of the forest.

𐂂 He became fiercely protective of you, ensuring that no harm would ever come near. His guards were instructed to keep watch over you whenever he could not, though he was rarely far from your side. Even Legolas, upon returning to Mirkwood, marveled at the bond between you.

𐂂 “You have done what I thought impossible,” Legolas said to you one day, his tone both teasing and sincere. “You have softened my father’s heart.”“I didn’t do anything,” you replied with a smile. “He was always this way. He just needed a reason to show it.” In the years that followed, Thranduil made good on his vow. He loved you with an intensity that belied his normally reserved nature, his devotion to you a constant in a world ever shifting. And though he knew your time together was but a blink in the span of his immortal life, he found peace in the knowledge that you had returned to him.

Bonus part :

𐂂 Thranduil had planned to propose before the Battle of the Five Armies had changed everything. He had commissioned a ring crafted from mithril and set with a stone as clear as starlight, a design as enduring and timeless as the love he felt for you. It had been hidden away, waiting for the perfect moment. He remembered vividly the day he intended to ask. The two of you had walked through the forest, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of life around you. You had smiled at him, teasing him about his pensive mood, unaware of the question he carried in his heart. But then the drums of war had sounded, and everything had unraveled.

𐂂 After your loss in the chaos of the battle, he had buried the ring deep within the treasure vaults of his palace, unable to look at it without feeling the sharp sting of grief. But now, with you back at his side, the thought of that ring returned to him, a quiet but insistent reminder of what he had almost lost. One evening, as the stars glimmered above and the forest glowed with the soft light of fireflies, Thranduil led you to the same clearing where he had found you again. The air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and woodsmoke, and the world seemed to hold its breath as he turned to face you.

𐂂 “I meant to do this long ago,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. From the folds of his cloak, he drew out the ring, the mithril catching the faint starlight. “Before the battle… before everything, I wished to ask you something.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide with wonder and tears glistening at their corners. He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he knelt before you, his regal composure melting into something infinitely tender.

𐂂 “I know that our time together is fleeting,” he began, his voice low and reverent. “But that is what makes it precious. You have given me a joy I thought I would never feel again, a love that has restored the parts of me I thought lost to the shadows of the past. Will you, for as many days as we are given, be my star, my light, my heart?” When you nodded, tears spilling over as you whispered your answer, he slipped the ring onto your finger and rose, pulling you into an embrace that spoke of a love too vast for words.

From that night onward, Thranduil treated every moment with you as a gift. He ensured that your days together were filled with joy, laughter, and the quiet, unshakable intimacy that defined your bond. The two of you traveled to the farthest reaches of the Woodland Realm, exploring hidden glades and ancient groves. He showed you the secrets of his kingdom, sharing stories that only the trees had witnessed.

𐂂 Yet he also prepared himself for the inevitable. Thranduil, who had faced countless wars and losses, steeled his heart for the day when you would no longer walk beside him. But he made you a promise: when that day came, he would not let his grief consume him. Instead, he would carry your memory like a flame, a guiding light in the endless expanse of his immortal life.

𐂂 And when the time came—years later, in the gentle embrace of a quiet spring—Thranduil held you close as your mortal body surrendered to time. He did not fight the tears that fell, nor the ache that gripped his soul. Instead, he whispered words of love and gratitude, promising that he would find you again, in whatever form the world allowed.

𐂂 For Thranduil, your love was a paradox fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. It was a love that defied the constraints of time, enduring not in the years you shared but in the eternal mark it left on his heart. And though he lived on, an immortal king bound to the world, he carried you with him always—a love that transcended even the bounds of eternity.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The battle had been chaos—a maelstrom of blood, steel, and fire. You had been separated in the thick of it, pulled away from Legolas by the tides of war. He had seen you fall, your mortal body collapsing beneath the weight of the enemy’s blows. He had screamed your name, but the battle’s cacophony swallowed his voice. Despite his best efforts to reach you, the press of the enemy and the demands of leadership had dragged him away, forcing him to retreat with his people.

𖧧 Days after the battle, Legolas returned to the site, his heart heavy with dread and hope. The battlefield, once a scene of turmoil, was now eerily silent, save for the whispers of the wind. He searched desperately among the broken bodies and shattered weapons, his eyes scanning every corner, praying to find you—alive or at least at peace.

𖧧 But all that remained was the tattered remnants of your cloak, caught on a jagged stone. His fingers brushed the fabric, trembling with a mixture of grief and disbelief. No sign of your body. He fell to his knees, the weight of the loss sinking deeper than the cold earth beneath him. The battle had taken so much, and now, even your remains seemed to have vanished into the void.

𖧧 Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and yet the memory of your last moments haunted him. He could not forgive himself for failing to save you. Every arrow he loosed, every step he took in the forests of Mirkwood, felt hollow. For an elf who could live forever, the weight of eternity without you loomed unbearably large.

𖧧 The Fellowship, though sympathetic, could only do so much. Aragorn offered quiet support, Gimli shared in the mourning in his own gruff way, and even the hobbits, who knew loss all too well, tried to cheer him with stories. But nothing could ease the ache in Legolas’s heart.

𖧧 Five years passed, and the world around Legolas moved forward, but he remained stuck in the past, as though caught in a never-ending cycle of mourning. The war was over, the Ring destroyed, and Middle-earth had begun to rebuild. Yet, every step Legolas took in the woods of Mirkwood felt hollow. His heart, once full of the song of the trees, had become a silent, aching void. He no longer found joy in the endless beauty of the forests. The trees, once his closest friends, now whispered their sorrow to him as much as they did their solace.

𖧧 He had watched, for centuries, as the seasons changed, but he had never truly understood how fleeting they were until now. The impermanence of life had never struck him so deeply. He had lived through countless ages, witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, seen friends come and go, but none of it had ever hurt like this. The thought of you—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you held his hand in yours—was a constant presence in his mind. He longed for you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of the forest, when the noise of the world faded away.

𖧧 The ache was a part of him now, a permanent scar that could not be healed. Legolas missed you more than he ever thought possible. He missed the way you would hum soft songs to him when you thought he wasn’t listening, the way you would laugh at his awkward attempts to fit in with the others, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of something that brought you joy. He missed the way you would lay beside him on quiet nights, your head resting on his chest, listening to the heartbeat that was steady and sure while your own was more fleeting, yet so full of life.

𖧧 He missed the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you would hold him close when the world outside seemed too dark. He missed the feeling of you nestled beside him in the evenings, when the world grew still, and the air was thick with the scent of the forest, the fragrance of pine and earth that he had always loved. You were so different from him, so mortal, and yet so full of life. You had a way of seeing the world with fresh eyes, finding wonder in the simplest things. It was that wonder, that joy you radiated, that had drawn him to you.

𖧧 But now, the world felt empty. The laughter that had once filled the air now echoed hollowly in his memory. The wind, which used to carry the melodies of the forest, now whispered your name in his ear, a constant reminder of what he had lost. Legolas would often wander deep into the heart of Mirkwood, lost in thought, searching for some kind of peace, but he could never find it. He would find solace in the quiet rhythm of the world, in the stillness of the ancient trees, but it was never enough. The trees had always been his companions, but now they felt distant, like they too mourned your absence.

𖧧 His nights were the hardest. Legolas had always been a creature of the day, a warrior and protector, but it was in the quiet of the night that his grief truly took hold. He could not sleep for the thoughts that churned in his mind. He would find himself sitting at the edge of the forest, staring out at the stars, the ones you had once pointed out to him, tracing constellations with your fingers as you shared stories of ancient times. Those memories would bring him some comfort, but they also deepened the ache in his chest. It was as if the stars themselves were now distant, removed from the world that had once been shared by both of you.

𖧧 In the years since the war, Legolas had done everything he could to honor your memory. He had planted trees in your name, hoping they would grow strong and tall, just as you had. He had given himself to the land, using his hands to heal the scars left by battle, to restore what had been lost. But even this work, which once brought him peace, no longer satisfied him. The trees, the rivers, the creatures of the forest—they all reminded him of what he had lost, of the life he could never have with you again.

𖧧 He longed to hear your voice again, to feel the warmth of your hand in his. He wished for nothing more than to see your face once more, to run his fingers through your hair, to kiss you as he had done so many times before. But you were gone, and all that was left was the echo of your presence, lingering in the spaces between his breaths.

𖧧 The grief had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his existence. And though the passage of time had dulled its sharpness, it had never truly faded. The elves, ever perceptive, could see the change in him. They knew something was missing, though they never spoke of it directly. Even Thranduil, who rarely showed emotion, could not deny the shift in his son. But no one could truly understand the depth of Legolas’s loss. None but him could feel the weight of eternity without you.

𖧧 And yet, amid all the pain, there was a quiet hope, a longing that refused to die. It lived in the quiet moments when Legolas would catch himself smiling at a memory of you, or when he would find a token—perhaps a flower or a small stone—that reminded him of you. It lived in the whispers of the trees, in the soft rustling of leaves that felt like a whisper from your soul. It was the hope that, somehow, one day, fate might be kind enough to return you to him. But until that day came, he would continue his lonely path, living in a world where time moved on, but his heart remained still.

Your return:

𖧧 It was in the quiet solitude of the grove, the sunlight filtering through the new leaves of the saplings that had sprung to life in the wake of war, that Legolas first heard it—a voice that seemed to tear through the thick fog of his sorrow. It was so familiar, so dear, that it sent a chill down his spine.

𖧧 “Legolas?” For a moment, everything around him ceased to exist. His heart stopped in his chest, and the world seemed to tilt. The voice was unmistakable. It was yours. He whirled around, his elven senses alert, searching the trees, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with frantic intensity. And there you were. Standing among the trees, as if time had folded itself, and all the years between that fateful battle and now were nothing but a fleeting dream.

𖧧 You were alive. You were real. His breath caught in his throat. Your form, though unmistakably yours, bore marks of hardship—scars that told stories of the pain you had endured, the battles you had fought, and the life you had fought to cling to. But it was you. The same warmth in your eyes, the same gentle smile that had once lit up his world.

𖧧 For what felt like an eternity, neither of you moved. You stood, frozen in place taking in the sight of one another. Legolas’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as if it, too, was trying to catch up with the reality unfolding before him.

𖧧 Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, his legs carried him to you, his arms reaching out and enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His strength was overwhelming, as though he feared that if he loosened his hold, you might slip away again, like some fragile dream. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face buried in your hair, as if he could breathe you back into existence, pulling you close, unwilling to let go.

