#Gil galad supremacy

[earthlybeam]

Hello! can I please request elves not knowing our language well enough like innuendos or slang and getting the reader flustered by saying something double meaning ..😏😏😏 (like sleeping together spicy or not)

Apologies for the delay—I’ve been working on this in bits and pieces. I wasn’t sure which character you had in mind, so I went ahead and worked on my main three I write for. If you’d like me to focus on a different character, feel free to leave a comment or request it directly. Hope you enjoy!

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Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵 (two versions below)

(First one)

The air around you is cool, a refreshing contrast to the lingering heat of the day. You stand near the tranquil waters of the forest stream, looking out at the setting sun filtering through the trees. The serenity of Mirkwood feels almost overwhelming, the world slowed down to the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional bird call. You feel yourself relaxing—until a familiar presence at your back reminds you that this stillness is about to be broken. You hear the soft crunch of leaves beneath boots before Thranduil’s voice reaches you, smooth and unhurried. “You look worn, my guest,” he remarks, his tone soft yet authoritative, like he’s seen the fatigue in your posture from a distance. You turn to face him, the King of Mirkwood, his figure standing tall and imposing, yet there’s something unexpectedly gentle in the way he regards you. “I could make you feel so good with just a little pressure, you know,” he says, his voice low and oddly intimate, a slight, lingering pause in the air between his words. His fingers graze the bare skin of your shoulder, the touch so light it’s almost like a whisper of contact. But that small touch carries more weight than it should. You swallow, caught off guard by the sensation, a shiver running through you at the lightness of his caress. His fingers press just enough to leave a warmth lingering, a promise that extends far beyond the simplicity of his words.

“Trust me enough to let me,” he adds, and it’s almost a challenge, though not in the way you’d expect. There’s a quiet command in the suggestion, the kind of confidence that comes from a ruler who knows the power of his own allure. His words hang in the air, curling into your thoughts like a slow, intoxicating pull. You open your mouth to respond, but something in his gaze stops you. His eyes—always calculating, always observing—lock with yours, and suddenly, everything feels far more personal, far more intimate than it should be. Your heart beats faster, a fluttering in your chest that you don’t quite understand. It’s not just the offer of a bath, not really. It’s the way his fingers linger, almost imperceptibly, against your skin, as though waiting for you to make the next move, to decide what happens next. Your thoughts race, clouded by an undercurrent of something you don’t know how to define. Did he mean it the way you think he did?

Your cheeks flush, a crimson warmth spreading across your face. You try to compose yourself, to steady your breathing, but the heat of his touch refuses to fade. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze, unsure whether you should speak or remain silent. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, not from someone so regal, so commanding. And certainly not from someone who feels like an enigma wrapped in a thousand years of experience. Thranduil watches you closely, an unreadable expression passing over his features. He doesn’t comment on your flustered silence but offers you a small, almost knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours. Without saying another word, he turns and begins walking toward the hidden pathway leading deeper into the trees.

“Come,” he says softly, his voice still smooth but with a certain undertone of reassurance, as if he is guiding you rather than commanding you. You hesitate for just a moment, unsure of whether to follow, but you find your feet moving behind him almost instinctively. There’s a curiosity gnawing at you, a mix of confusion and anticipation, as you trail after him through the thickening forest. The path grows quieter the further you venture, the sound of the forest dampened by the thick canopy above. You walk in silence, the tension from before lingering in the air, until you come to a secluded stone chamber, the entrance concealed by thick vines and foliage. Thranduil steps aside to allow you to pass, his gesture graceful, yet his eyes are still focused on you—unwavering, assessing.

The room before you is bathed in a soft glow, the flickering light from several candles casting long shadows against the stone walls. In the center of the room, a large pool of water waits, steam rising from its surface. The scent of lavender and something musky fills the air, calming and inviting, a sharp contrast to the electric tension that still crackles between you. It’s only then that you realize exactly what he meant by his earlier words. The bath. The pressure. It’s not just a physical offering—it’s something more intimate, more vulnerable. Your eyes widen in realization as you glance back at him. He’s still watching you, waiting for you to come to terms with the situation. The flush on your cheeks deepens as the realization sinks in.