𖧧 “I thought you were gone,” he whispered, his voice strained and thick with emotion, the words almost strangled by grief and relief. His chest tightened painfully as he spoke, the weight of the years he had spent mourning you pressing on him, only to now find you before him, alive and real. “I saw you fall. I mourned you.” The sound of your voice, trembling but steady, broke through the tension. “I thought I was gone too,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking. “I was taken, Legolas. Injured, captured… but I survived. I kept hoping I’d see you again.”

𖧧 Your words were a balm to his soul, though they only deepened the ache in his heart. He could not imagine the pain you must have suffered, the darkness you had endured, separated from him for so long. And yet here you were, standing before him, alive and whole, despite everything.

𖧧 He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His fingers traced the familiar features he had longed for—your jawline, the curve of your lips, the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. His touch was soft, reverent, as though he feared he might be dreaming again, that this was a fantasy that would vanish as soon as he blinked. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.

𖧧 “Meleth nîn, you are here. You are alive.” His gaze locked with yours, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but this was different. You were back. The emptiness in his chest had been filled, but now the overwhelming flood of emotion threatened to break him. “I should have searched harder. I should never have given up—” Before he could speak another word, you gently pressed your fingers to his lips, silencing him. You felt the weight of his guilt, his self-blame, but you needed him to know—truly know—that none of it was his fault.

𖧧 “You didn’t give up,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hands covering his. Your touch was a grounding force, reminding him that this moment was real, that you were truly here. “You thought I was gone, as anyone would had. But now… now we have this.” You said the words with such certainty, such warmth, that it eased the last of his lingering doubts. There was no room for regret in this moment. Only the overwhelming joy of being reunited with the one person he had feared he had lost forever.

𖧧 Legolas leaned in then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that began gentle, almost tentative, as if he were testing the reality of the moment. His lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as though the very touch might dissolve. But then, the floodgates opened, and the years of longing, of pain, of separation poured into the kiss. It deepened, and the gentle touch became an urgent, desperate need to feel you close, to make sure that this moment—this precious moment—was real.

𖧧 His hands moved to your back, pulling you against him, his heart hammering in his chest as if trying to convince him that you were truly there, that this was not a dream. He kissed you as though he could shield you from time itself, as though he could protect you from everything that had kept you apart. He wanted to erase the years of pain and loss, to replace them with the warmth of your embrace and the sweetness of your love. For a long time, neither of you spoke. There were no words necessary. The kiss said it all—the years of grief, the lost time, the quiet hope that had never faded. It was all there, in that one kiss, that one embrace. And in that moment, Legolas felt whole again, as if the missing part of him had finally returned.

𖧧 He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes once more, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There was still so much he wanted to say, but for now, words were unnecessary. Instead, he smiled, a smile that was both bittersweet and full of hope, as though he were daring to believe that this time, you were truly here to stay.

Aftermath:

𖧧 The elves of Mirkwood were overjoyed to see their prince returned to them, though many of them struggled to understand the depth of the emotions that had taken hold of him. Legolas had always been composed, the epitome of grace and quiet strength, but since your disappearance, a shadow had clouded his spirit. The change in him was not subtle. The elves, who had witnessed centuries of sorrow and joy alike, understood the weight of grief, but even they had never seen such a profound transformation in their prince.

𖧧 It was not just his grief that marked him; it was the overwhelming joy that followed your return. There was a light in his eyes now, a light that had long been missing, and it was this light that brightened the entire Woodland Realm. His once-distant gaze had softened, the sorrow that had bound him now replaced by a quiet, hopeful contentment. The elves were accustomed to the stoic nature of their kind, but Legolas’s transformation was like a beacon of hope, one that spread through the woods like the first light of dawn after a long, dark night. Even the leaves seemed to shimmer more brightly in his presence, as though reflecting his renewed spirit.

𖧧 Though many of the elves had long accepted the sadness of time’s passing, and the inevitable cycle of life and death, there were still those who found themselves cautious about attachment to mortals. They had seen how fleeting the lives of men and women were, how quickly the ones they loved could be lost. The idea that an elf—immortal and bound to the land—might form a bond with someone so transient had always been a subject of quiet discomfort. Yet, they could not deny the bond that had been rekindled between Legolas and you. The joy he now radiated was something none of them had seen in centuries. It was a testament to the power of love, and the elves, for all their wisdom, could not ignore the beauty of such a rare and pure thing.

𖧧 Even Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, who had always been reserved and cautious with his emotions, could not hide the soft pride in his eyes when he spoke of your return. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the realm in twilight, he sat with Legolas and you beneath the towering trees. His expression, though still composed, betrayed a warmth that few ever saw from the elven king. “My son has been… unrecognizable without you,” Thranduil admitted, his voice low, his gaze resting on Legolas with an unspoken understanding. “Your return is a gift, one I did not dare hope for. In your absence, I feared he would never recover. I see now that I was wrong.” His eyes met yours for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment of the role you had played in bringing the prince back from the edge of despair.

𖧧 Legolas, ever the devoted partner, became almost protective in the days following your reunion. His presence was constant, his devotion unwavering. He rarely let you out of his sight, his gaze always seeking you out, even in a room full of others. His fingers often brushed against yours in passing, a small but deliberate gesture, like an anchor in the ever-shifting tides of life. His touch was a quiet reassurance, a constant reminder that you were still there, that you had returned to him, and he to you.

𖧧 Though the weight of mortality still hung over you like a shadow, it only made the time you spent together more precious. Each moment with you felt like a rare treasure, something he could never take for granted. Legolas began to show you the parts of the forest that he cherished most—hidden glades where the trees seemed to hum with ancient wisdom, sparkling streams that wound through the land like veins of life. He shared with you the quiet, sacred places where he had once wandered alone, his heart heavy with grief, and now filled with love. His heart ached with the knowledge that, as much as he longed to share eternity with you, time was never on his side.

𖧧 Still, despite the knowledge of your eventual passing, he held fast to every second. He cherished each touch, each laugh, and the fleeting moments of joy that seemed to glow more brightly in the presence of the inevitable darkness of mortality. When you walked together beneath the trees, your fingers entwined, he would often smile softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, knowing that each passing day was one closer to the end of your time together.

𖧧 One night, as the two of you lay together beneath the canopy of stars, the world around you seemed to fade into a dreamlike quiet. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic pulse of the earth beneath you. Legolas’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, as though he could shield you from the inevitable, protect you from the fragility of your mortal form. He pressed his lips to your forehead, his voice a soft whisper against the cool night air.

𖧧 “I will love you until the end of my days, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his words laced with the depth of his emotion, “and far beyond that.” His voice trembled slightly, as if he, too, feared the passage of time, but in the same breath, he expressed his unwavering resolve to love you for as long as he could. “Even when the days of your life are gone, my love for you will endure, woven into the fabric of time itself.”

𖧧 For an elf like Legolas, eternity had always been a distant horizon—unchanging, inevitable, and timeless. He had always lived with the knowledge that his existence stretched on, forever unmarred by death. But with you by his side, the brevity of your mortal life gave him a new understanding of eternity. Even as the seasons changed and the world around them shifted, the love they shared became a constant. It was as if, in your fleeting moments together, you had given him a glimpse of the infinite. And for Legolas, that was enough.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ The Battle of Helm’s Deep had come to a grueling end. After hours of fighting, the once serene valley had turned into a chaos of cries, clashing steel, and the smell of smoke. Amid the victory, there was sorrow. Haldir had led the Elven warriors with unmatched skill, but the cost was heavy. The loss of comrades, of friends—he had witnessed it all. But there was one more wound, one that cut deeper than the others: the sudden absence of you, his love, the one who had fought at his side.

➳ When the battle raged, Haldir had seen you fall. In the chaotic madness, there had been no time to reach you. The desperate hope that you had merely been knocked unconscious had been the only thing that kept him from succumbing to despair. He had searched the battlefield, and when the fighting ended, he had found no trace of you just the promise ring they both have. (That promise ring haldir had picked up and wore it on a necklace around his neck after that day), The hope had died then, buried with the fallen warriors.

➳ Days passed, and the darkness of grief settled upon him. The laughter of his brothers, the joy of their victory, felt distant to him. He withdrew into himself, ever vigilant, though there was no enemy left to face. The world around him had grown quiet, and the shadows of the past kept whispering in his mind, haunting his every waking moment.

➳ Haldir never spoke of it. Not to Aragorn, not to Legolas, nor even to Galadriel in his thoughts. How could he? To show weakness, to admit that his heart had shattered would have been a betrayal of his duty, of the pride of Lothlórien. So, he carried on, but it was harder now, each day a battle against the emptiness within.

➳ Not even year had done little to ease the ache in Haldir’s chest. The Battle of Helm’s Deep, a triumph for the free peoples of Middle-earth, had left him with a deep, unspoken sorrow, one that haunted his every step. The absence of you, his love, had carved an irreparable wound in him. At first, he had fought to hold on to the belief that you had survived, that perhaps the chaos of the battle had merely swept you away, leaving you battered and bruised but alive. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, that hope began to slip through his fingers, like the softest of sands in the wind.

➳ The ring you had given him (promise ring), the one he had promised to wear until the end of his days, had been the only tangible connection he had left to you. That promise had felt like a lifeline in those early days after the battle, as if by keeping it close to his heart, he could somehow keep you with him, even in your absence. But when the cold reality set in and the ring was the only thing he had left to hold on to, it became both a comfort and a torment. He wore it on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath the folds of his tunic, never once letting it out of his sight. It was the last piece of you, the last reminder of the life he had once dreamed of sharing with you. And it ached, pulling at his heart in ways he could not bear to voice.

➳ Each time he touched the necklace, a memory of you would flood his thoughts—the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of dreams and hopes for the future, the way your hand felt in his, warm and steady. He missed the little things, the quiet moments that had meant the most. The way you had always known what he needed without words. How, even in the midst of battle, you had found a way to offer him comfort with a mere glance or a soft touch.

➳ Haldir had always been someone who took pride in his stoic demeanor, in the discipline and duty that had shaped his life. But you had changed him in ways he could never explain. You had brought softness to his heart, a tenderness he had not known he was capable of. And with you gone, that tenderness had hardened into an unyielding shell, keeping the world at arm’s length.

➳ He missed the warmth of your presence, the way you would sit beside him in silence, content just to be in each other’s company. He missed the way your voice would soften when you spoke his name, how your touch would linger in the small gestures—a brush of your fingers across his hand, a fleeting kiss on his cheek. There was a quiet intimacy in those moments that had grounded him, reminding him that no matter how distant or aloof he appeared to others, there was someone who truly understood him, who saw the person behind the warrior. And now, in your absence, the silence felt deafening.

➳ He often found himself standing at the borders of Lothlórien, staring into the vast expanse of the forest that had once felt so alive, so full of purpose. The trees whispered in the wind, their leaves rustling with secrets, but none of those secrets brought him peace. He longed for the sound of your voice in the trees, for the echo of your laughter in the quiet of the forest. The land that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a cage, a place where he could not escape the memories of you.

➳ As he went about his duties, he felt the weight of the years pressing down on him. He had remained steadfast in his commitment to Lothlórien, never faltering, never straying from the path of duty. But deep inside, he wondered what it all meant now. Without you, what was he protecting? Without you by his side, the endless vigilance, the watchful eyes that never let anything slip by, seemed almost pointless. His people, his homeland, they deserved his protection, but so did you. And in failing to protect you, he had lost a part of himself.

➳ His younger brothers—Rúmil and Orophin—had noticed the change in him. They had watched him withdraw, bury his grief beneath a mask of duty and honor. They had seen the way his eyes grew distant, how the fire that once burned so brightly in him now seemed dulled. But they knew him too well to press him, too well to ask what was on his mind. They had seen the way he would glance at the empty places where you used to stand, and the way he would pause, as if listening for your voice in the wind. And in those moments, they said nothing, offering him the silence he so desperately craved.

➳ Six years had passed, and in that time, Haldir had hardened further, the memories of you still fresh in his mind but buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities. The world had moved on, but Haldir had remained rooted in the past. He had not forgotten you—not once. And yet, he had convinced himself that you were gone, that the hope of ever finding you again was a dream too far gone to reach.

The return:

➳ Then, one fateful day, the summons came. The familiar call to return to the borders of Lothlórien, to watch over his people once more. The weight of his memories pressed heavier as he made his way to the edge of the forest. And there, among the trees that had witnessed so much of his pain, he prepared himself for what he thought would be another lonely journey. But fate had other plans.

➳ Haldir would never forget the moment his eyes fell upon you once more. It was as if the world had stopped turning. The forest stood still, the breeze held its breath. And there you were, standing before him, as real and as alive as the day he had lost you. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he thought he might collapse from the weight of the emotions flooding through him. He had never stopped loving you, never stopped longing for this moment.

➳ For the first time in six long years, Haldir felt his heart beat again—not with the cold, unrelenting rhythm of duty, but with the warmth of hope. It was a warmth that had been absent from his life for far too long. It was like waking from a dream he had resigned himself to, the world around him suddenly sharp, vivid, full of possibility. The years of grief, of self-imposed solitude, had worn away at his spirit, leaving him hardened, distant, a shell of the Elven warrior he once was. But now, in that single breath, that fleeting moment when he first saw you, all of that shifted.

➳ His pulse quickened as he stood frozen, eyes locked on you as if you might vanish in an instant. His mind struggled to make sense of the impossible. You were here. Alive. Standing before him. Every ounce of restraint he had built up over the years crumbled in that instant. There had been no signal, no warning—just the quiet approach of your footsteps, the sound that shattered the numb silence of his existence.

➳ He took a step forward, but his legs felt weak. The elation, the disbelief, the agony of the years spent apart—they all surged through him, overwhelming him in a torrent of emotion. His breath caught in his throat. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, a sound so fragile it could break the very moment in which you both stood. The years of pain seemed to melt away with that single word. It was as though the years of separation, the endless nights of wondering, the grief of not knowing if he would ever see you again, all came rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

➳ Then, as if on instinct, he moved. He didn’t even think. He simply acted, crossing the distance between you in a few swift strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with a desperation that had not been part of him in years. His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his hands clutching you with such intensity that it almost hurt—but you didn’t mind. You, too, had lived with this ache, the gnawing emptiness that came with the loss of the one you loved. And now, in this instant, that loss was erased.

➳ Tears welled in his eyes, and though he fought them back, they came anyway—silent, betrayed by the depth of his relief. He let them fall, uncaring for once, for this moment was far more important than any of the self-control he had once so fiercely held on to. The warrior within him, so composed, so unshakeable, had melted into the man who had loved you more than anything. “I thought… I thought I had lost you forever,” he whispered, his voice breaking, as if speaking the truth aloud made it all real in the most painful way.

➳ His arms tightened around you, his hands trembling slightly as they moved to stroke your back, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here. He buried his face in your hair, taking in the scent of you, a scent he had never truly forgotten, even as the years had dragged on. In your arms, he was whole again. “I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured against your skin. “I thought… I thought I was alone in this world.” His words were desperate, a quiet confession of how much he had fallen apart in your absence.

➳ “I’m here, Haldir,” you whispered, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I thought I had lost you too.” You felt the trembling in his body, his silent sobs that shook him to his core, and you pressed yourself closer to him, letting him know that you were real, that you were here, that he was not alone anymore.

➳ He pulled back slightly, enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for some sign that this wasn’t a dream, that it wasn’t some cruel trick of the mind. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if he had to remind himself that you were really there. He knew you were real; the warmth of your body in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breath, it all confirmed it—but still, the disbelief lingered in his eyes. “How?” The word came out in a breathless whisper, barely audible, but it held all the confusion, all the questions that had plagued him in the years since your disappearance.

➳ You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I… I don’t know how. But I survived, Haldir. I survived for you. For this moment.” You took his hand, holding it to your chest, where his heart had always belonged. “And now… now we’re together again. That’s all that matters.” He blinked, his eyes welling up again, and this time he didn’t fight it. The tears spilled freely, tracking down his cheeks, a testament to the weight of his heart’s release. He let you see him—truly see him—unmasked in his vulnerability. The man who had carried the world on his shoulders, the warrior who had fought countless battles, was no longer untouchable. He was simply a man who loved and had nearly lost everything.

➳ His lips trembled as he spoke again, the words thick with emotion. “I feared I would never see you again,” he said, his voice quiet and raw. “You were my heart, Y/N. I feared I had lost you to this war. I feared that the one thing worth fighting for would be taken from me.” His hands cupped your face gently, as though he could keep you with him by sheer force of will. “But here you are. Alive. And I—” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of everything he felt. “I never want to let you go again.”

➳ “I will never leave you, Haldir,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking as you rested your forehead against his. The words felt like a promise, one that neither time nor distance could take away. “Let me heal you now,” you murmured, your hands brushing his cheek gently, wiping away the tears. “Let me be here for you. Let me show you that we can find peace again, together.” For a long moment, the two of you simply stood there, your bodies entwined, hearts beating in unison. The war was over, but in its place, there was a new battle—one of healing, of rebuilding what had been broken. But with each breath, each soft word exchanged between you, the weight of the past began to lift, and the love that had never faded began to blossom once again.

➳ When Haldir finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile full of quiet promise. “I will never let you go again, meleth nín,” he murmured, his voice steady once more, but with a tenderness that had been missing for so long.

➳ And in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade into nothing. There was no war, no grief, no loss—only the warmth of your presence, the unwavering connection that bound you together, a love that had withstood the tests of time and distance. No matter what came next, Haldir knew he had found you again—and this time, he would never let go. Together, you would face whatever came, knowing that your hearts had finally found their way back to each other.

Aftermath:

➳ In the days that followed, the world for Haldir felt both new and familiar. The reunion with you, the love of his life, had been everything he could have dreamed of and more. Yet, as the days slipped into weeks, there remained a shadow that followed him—a shadow not of war or grief, but of time itself. The realization gnawed at him, a quiet ache in the deepest part of his heart. He had lived for countless ages, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, watched the world change in ways that few could comprehend. His existence had stretched into eternity, a timeless rhythm, a slow and steady beat of life that allowed him to witness the birth and death of the seasons, the turning of the world on its axis.

➳ But you—his beloved—were different. Time would not wait for you. You would age, you would grow frail, and one day, far too soon, you would slip from this world as quickly as you had come into it. Haldir could no longer ignore this, though he tried. It lingered in the back of his mind as he held you at night, as he kissed you in the early mornings, as he laughed with you over meals. Every moment with you, every touch, every word felt precious. But the love he had for you was colored by an undercurrent of sorrow, one that grew more pronounced with each passing day.

➳ He would not be able to protect you from time. There was no shield against it, no sword to fight it, no battle to win. Time would take you, as it had taken so many before you, and no amount of Elven strength or magic could prevent it. At first, he tried to bury his fears, to hold on to the joy of having you in his arms, of sharing this time together. The two of you found moments of peace amidst the tension that clung to him—walking through the forests of Lothlórien, whispering sweet words to each other as the stars flickered above, listening to the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. You brought color back into his life, warmth where there had only been the cold emptiness of mourning.

➳ But time continued its inexorable march, and with each passing season, Haldir’s heart grew heavier. He could see the subtle changes in you—the faint lines beginning to form at the corners of your eyes, the softening of your youthful skin, the occasional weariness that would settle over you, even when you tried to hide it. He noticed how you moved, no longer as quick and unburdened as you once were, how you laughed less freely, as though each moment of joy was now a little more fragile.

➳ And it was in these moments—when the years seemed to press against his heart—that he would withdraw. He couldn’t help it. The pain of knowing that the love they had shared would someday be cut short by the passage of time was too much to bear. He would wander the forest alone, seeking solace among the trees that had stood for millennia, the ancient trunks whispering secrets of a time long past.

➳ The memory of his brothers, the other Elves of Lothlórien, came to him in quiet moments. He had lived so long with them, shared their experiences, their pain, their joy. But he knew none of them could understand the weight of his loss. They did not have to face the crushing knowledge that one day, the light of his life would fade as the seasons turned. His kin were eternal, as was he, but you—his beloved human—were not. The thought of losing you, of watching you grow old and fade from the world, was a constant ache that he could not escape.

➳ One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, casting a soft glow over the forest, he found himself staring at you, lost in thought. You were standing near the water, the light catching your hair as it blew gently in the wind, your back to him. He could see the way you held yourself, strong yet weary, and the thought of someday losing you was unbearable. He stepped forward, quietly, until he stood beside you. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his presence beside you, the weight of his gaze upon you. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary; the quiet understanding between you both was enough.

➳ “You’re thinking of it again, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Haldir didn’t answer at first. He didn’t need to. You knew him too well, had seen the way his gaze would wander, the way he would pull away in moments of silence. He had never spoken of his fears, not aloud. But you knew. “I can’t help it,” he murmured finally, his voice thick with the weight of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Time is not kind to you, meleth nín. I—”

➳ “I know,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “I know, Haldir. But don’t let fear steal what we have now.” You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, filled with both understanding and sorrow. “We can’t stop time. We can’t change what’s to come. But we have this moment. We have today. Let me love you in this moment, and tomorrow, and every day that follows.” Haldir’s heart clenched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his carefully built defenses. He wanted to hold on to you, to keep you here forever, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Still, your love was the greatest gift he had ever received, and he would not let fear overshadow that gift.

➳ “I will love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Every moment, every heartbeat, I will love you.” And for a while, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen. He couldn’t change what was to come, but he could choose to live fully in the time they had together. Even as the years slipped away, he would cherish every day with you, every touch, every word, every shared silence. In the end, that was all any of them could do—love as fiercely and fully as they could, until the time they had together ran out. And Haldir, for all his pain, was determined to make every moment with you count.

Bonus as I’m a smitten for Elrond god love the man (love older version Hugo.) 🫶🥰❤️‍🔥

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The winds of war had long been howling across Middle-earth, and Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, found his heart weighed down with an unbearable burden. Years had passed since you had left to join the free peoples in their fight for survival. Your mortal life called you to the front lines, while Elrond remained behind, bound to his responsibilities in Rivendell—offering counsel, wisdom, and healing to those who sought it. But despite his centuries of knowledge and the depth of his experience, Elrond could not escape the gnawing fear that something terrible would happen to you. Every day that passed brought him closer to the heart-wrenching reality that, sooner or later, he might never see you again.

✶ The day had come when Elrond, alone in his study, When the news came—the dreaded news that your battalion had been lost, that you were presumed dead—he could not have prepared himself for the devastation that followed. The feeling of his heart sinking, of his entire world unraveling, was something Elrond, despite his countless years of wisdom, had never experienced before. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed, but in that moment, he felt as though everything within him had shattered. In the silence of Rivendell’s halls, the place that had once been full of life and laughter, now stood cold and empty to him. The absence of your presence left an unbearable void in the very air he breathed. His beloved—his heart—gone forever…Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, felt a heaviness settle deep within his heart. He could no longer ignore the gnawing fear that had consumed him for years—the fear of losing you. The love of his life, his heart, his soul—lost in a war that he could not protect you from.

✶ Every report from the front lines brought a fresh wave of dread, though he clung to the hope that you would return, even as the weight of time pressed down upon him. He had known of your courage, your strength, but no amount of wisdom could prepare him for the moment when the news arrived—your battalion had been lost, the battle you fought in was disastrous, and you were presumed dead. The world seemed to collapse around him as he stood in the silence of Rivendell’s great halls, a place once filled with hope and life, now haunted by the absence of your laughter and love.

✶ He searched for you, though he knew, deep down, that the chances of finding you were slim. He traveled to the battlefield where your battalion had fallen, desperate to find any trace of you, hoping against hope that you had survived, that you might be out there, somewhere. But when he arrived, all he found was your brooch—the one you had stolen from him in jest, a gift he had given you years ago, which you had always worn. Now it was stained by the dirt and blood of the battlefield, and Elrond knew, in that moment, that he had lost you forever. His heart ached with a sorrow so deep it seemed to permeate every fiber of his being. The brooch felt like the final testament to the love they had shared—a love that seemed to have been ripped away from him by fate.

✶ In the three years that followed, though Rivendell remained a haven untouched by the horrors of the outside world, Elrond could not escape the weight of his grief. He threw himself into his duties—leading, guiding, offering counsel to those in need—but nothing could ease the longing that had taken root in his heart. There were moments when he would sit by the river in Rivendell, the waters glistening beneath the stars, and he would think of you. He would remember the way you would sit by his side during the evenings, talking about the future, discussing everything and nothing, always with the same warmth and laughter that had drawn him to you all those years ago.

✶ Elrond never let on how much he missed you, but you had always had an uncanny ability to see through his stoic exterior. You knew when something was wrong—knew when the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear. And you always knew just how to lift his spirits. The best way to cheer Elrond up, you had learned, was to talk to him about the future you both dreamed of. A future together, one free from the pain and loss of the present. He would listen, his face softening as he imagined the life the two of you would share: growing old, discovering new wonders, finding peace in each other’s company. The thought of those days yet to come always made him smile. He would hold your hand, his fingers warm against yours, and for a moment, the burdens of the world would fade away.

✶ When you were sad, Elrond was always there for you, offering his unwavering support. He would make sure you had everything you needed—food, warmth, anything that might ease your discomfort. He would never leave your side until he saw that familiar smile return to your face. You, too, had your own moments of melancholy, but Elrond’s presence, his devotion to you, always helped chase the shadows away.

There were those quiet evenings when Elrond would retreat to his books to escape the stresses of his world. He would sit, absorbed in the words of ancient texts, letting the pages carry him far from the weight of responsibility.

✶ You would leave him to his solitude, knowing that he needed the time to rest his mind. Yet, it was never long before he would beckon you over, silently passing you a book of his own. “Your presence calms me,” he would say, his voice barely above a whisper, though his lips often curled into the smallest of smirks as you would look up, embarrassed by the attention. Those quiet, shared moments were the moments he cherished the most.

✶ Elrond missed those times. He missed the way you could always make him laugh, even on his darkest days. He missed the way your presence could fill the air with warmth and light. But most of all, he missed the simple, quiet comfort of knowing that you were there, just beside him, in a world that seemed to keep shifting and changing.

✶ He missed you with a depth that words could scarcely convey. He missed the sound of your voice, so full of laughter and light, even in the darkest of times. He missed the way you’d always manage to draw him out of himself, coaxing him from the shadows of his responsibilities to enjoy the simple joys of life. There was a day, early in your time together, when you had convinced him to go out into the gardens, despite the pouring rain. At first, he had been reluctant—Elrond, ever the reserved and composed half-elven, did not see the appeal of dancing in the rain. But your eyes, bright with mischief and love, had won him over. “Just one dance, Elrond. I promise, you won’t regret it,” you had said, your voice warm and full of promise. And so, he had relented, allowing you to lead him into the rain-soaked garden, the droplets falling all around you both.

✶ You laughed as you twirled him in the wet grass, and though he had protested at first, soon enough, Elrond had found himself laughing too, lost in the joy of the moment. Of course, you both ended up drenched, shivering from the cold, and neither of you could stop giggling as you tried to dry off afterward. It had been one of those rare, carefree moments in his long life, the kind he cherished the most. But as the days wore on, Elrond found that those simple, shared moments with you became more precious than ever before.

✶ Afterward, he had caught a cold, something that had been all too rare for an elf of his stature. You took great pleasure in teasing him for it, even as you carefully nursed him back to health. You insisted on bringing him hot tea, wrapping him in blankets, and refusing to let him leave his chambers until he had fully recovered. The memory of your gentle care, your laughter as you made him rest, was something Elrond held close to his heart when the darkness of the war began to weigh too heavily on him.

The return:

✶ Then, one evening, as the twilight bathed Rivendell in its soft, golden glow, Elrond found himself walking alone along the banks of the river. The waters of Imladris flowed serenely, a timeless current that had witnessed the rise and fall of ages. The air was cool, fragrant with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the land around him seemed still, as though holding its breath in the presence of the moment. His mind was heavy, filled with the weight of years gone by, years in which you had been absent, lost to the war that ravaged the world. He had spent countless hours contemplating the future, wondering what would become of his people, of his family, and of himself. But more than anything, he had wondered about you.

✶ And yet, every day the gnawing emptiness in his chest seemed to grow deeper. How many times had he walked these very halls, the memories of you so vivid in his mind? How many times had he sat by the hearth, imagining what your voice might sound like in the quiet evenings, the firelight dancing across your face as you spoke of your dreams, your hopes, your future?

✶ Elrond’s footsteps were almost soundless on the stone path, his cloak trailing lightly behind him. He was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the river that had been a constant companion throughout his long life, when, from the corner of his ear, he heard it. A faint sound, barely perceptible, a soft footfall on the earth. At first, he thought it was the wind—after all, Rivendell had a way of carrying the wind’s whispers through its woods, the rustling of leaves and branches almost sounding like distant voices. But then, it came again. A sound so delicate, yet unmistakable—a footfall, the lightest of steps, as though someone was walking toward him through the quiet dusk.

✶ His heart stuttered in his chest, an unfamiliar jolt of hope coursing through him. “Meleth nín.” The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he had spoken them, a breathless whisper full of longing and disbelief. He had not allowed himself to hope in so long, but now, in the depth of his soul, he knew—he felt—something had changed.

✶ He turned, and there you were. You stood in the soft light of the evening, your form outlined by the fading glow of the sun, the last rays of the day catching the delicate strands of your hair, which seemed to glow like starlight itself. For a long moment, Elrond could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his entire world shrinking to the vision of you before him. His heart beat in his chest, each pulse like thunder in his ears, a sound that seemed louder than the river itself. There you were, alive, your eyes meeting his with the same warmth, the same strength that had once made him feel as though nothing could touch him. The agony of loss, the years of uncertainty and grief, all of it seemed to vanish in an instant, swept away by the overwhelming flood of joy and disbelief.

✶ His legs nearly gave out beneath him, as if the sheer weight of your return had drained all the strength from him. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between you in a few swift strides, his hands reaching out as though to touch you, to make sure that you were truly there, truly real. He clasped your hands in his, pressing them gently against his chest, as though to prove to himself that the ache in his heart, the longing that had consumed him for so long, was finally coming to an end.

✶ And without a word, Elrond sank to his knees before you, pulling you down to him as if he could not bear the distance between you for a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his face buried in the soft fabric of your clothing, your warmth the balm to a wound that had festered for far too long. His tears, long held back, shimmered in his eyes but did not fall. It was as though the weight of all those years, the grief, the fear, the longing—everything—had been too much for him to bear, and now that you were here, it was as though he could not bring himself to release the sorrow, even though he felt a profound relief flood his being.

✶ “My heart…” Elrond’s voice was thick, raw with emotion, trembling with the weight of the years that had passed. His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they carried the grief of lifetimes. “I thought I had lost you forever. The ache within me… it has been unbearable.” He shook his head slightly, as though the thought of a world without you in it was simply too much to fathom. “I… I could not bear the thought of losing you. Not again.”

✶ You cupped his face in your hands, your fingers brushing against the dampness on his cheek. His eyes were filled with a sorrow so deep, but they held something else now too: the flicker of hope, the tenderness that had never truly left, no matter how many years had passed. “I am here, Elrond,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, yet filled with a strength that only he could hear. “I’m here, my love. I never stopped thinking of you. I never stopped longing to return to you. The war may have stolen so much, but it never took my heart. It always belonged to you.”

✶ Elrond’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything he had longed to say, everything he had carried with him for all the years of uncertainty and pain. The kiss was full of tenderness, the kind that only time and separation could breed. It was the kiss of a love that had endured the test of time, a love that had never truly faded, no matter the distance or the years apart. He kissed you as though he feared that if he did not hold on tightly enough, you would slip away again.

✶ When the kiss finally broke, Elrond rested his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, his heart racing in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, as if it too were taking a breath, giving you both this precious, fleeting moment. His voice was firm, yet filled with all the tenderness in the world. “Together,” he whispered, his eyes closed as if to hold on to the moment. “Always together, my love. No more distance between us. I will never let you go again.”

✶ And though the world beyond Rivendell still carried its burdens, though the shadows of war still loomed over Middle-earth, Elrond knew that with you by his side, he could face anything. The love between you had not been lost, not even by the ravages of time and battle. It had only grown stronger, deeper, and as the stars began to glisten overhead, you both knew that your hearts would forever remain united—no matter the storms that might come. The world might change, but your love would endure. Always.

✶ In that quiet, timeless moment, as the stars twinkled above and the river flowed gently at your feet, Elrond felt as though the world had finally returned to balance. The pain of the past, the loss, the war—it was all still there, but it no longer had the power to tear them apart. With you, his heart was whole again. And together, you would face whatever the future held, side by side, forever.

Aftermath:

✶ The days after your reunion were a haze of joy and sorrow, a bittersweet blend of love and inevitability. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had lived countless ages, seen kingdoms rise and fall, and had endured the loss of many dear to him. Yet none of it, none of the weight of time and fate, could have prepared him for the agony that would come with the knowledge that your time with him—your mortal life—was limited.

✶ Even now, as he walked through the halls of Rivendell with you by his side, his heart could not fully rid itself of the weight of that truth. The joy of your return, of having you here with him again, was overwhelming, but it was marred by the shadow that always lingered in his thoughts—the shadow of time slipping away. It was always there, lurking, like a dark cloud on the horizon, and despite his efforts to remain present in each moment, it tugged at him, reminding him of the fragility of your existence in a way that no mere mortal could ever understand.

✶ He had known this truth long before you had returned to him. The years had always been numbered for you. He had watched countless mortals come and go, each one touched by the brevity of their lives, and though he had lived with that knowledge, knowing you would one day fade away had never been a burden he had been willing to bear. Your love had been worth the sacrifice, and he had cherished every moment, every second, as if it might be his last with you. But now, as he held you in his arms, that knowledge had become more than just an abstract thought. It was a constant presence, a weight pressing on his chest, that your time was slipping away, and he could not stop it.

✶ The passage of time had always been something Elrond had managed to bear. He was an Elf, and he had known loss and grief before, but to love a mortal—you, the love of his life—was a different kind of agony. It was a cycle of beauty and pain, joy and inevitable sorrow. He would not force you to endure the years of his existence; his love for you was too great to watch you grow old, your body changing, while he remained the same. And yet, to see you face the years that slipped away so swiftly… it tore at him in a way that even the countless wars and losses he had endured had never done.

✶ There were mornings when he would wake beside you, watching the sunlight play across your face, feeling the warmth of your breath against his chest. In those moments, his heart would swell with joy, and he would hold you tighter, as though afraid the very light of dawn might fade before he could hold you in his arms again. But in the quiet moments that followed, in the spaces between, his thoughts would inevitably turn to the future—your future. He knew he could not stop the inevitable. Your time was finite. In the stillness of the night, as you slept beside him, Elrond would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind lost in the torrent of his emotions, knowing that each day with you was one day less.

✶ He had never wished for immortality in the way his brethren had. He had not desired to outlast the world, nor to be untouched by time. But now, as he watched you—his beloved, his heart—grow more tired, more fragile with each passing day, he longed for something he could never have. He wished, more than anything, that he could turn back time, that he could change the rules of fate, and grant you the same immortality that he had been blessed with. But he knew this was impossible. He had known from the start, from the moment he had fallen in love with you, that this was the price he would pay. And yet, knowing it did nothing to ease the ache within him now.

✶ As the years wore on, Elrond tried to focus on the moments, on the love you shared. He lived for the quiet evenings by the fire, the shared laughter, the moments when you would walk together through the gardens, your hand in his, your voice filling the spaces between the rustling leaves. He cherished the mundane, the small, beautiful things that often went unnoticed. He would often find himself gazing at you as you spoke, your voice soothing his restless heart. He would listen to you tell him of your hopes, your dreams, the little things that made up your mortal life, and he would hold onto each word as though it were a treasure.

✶ In the quiet moments when the two of you would sit together, reading, or in deep conversation, Elrond would push the future aside, focusing solely on the present. You spoke of the life you had lived, and of the life you still hoped to live, and you shared your stories of the world, of the beauty you had seen. These moments were everything to him—his heart was full in these precious intervals of time, and he would give anything to stretch those moments, to keep you by his side for just a little longer.

✶ But the inevitable truth would always return, creeping in like a shadow in the corner of his mind. There would be a moment when he would see you—your face pale, your movements slower, your strength fading—and the ache would return, sharp and relentless. It was then that Elrond’s heart would break all over again, as he realized that no matter how much love and care he poured into every moment with you, there would come a day when the passing of time would take you from him.

✶ And yet, despite the pain, despite the grief that clung to every passing day, Elrond never let go of you. He refused to. He held onto you, fiercely and without reservation, because he knew that this love—your love—was worth every moment of suffering that might come. The years might take you, but they could not take away the love you had shared, the memories that had been forged in fire and warmth, and the quiet promise that no matter what, he would always carry a part of you with him.

✶ When the time came—and it would come, as it always did—Elrond would be ready. Not because he had accepted it, but because he loved you, and that love would remain even when the world had moved on. He would hold onto you, always, knowing that every moment spent with you had been worth more than all the centuries he had lived.

✶ And so, he would cherish the time left, every second, every heartbeat, until the inevitable came. Even in his sorrow, he would find peace in the knowledge that he had loved you truly, deeply, without regret. In the end, the love that had bound you together was the truest, most eternal thing in a world full of fleeting moments.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

My hand aches from all the writing I’ve done, but it was completely worth it. It was so deep tears streamed down my face when I was writing like this, so honest and profound, feels like diving into the core of my soul. It’s painful yet beautiful goddamm wish it wasn’t fictional characters love to he their in middle earth. 🫶🥹❤️‍🔥

But enjoy my dearies. 🙏

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[morganas-pendragons]

disbelief | elrond peredhel

gif by goodsirs

this is the hurt/comfort elrond fic I promised. enjoy!

summary: you and elrond mourn. Elrond asks something of you.

please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future elrond or celebrimbor fics! this one may get a part 2 because the ideas are FLOWING!

tagging: @celebrimbormylove

SPOILERS FOR 2x08

You know your place is not in the heat of battle. Your gifting has always been music, the lithe fingers of a violinist meant to create beauty within the confines of Lindon's hold. You have made your peace with that.

it does not get any easier when you find out that The High King is having Elrond lead the Elven army to Eregion. Eregion, which is under siege, with Lord Celebrimbor right at the center.

Your heart aches. Celebrimbor is one of Elrond's most beloved kin, and you dread what he may find upon arriving at Eregion.

"He is best suited for this role, and you know it," Gil-Galad remarks as he strides across his study, leaving you to linger by the door as you nervously fiddle with your hands. It is the first time you and Elrond will be apart since your confession of feelings. It is not surprising you are apprehensive to watch him leave. "I do not make promises idly. If I promise that I will return him to you. You do trust my word, do you not?"

"I do, High King."

There's little you can say to Elrond when you meet him at the gate at dawn, still dressed in your nightrobes and tugging messily on your loose hair. It is a nervous habit that you have kept for quite some time that Elrond has tried to break you of by offering to braid your hair every night before you sleep.

You let him. If anything, you are always going to let Elrond treat you with that gentle love he only reserves for you. With those tender touches that cradle you as if you are his most precious, with those eyes that always seek out your own as if he finds respite within your gaze.

As if he finds the ability to embrace the Half-Elven he has hated for so much of his life.

"Meleth nin." Elrond's voice breaks through your reverie as he approaches to cradle your hands in his own. Your aspect softens as you shift closer to press your forehead to his. "You did not need to come see me off. The sun has barely risen over the hills."

"I wish to say goodbye to my beloved," You reply quietly. Reaching into your robes, you produce a handkerchief with your initials pressed into the corner and curl his fingers around it. You'd carefully doused it in the perfume you often wear since your first date in the gardens. "And to tell you to come home to me."

Elrond lifts the handkerchief to his nose and inhales deeply. It is a pleasant scent. One that provokes intimate memories bathed in light.

It is more than enough to keep him fighting.

"I will come home to you." His words are a declaration, a promise written between you both that is sealed with a handkerchief and a kiss shadowed by twilight as you part. "Until then, namárië, my love."

You are left alone at Lindon's gates to watch him depart with the rest of the Elvish army and Gil-Galad. He has specifically asked you to tend to the others who remain while they are both gone, claiming that your ability to create beauty amid such darkness and death was commendable.

The Elves would need it if they were to survive Sauron.

***

The word reaches you through one of the couriers that stumble through Lindon's tree line, bloodied and bruised but carrying a hastily scribbled note from the High King.

Eregion lost. Celebrimbor slain. Return to us with whoever remains in Lindon to this location.. protected by the 3 Rings of Power.

You hold your breath as you scan through the rest of the note.

Elrond is alive.

Relief floods through your body as you scramble back through the gates and begin calling orders to the healers and remaining survivors who remained behind to begin packing their belongings to travel. The group you lead is few, but many of them are in good spirits and are ready to tend to the wounded who fought bravely on the front lines of battle against Sauron.

You're halfway to Gil-Galad's disclosed location when you realize that he's said Celebrimbor has been slain. "Oh, Celebrimbor," You whisper, running the backs of your hands across your eyes as tears blur your vision. You had great respect and a deep admiration for the Elven Smith. He was one of the only elves you'd ever come across who could really understand the depth of your passion for the arts. "Be peaceful, my friend."

Elrond was surely beside himself with grief. You had to find him, and you had to find him soon.

Your party ventured into the cliffs of Gil-Galad's newest sanctuary, guarded by what Elven royal guards remained who guided you toward the waterfall where a makeshift medical tent sat proudly against the rays of sun that fell upon it.

Galadriel is the first to greet you. "It is good to see you, old friend," She greeted, wincing as you pulled your hand away from her shoulder like you had been burned. "I apologize. I was wounded in battle with Sauron."

"You were what-"

She shakes her head and motions to the smaller tent behind the main one. "I know that you have little in the gift of healing, but Elrond could use your care. I had him moved to the secondary tent for more privacy. He is.." Galadriel bowed her head and exhaled quietly. It was only then in that moment that you remember how old she really is. "Wracked with grief over Lord Celebrimbor."

Ah.

"Will you communicate to the King that I have arrived with the remainder of the survivors and healers from Lindon?" You ask. Galadriel complies, murmuring her goodbyes under her breath as you remove your belongings just beside the medical tent and begin your trek up through the center aisle to enter the one Elrond occupies.

You're nearly knocked off your feet by the smell. You have been spared violence and despair for most of your life. To be witness to such devastation brought upon by the hands of Sauron, and to your Elven kin, stirs an anger deep in your belly that you've never felt before. It hurts. It aches.

He sees you before you see him.

"My love?"

Your eyes flicker through the gap in the tent to find a head of matted, bloodied curls and red-rimmed, sunken eyes staring back at you. Elrond looks exactly like Galadriel has described him to look. He looks like the picture of grief.

That ache in your heart festers at the sight of him as you rush forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up and into his embrace. Elrond grasps you with all the force of a man desperately trying to anchor himself to the world when he'd so easily rather disappear.

"Elrond," You whisper. It is your assurance to know that he is here by that whispered repetition of his name, by feeling the warmth of his skin and the press of metal against your body as he clings to you. "My love-"

"Celebrimbor. Sauron, he-" Elrond snarls quietly into your shoulder as you begin to fumble with removing his armor. You have done it enough times now that the practice is coming more easily. "He took Celebrimbor and killed him. My father said his life was supposed to be in my hands. I tried.. I tried so hard to save his works, but the Uruk burned it and Celebrimbor is dead-"

You can hear the shame he directs at himself as you remove his armor and set it to the side. Elrond has so often taken the weight of other people's responsibilities and expectations upon himself. He wants to be remembered for something other than being Elros' brother, for being the Half-Elven who resides in Lindon. Many of the full-blooded elves have held disdain and contempt against him for something completely out of his control.

He could not control this. Could not control Celebrimbor's decisions or Sauron's actions.

"I mourn Celebrimbor with you, Elrond." You said. You move to step away and grasp the rag and water basin beside you, but Elrond's grip on your body makes it difficult to move. You pause in your place and turn to face him once again, surprised to find his eyes hidden from you and face cast toward the floor. His fingers shake where they lay against your body. "Elrond?"

"His legacy went up in smoke. The Nine are gone, Feanör's statue desecrated, his prints and his works ashes. We don't even have a body to bury. How do we honor him?" His voice breaks as Elrond, for the first time in all the time you have known him, admits defeat. "How do I honor him when I failed?"

You manage to reach far enough to grasp the wet rag between your fingers and turn to face him as you drag it over the stained skin on his face. Elrond's silent tears track down clean, softened skin, and you wipe those away with your thumbs as they come.

"What if we have a funeral?" You suggest. "I will play at it, but I think you need to orchestrate and speak. Galadriel and the King would be grateful for it as well. We all loved Celebrimbor. As did I. He was one of few who could appreciate my artistry as I could his. Let his grave mark the new beginning we have here. Let that be the way to honor him."

Elrond doesn't break the silence for several minutes. He simply allows himself to bask in being alive, in you being alive here with him in this little tent far away from the war and from Sauron. You could build a life here. A home.

That is what he wants to do.

He does not dare speak until you are finished and washing the rag used to clean his arms and face. "I would very much like to do that with your assistance, nin mel. You are the only one I know who could create such beautiful things out of such darkness and travesty."

You playfully roll your eyes and tap the end of his nose with your finger. "You humor me, Commander." You muse. Elrond lets you go long enough to watch as you move his armor to the corner of the room and motion to the tub of hot water the healers had prepared while you were cleaning him. "Now humor me more and get in the bath. You smell foul."

Elrond's laughter is a balm to the ache in your heart. You too will miss Celebrimbor dearly, but you cannot afford the luxury of grief when he is so deeply engrossed in his own.

"Humor me. I have a request, aside from the funeral."

"That sounds more like a demand." You tease. "Go on."

"Remain here with me when the rest of Lindon's elves return home. Build our home here. With me. Build Imladris. Help me honor Celebrimbor."

The shock of his statement sends the objects in your arms clattering to the floor. He wants to do what?

[queers-gambit]

Match Made in Grey Haven

prompt: ( requested ) you find yourself in what feels like a distant relationship through penned letters. overcome with shyness during his visits, you avoid Herald Elrond - until your grandfather (and co.) steps in as matchmaker.

pairing: Elrond x shy!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 2.9k+

note: it's not much, i'm so sorry.

warnings: takes place BEFORE the events of TROP, abrupt ending, small hurt mostly comfort, feelings are hard, author is very abrasive and isn't sure this is conveyed fully as "shy" so i'm sorry, anxiety, unedited, wonky brain goes wonky, fluff, small drama, lost + healthy family relationships, romance, friends-to-lovers.

part two: The Risk

"You appear ill at-ease," Círdan mentioned as he casually strolled from the shadows of his workshop, the last of the day lingering in a warm glow, "which I am not accustomed to seeing on a face such as yours."

Elrond, busy at work carving one of the perfect ships his old master was crafting a fleet of, barely slowed down but did glance up in acknowledgment. He sniffled hastily, looking back at the pliable wood under his hands.

"Merely focused, my Lord, nothing more."

"Hm," Círdan hummed, pacing around slowly, hands clasped behind his back, chin up, shoulders back, grey locks glistening in familiar waves, "interesting choice of words."

"How so?" Elrond paused to pet the curve of the wood, trying in vain to hide his true bubbling feelings. He went straight back to work, aware Círdan watched him closely.

"Y/N said the exact same." This made the High King's Herald pause in full, Círdan smirking, "Ah, just as I suspected."

"I do not think - "

"You fool nobody but yourself," Círdan chuckled, waving off Elrond's words and stepping closer to admire the boat carving. "She cares for you, too, you know?"

"With respect, my Lord... But you are mistaken," Elrond deflected. "Your granddaughter and I, we are merely friends - if that. We only exchange letters - "

"And feelings," Círdan pointed out, watching Elrond flush under his interrogation. Just outside the doors, you approached, thinking you would fetch your grandfather for supper; slowing when the older, wiser Elf tisked, "Ah, come now, Elrond, do not look so forlorn, there are worst fates than that of emotional - "

"With respect," Elrond repeated, cutting Círdan off, your hand hovering over the door handle, "there are no emotions involved when it comes to your granddaughter."

You froze.

"Yet I will not believe that," Círdan shot back.

"There is little to be said that might sway you, my Lord, but it is true. We are..." You listened as Elrond took a sharp inhale, "We are friends, nothing more. Our foundation lays in companionship, we exchange letters - share our thoughts, ideas, and feelings. There's nothing more."

Círdan hummed in amusement, "That so? Then... Why, in the past 6 months, have you come here - what is it? Six? Seven times?"

"Eight," Elrond corrected automatically, wincing when your grandfather chuckled and you lowered your hand. Yet you did not walk away yet.

"You claim business with the High King brings you to us so frequently," Círdan continued, "yet, the matters discussed can be solved through letters alone. Nothing that deems an emissary. So, tell me in truth... Why?"

"My Lord?"

"Why do you come? I know it is not for Gil-Galad alone, so, tell me in truth, why the frequent trips?"

You could hear Elrond resume his wood carving and you became acutely aware of your position. Backing away, you fled the scene, petrified over the idea of being caught; yet your mind was stuffed full with what you heard. It'd been years since you first met Elrond, the young, fresh, baby-faced Herald of the High King; and while initially fascinatingly attracted to him, you were detrimentally shy.

Like, so shy, it makes you mute - to an extent.

He wasn't a Herald yet, though, and came to apprentice under your grandfather. Elrond became a constant presence around the Grey Havens - a talented, shining star of a student who studied diligently. You admired his work from afar at first, then, Círdan asked you to row one of Elrond ships around the harbor.

It was well known you were the apple of Círdan's eye; his favorite thing in the material world, the reason he refused to give himself over to the Valar yet. He was supposed to sail... But his daughter was soon to give birth, so he waited; and thankfully, because plague claimed your father and mother from complications of your birth. So, Círdan raised you.

Elrond panicked at Círdan's request, stepping into your pathway without thought and gasping, "No!" You shied back into your grandfather's side, the dark haired Elf amending swiftly, "I apologize, I-I did not mean to be so - so abrupt. But... Let me work a few more days, ensure it is to perfection."

You smiled gently and nodded, Círdan smirking and leading you away - the start of a formal friendship. After testing Elrond's boat (when ready), you sent him a note that expressed your impression and complimenting his woodworking skills, even saying you looked forward to his future creations.

His first letter back to you was one of thousands, and the start of his Heraldry.

Yet now, in present day, you wondered if these letters weren't enough and if he thought you untruthful in your declaration of affection. While your companionship had now lasted decades, you were still insecure enough that you lose wit, cheek, and tongue when he's around. And now, the past half a year, you've seen him eight times and couldn't muster your courage, and perhaps, it wasn't enough for Elrond anymore.

You just expressed yourself better in words! And you didn't leave Círdan's side; you did not venture around Middle-earth, never left your sanctuary. You adored Elrond's accounts of adventures and travels and work, it was your only time to "live", even if vicariously.

Now, worriment set in; anxious that you weren't enough.

"Ah," Círdan hummed as he and Elrond entered your humble home for supper, "it smells divine in here, sweet girl."

"Thank you," you whispered, setting the table for the meal as Elrond was the one who would not meet your eye.

"I'll be a moment, I need to wash up," he excused himself, always presentable; forever perfect.

You just sighed as he slipped from the room; a typical guest in your home, especially with his...recent increased business from the High King. "You seem pensive," Círdan noted, taking the bowl of salad to the table for you. "Is there anything on your mind you wish to discuss?"

"Nothing of note."

"Then speak to me of something not of note."

"If it is of no note, Grandfather, why give it voice?"

"Because it still takes up room, be it in your head and heart - which gives it validation to speak of."

You paused at the table, finding him grinning, offering an unamused glare. "I told you not to do that," you reprimanded softly.

"Do what?"

"Your - little - your pearls wisdom!" You groaned childishly, collapsing into a chair. "You can let me stew and figure things out for myself, we do not always have to speak of matters. It is an unfair advantage that I am inundated with your pearls and others toil for direction!"

Círdan chuckled, folding his hands before his dinner plate. "To complain of such an advantage is - "

"I know."

"Then why do it?"

"Because..."

"You are frustrated with your own emotion that you refuse to give life to?"

With a huff, you nodded, "Exactly."

"What is the matter?"

Your head shook in deflection, "Perhaps, I am just overwhelmed. I think I'll take a walk - "

"But supper - "

"I'll eat later," you promised, reaching out to lay your hand on his and smile, "I just need a few moments to breathe. Eat, enjoy, I'll find you later."

You left before another word could be spoken. When Elrond reentered the kitchen, he only found Círdan and wondered, "Where's Y/N?"

"She seemed distraught, saddened by something. She decided to go for a walk, clear her head a bit."

"Right," Elrond nodded, feeling awkward just standing there.

"Come, sit, eat," Círdan invited with a small smirk, "she's probably gone off to the workshop, she likes to write there. Says it's more inspiring than the library. Come, Elrond... She'll be awhile."

Elrond frowned and looked to the door, Círdan knowing his words were replaying in the half-Elf's mind. "Perhaps I should check on her?" He asked his old Master. "It would be wrong to eat without the chef, would it not?"

"I was thinking the same," the older, greying Elf nodded, "though you waste your time, that girl is stubborn - trapped in her mind too often."

"How do you mean?"

"It's why she writes," Círdan explained, "at least, why she writes you, I imagine. She often loses her voice, feels as if she is not entitled to it's very being - so, she writes, uses her words... And seemingly, you understand them best - relate to her, in a way. So," he took a breath, "go, if you wish, but know, she's unlikely to speak."

Elrond was out the door before Círdan could uncork the bottle of wine left on the table. He smirked to himself, musing, "Oh, these kids..."

You had left your home and made a beeline for your grandfather's workshop, shutting the doors with a great big breath of relief before groaning in emotional frustration. "Oh, how silly!" You snipped to yourself, "This is all so silly, it makes no sense! I mean, the way I just shut down? It's so silly! Losing my voice? Over a man? Oh, just rubbish!" Your hands shook out violently. "I just need to say it, you know? I just need to say it - then he knows, he'll know and I can get rid of this silly feeling. He deserves to hear me say it, else he might think he's unwelcome, he might not want to visit..." You were unaware of Elrond approaching the door, opening it as you groaned once more, "OH! He's just a lad! He's just like you, you silly lass! Well, not entirely just like me - but he's just - he's just Elrond! What is there to fear!?"

"Is there someone else here I should address?" Elrond smirked gently as he stepped forward to make himself known, "Or do you often speak of me, to yourself?"

You squeaked and came to a halt, dress twirling around your ankles when you spun to face him. Hands came together, instantly threading your fingers and wringing them together nervously as your visitor smiled gently and slowly (so slowly) stepped forward. With a deep breath, you greeted, "Lord Elrond."

"Oh, please," he sighed, "are we not past formalities?"

"Far beyond," you agreed, shaking your head and facing the open wall that showcased the harbor and horizon; the last of the sunlight streaking the sky with water-painted color.

"It felt wrong to indulge on such a gorgeous creature without the architect being there to experience it first," he told you, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with respectable distance still between you. "Yet you fled before..."

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, feeling suffocated briefly, "I could not linger."

"Is there a reason to feel unwelcome in your own home?"

You took a breath, "Well, um, it's just - it's you... You are the reason..."

Elrond startled, "What? I-I'm sorry, what have I done? What did I do?"

"You're you," you turned to him, "and that's not your fault, but you're you, and it drives me to insanity."

"I don't think I follow? I thought - in our letters, I thought we had a connection. That we understood one another...? And now that I'm here, you shy away from me, have I truly offended you so gravely?"

"No, Elrond, you have not offended me - it's the opposite," you risked your own comfort and reached out for his bicep first; which, in turn, made him step closer. "You are not betrayed, nor are you mistaken. There's a connection, of course there is. I do not know anyone who could fake such affection for such an extended period of time," you scoffed.

"Perhaps Sauron - "

"But you nor I are he."

"No," Elrond smiled gently, shifting his arms downward to hold your elbows and caress you into his chest as your hands were rearranged to his chest, "we are not, thank the Valar."

"I do not deceive you. The affection I hold for you, it's authentic and genuine. It's real, Elrond, it's real..."

"It is?" He asked, lifting a hand to hold your jaw; thumb caressing the apple of your cheek.

"It is. I was just... You disarm me. You make me small again, you make me tongue-tied, confused, excited - like everything is new again. And it both scares and invigorates me that I do not know what to do in those moments, so I hide from you. In your letters, I can plan my words; but when you're here, in front of me, under my hands," you cooed, petting his velvet tunic, "I lose my nerve. My senses..."

Elrond chuckled, hands drifting down to hold you by the base of your ribcage, "This... This is a relief to hear. I worried I offended you, that I had upset you in some way. That I ruined this before it had a chance to take shape."

"Hardly," you mused. "I lose my nerve around you, I feel so silly - so young and green to love..."

"'Love'?" He repeated.

"Oh, I just - I only meant - "

"Take comfort in the fact that the feeling is mutual, my sweet." Elrond chuckled, caressing your cheek lovingly, "I fear the High King may grow tired of me asking to personally deliver Círdan his letters."

"Perhaps I will have to find reason to visit you?"

"I would like that, perhaps more than I should admit," he whispered, slowly lowering his lips onto yours for a much awaited kiss - giving you every opportunity to back out, but it's not like you ever would. Not when you've waited for this for so long. His hand now cupped your jaw, sliding sweetly towards the back of your neck. Kissing Elrond was everything you thought: soft, gentle, evenly-paced, commandeering, all encompassing, and mind-numbing; you never wanted this to end, you never wanted to stop kissing him.

However, your moment was cut short by a loud crunching; pulling back as Elrond did, both turning to the main doors to spy your grandfather, Círdan, standing there smugly. He was holding a bowl made of bamboo, eating a crisp salad, barely holding back his grin. Upon seeing his mirthful expression, you deflated into Elrond's chest; his arm coiling around your waist to keep you anchored in place while the other dropped to open his stance - proving he didn't feel defensive.

"Grandfather?" You questioned softly.

"Mh," he swallowed his bite, "don't mind me, just appreciating the fruits of my labor."

"I beg your pardon?" You laughed.

Círdan shrugged, "You are both young and intelligent. Wise. Insightful," he listed, "yet you are so naïve to think this union was yours alone."

Elrond glanced down at you in confusion, brows furrowed, asking, "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"Grandfather, it was Elrond and I who penned letters for decades - "

"Indeed," Círdan agreed, "but why do you think the High King has sent Lord Elrond to us so often these past few months?"

You were both stunned into silence, Elrond asking, "You? You asked him to...to send me?"

"I did," Círdan nodded, "it is disheartening to see my granddaughter, whom I love so utterly and dearly, driven into isolation because emotions can be so complicated and difficult. It was time for you two to finally confront your emotions, and after three months, we both knew we had to up our efforts..."

"The High King was in on this!?" You squeaked, feeling embarrassment seize your heart.

"You know, despite being High King, Gil-Galad is still fun," Círdan defended with a smirk. "So, he devised new engagements to send Elrond here for - giving the two of you longer days together between my responses. He agreed to send Herald Elrond himself here upon my encouragement. From your first interaction, I saw what you two have always felt. It's good of you to admit your feelings, is it not? Relieving, I mean?"

"Terribly," you agreed, Elrond rubbing your waist in support.

"Well, then you'll be happy to know, I've begun my response to Gil-Galad, so you'll have a few more days here, Elrond. I expect that boat done," he teased, "and upon your return to Lindon, I will be sending my granddaughter to accompany you as my own emissary."

"What for?" You breathed in shocked happiness, lips turning up brightly.

"It is time you begin a new education, my girl," he grinned, "and the High King has granted his blessing."

"Why would the High King be involved for my education?"

"I want you on a tour of Middle-earth," he explained, "meeting dignitaries, taking notes on what you see, hear, experience. I want detailed accounts, my girl, for our records so the King has agreed to send Herald Elrond to guide your tour."

"You've done all of that... For me?" You couldn't help the tears that sprung to your eyes, pure glee lightening your heart and head. Then, a sudden thought made you worry, "Why? Do you wish to away with me?"

"On the contrary," Cirdan set aside his bowl and approached you, Elrond letting go so you two could meet in the middle of the workshop, "I despise the idea of letting you go, even to carry my work back to the High King... Knowing you'll return shortly... But sending you on this tour is a necessity, sweet girl, because I only trust your written accounts. It's time... It's time for you to see the world I've long protected you from as it truly is and bring us back update records and accounts, and who better to show it to you than Elrond Peredhel?" He smiled, looking over your shoulder at his ex-student. You felt Elrond near your flank, Círdan looking at the two of you fondly; even reaching out to caress your cheek as he breathed in deeply. "What joy my heart feels, knowing you two have found one another."

"What joy we feel you decided to play matchmaker," you chuckled.

"Well, they say perfection only exists in Valinor, but I was determined to challenge that."

part two: The Risk

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[system-to-the-madness]

All the Time - Elrond x Reader

Pairing: LotR!Elrond x fem!Elf!Reader Genre: hurt/comfort Word Count: 1 818 Warnings: depression/melancholia(?), mentions of the war and Sauron Summary: Elrond comes to search for you when you don’t attend a feast in Rivendell

At the sound of familiar steps approaching the room, you turned your head away from the doorway, facing out into the night covered valley instead. Snowflakes danced in the air, carried on gusts of cold winter wind. The steps halted in the doorway, the Elf who had approached doubtlessly taking in your turned away form, your pulled up shoulders as you were laying stretched out on the daybed, non-verbally making your disinterest in his presence known by not acknowledging him. After a moment’s hesitation, or consideration, he entered the room nonetheless, the gentle call of your name falling from his lips.

You could not help the shiver that went through you, as anytime Elrond addressed you by name. For centuries you had resided in Imladris, and it was more than friendship that bound you to the Elvenlord by now, no matter how long it had gone unacknowledged by either of you.

His steps halted mere inches from the daybed, and a moment later, he lightly placed his hand on your shoulder. Even through the warm layers of the winter dress you could feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his palm soothing the dark ache in your heart. For a few seconds he stood like that, just resting his hand on you, before he gently squeezed your shoulder and drew away.

Almost you expected him to turn and leave you alone again, but you should have known the Lord of Imladris better than that. Instead of leaving you to the weight that still rested on your shoulders, even now that the war was over, he pushed the fabric of your skirt aside and settled behind you, his backside lightly brushing against your calves. It was no offensive contact, but instead one that, as Elrond’s touch did so often, conveyed the assurance that he was with you, and that no matter your sorrow, he would not abandon you.

For a long while you sat like that, feeling his eyes on the side of your face and the warmth of his body against your calves while your own focus was more on him than the snowflakes your eyes were turned towards.

“Why have you come,” you eventually settled on asking, your voice sounding weaker than you meant to.

“Because you have not,” Elrond answered in his ever patient and even tone. There was no reproach in his voice, he simply answered your question. “The celebration is in full swing, and I was missing your presence.”

“Don’t hold it against me, but I do not feel like celebrating tonight,” you mumbled, curling your fingers into the fabric of the pillow your head was resting on.

“As long as you don’t hold my concern for you against me,” Elrond answered, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder again. 

Considering the Elves’ respect for personal space, Elrond had always been rather physically affectionate with you, you thought to yourself. Hugs after hunts, a hand on the shoulder when he was concerned or proud, or on the small of the back when he was guiding you alongside him. Never had his touch brought anything but comfort into your heart, and even now, when all you wanted to do was shut yourself off from the world, you could not help but feel like the soft gesture lessened the weight you felt.

“You have been quiet these past days, my friend, and I dearly miss the light you always carry. Will you not tell what is weighing down your mind so we may share the burden?”

You inhaled deeply, the clean, crisp air of winter, warmed only by the elven magic that encased Imladris. 

“It is not a burden that can be shared,” you answered, finally turning and sitting up. 

Elrond’s hand slipped off your shoulder, but found your fingers instead, cold to the touch, making his eyebrows furrow before he took your other hand as well, bringing them together between his to warm them. 

“Then what kind of burden is it,” he asked, looking from your hands to your eyes, searching for an answer in them.

“It feels like-” You took another deep breath, feeling as if the night outside the windows was suffocating you. “It feels like the dark that came into the world with Sauron still lingers. And the longer the nights grow, the stronger his power. I know he has been destroyed, and yet… the scars he has left on this world have not yet healed.”

“They will not heal for a long time,” Elrond agreed, “Too many have lost their lives, their loved ones, have fallen victim to injury and pain. Too great is the wound Sauron and Saruman have ripped into the face of Middle-Earth. There is no shame to feel that pain, especially not when the sun barely rises over the mountains and stars are hidden from sight by clouds heavy with snow.”

“It makes me think of the clouds over Mordor, even though I fully know the ones here are only filled with snow, not the dark magic or Morgoth’s servant.”

Elrond’s eyes hesitantly pulled away from your features and instead directed outwards where a thin layer of snow settled on the leaves that had not fallen yet. 

“I do not believe there was ever anyone I told this to, but for years, decades even after the first ring war, I felt the same way about clouds,” he admitted. “I sometimes even feared the night when the stars were in the sky, feeling as if Sauron’s armoured hand was clasping around my throat. It was not for a long time before I saw beauty in the dark, star-sprinkled sky again, not until-”

Expectantly you tried catching his gaze, that was absentmindedly directed into the valley of Rivendell.

“Not until?”

“Not until you came here,” he admitted, finally looking back at you. His grey eyes seemed to be glowing in the dim light of candles lighting the room, and another shiver ran through you, one that almost had you throw your arms around his neck and bury your head under his chin to press as close as you might. “It was only then that I felt like the stars were shining again, only then that the dark clouds lost their threat and returned to what they were, clouds. And I so desperately wish I could return the beauty of nature back into your eyes the way you have done for me. But I am not just aware that we are very different people, with very different experiences, but also that close to a century passed before I found the light of the stars again, and that it has only been a few months for you.”

Something in the way Elrond spoke made your heart ache sweetly, and you turned your hands in his so you could hold his hands in yours.

“I’m glad to know I played a part in you seeing the world for its wonders again. And while I grieve for the time you did not, it gives me hope I too will overcome this darkness one day.”

“You will,” Elrond assured you, touching his forehead to yours. “The darkness seems unending, especially when the nights are as long as now. But the sun will rise, and the shadow will be banned from Middle-Earth just as from your heart. If you wish to stay alone for now, I will see to it that you will be disturbed no more, and if you want company, I offer my own. But should you wish to join the celebrations, I would like to join them with you.”

After a moment of contemplation, you nodded. “Yes, I think,” you agreed. “I think I will join you. But Elrond, wait-” 

The Elf had, with a hopeful smile on his lips already pulled away again but was stopped by your words and your hand reaching up to his chin to catch him in the motion. Curious eyes glimmered in grey back at you as your finger brushed over his skin. Making a fast decision, scared your courage might leave you were you not to act immediately, you leant forward, brushing your lips against his, if only just for a short moment. His lips were soft and warm, just like any touch he had ever shared with you, but the euphoria at the small contact was unmatched, especially when you pulled away and he tried chasing your lips, eyes still closed. Giving in, you placed a second kiss on him, one that made the corners of his mouth tuck upwards, before his eyes fluttered open again, and he regarded you with the softest expression.

“Meleth nin,” he whispered into the space between you, as if he were in joyous disbelief at your action. “I take this as the sign that my affections are returned?”

You smiled, the first real smile in weeks since the sun had forsaken the valley and the winter had gathered its clouds. But Elrond would always be the one to bring light into your heart and a smile to your lips. “Was there any doubt?”

“Only a fool’s doubt,” he replied, his eyes searching your whole face, taking in every detail as if he only truly got to see you now. “Yet a fool it seems I am.”

“No fool,” you disagreed gently, “The Lord of Imladris and the one who holds my heart.”

“Then I shall watch and guard the one with as much care and responsibility as the other, since I shall not have to worry about my own heart while it is with you.”

Your smile widened and you shook your head in amusement as you got up from the daybed, Elrond following your motion, his eyes still glued to your face. “Your words are like poetry,” you teased, making him shrug while he reached for your hand.

“How are you to know they are not part of the songs I wrote with none but you in mind,” he responded in the same teasing manner as his fingers intertwined with you.

“Then, I suppose, where those words came from, there are more, and in due time I shall want to hear as many of them as you will reveal.”

“If you wish so, I shall read them to you,” Elrond agreed as he guided you into the corridor and away from the dark windows. “But a word of warning. There are more of them than I would wish to admit even in front of myself.”

“Well, meleth nin,” you spoke lightly, feeling a shiver run through Elrond at the use of the sweet name, before he squeezed your hand tighter, “I do believe we have time for that.”

“All the time we need,” Elrond agreed, guiding you to walk closer to him as he led you through the dark towards the celebration with food and music and dance in the fire-lit halls of Imladris.

[sassypossum]

Winter Musings

Elrond Peredhel x Reader ❄ Tree Decorating

Elrond finds his 'little fox' deep in the woods, fashioning something to be admired by both beast and mortal man...

Following the sounds of rustling through the trees, Elrond paused to pull his cloak tighter. The wind had been especially biting this turning of thr seasons from warm to frigid.

Rounding another evergreen and pausing to let a fox squitter across his path, Elrond couldn't help thr musings thst wandered through his mind likening you to that fox - and the sight that greeted his eyes did little to assuage such a notion.

You, notably cloakless, were flitting around a particularly glorious evergreen, stringing what looked to be…preserved orange slices of all things along its branches.

His lips pursed into a hard line at the shiver that racked your frame, and shaking out the spare cloak he'd brought, Elrond slipped behind you stealthily. “So this is what my errant fox has been up to.” He murmured softly, draping the cloak about your shoulders. Tensing, you glanced back at him and relaxed as his hands tightened about your shoulders.

“Husband.” You exhaled in relief, sagging against his solid form. Elrond hummed and enveloped you in his arms, resting his chin on the crown of your head. For a long moment you stood like that, merely enjoying the quiet solitude that can only bloom where time and trust has made such a bond possible.

Elrond’s eyes skit up the tree surveying your handy work. Preserved orange slices, dark berries, and small bells decorate the branches of the gently swaying evergreen. Already he can see birds and small woodland creatures fluttering and squittering closer to take small nibbles at the said offerings.

“Why did you choose an evergreen so far from our dwelling?” His breath was warm and sweet against your ear as he nuzzled your hair. Eyes closing, you leaned further into him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you seem to consider a response.

“I know how the trees are viewed by your…brethren,” You begin carefully, face turning to look up at the tree, “I hadn't wanted to offend any with my…proclivities.” Your consideration of his kinsmen and homeland warmed Elrond's heart.

“And yet, this pleases you? To feed these creatures and create such a charming tableau as this evergreen presents?” You hum in answer to his question. Elrond hums thoughtfully himself, and resting his chin again against your hair pauses to consider.

“I see no reason that you should not adorn the tree in our very yard in such a fashion.” You turn fully in his arms, eyes alight to look up at him. Eyed twinkling, he continued, “Besides, I cannot have my little fox wandering about the wood in the dead of winter, forsaking cloak and slippers to admire a tree.” His voice dipped with traces of fond humor as his arms tighten about your waist, drawing you close.

“Have I mentioned this day how much I adore you?” You whispered reverently in hopes to preserve the little spell of warmth that seems to have been spun about the two of you.

“My love, should I ever tire of hearing the murmurings of your true heart, then my own should stop all together and be fit for little more than fire cinders.” Cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and catches your lips in a sweet kiss.