Thranduil’s gaze softens for a moment, though his confidence never wavers. “I find that a long day’s journey is best followed by a moment of true relaxation.” He speaks with such ease, as if this was a perfectly normal offer, but you can’t shake the underlying tension between the two of you. You stand there for a moment, at the threshold of the bath chamber, a part of you wanting to turn and walk away, to ignore the way his presence fills the room and how you suddenly feel as if you’re being held in a delicate balance. But you don’t. You step forward, drawn by a force you can’t explain, still unsure of what exactly you’ve stepped into. Thranduil’s voice breaks through your thoughts, warm and deep as ever. “Don’t worry. I will make sure the waters are to your liking.” His hands, smooth and practiced, reach for the edge of the stone basin, and you feel his gaze on you like a tangible thing, though his tone remains gentle, almost reassuring. You realize in that moment that whatever you had imagined this encounter would be, it’s nothing like what you’ve expected. It’s far more intimate, more intimate than you were prepared for, but something tells you, as his eyes flicker to you once more, that this moment—whatever it is—might be just the beginning of something far deeper than you had anticipated.

(Second one)

Thranduil’s presence surrounds you, a palpable force that draws you closer with every step you take. His steps are measured and calm, but there’s a magnetic energy in the air that leaves you feeling disoriented, as if your very thoughts are caught in a haze. You follow him instinctively, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words, which seem to echo through the space in your mind, growing louder and heavier with each passing moment. As you walk, you can feel his gaze on you, unwavering, almost predatory in its intensity. The air between you two is thick with something unspoken, a quiet tension that sets your heart to racing. You can’t seem to escape it—the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way his words weave a spell around you, drawing you deeper into his influence. “I could show you how to be truly loyal,” he says again, his voice smooth, each syllable slipping over you like a velvet caress. But this time, the weight of his words hits you differently. The phrase itself, at its core, seems simple enough. Loyalty. You’ve heard the word before, perhaps from your own lips or from those of others. It’s meant to convey trust, duty, service. But in his voice, there’s something more—a hidden layer that twists the meaning, that turns it into something else entirely.

The way he says it, so slow, so deliberate, sends a shiver down your spine. You almost feel as if the word has taken on a life of its own, as though it’s no longer about allegiance or honor, but something far more personal, far more intimate. It’s as if he’s promising you something, something you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for. His words hit you like a spark in a dry field, igniting a fire you can’t quite control. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize that his suggestion is more than just about loyalty in the sense you’ve known. It carries a weight, a pull that makes your pulse quicken, your chest tighten, and your mind start to wander down paths it shouldn’t be going. Your face flushes, the heat creeping up your neck, as you begin to wonder if he’s implying something far more sensual. Loyalty? you think to yourself. It seems innocent, but the way he said it… the way his voice lingers on each syllable—there’s a darkness to it, a quiet invitation that feels charged with promise. You’ve been around the king long enough to know that he’s not a man of simple words. Every sentence feels calculated, every glance laced with purpose. The thought of loyalty becomes something else entirely in your mind. It shifts from the idea of service to something more personal—more visceral. Your stomach tightens, a flicker of something stirring deep inside you as your thoughts race down that path. What did he mean? The heat in your cheeks intensifies, and you find yourself stumbling over your own thoughts, as though your body is reacting before your mind can make sense of it all.

His gaze never wavers, watching you closely, as though he can sense the confusion, the uncertainty, the sudden shift in your demeanor. That knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, and the flicker of something darker, more dangerous, dances in his eyes. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how his words are landing on you, and it makes your heart race even faster. He tilts his head slightly, a motion so small, so imperceptible, that it only serves to draw you in further. He’s watching you closely, his eyes scanning your face for the smallest change, for that flicker of recognition. The tension between you thickens, a quiet storm gathering on the horizon. He’s waiting, and you can feel it, the expectation hanging in the air like a breath held just out of reach.

“Would you let me?” His voice is soft, almost soothing, but there’s an undeniable edge to it. An authority that lingers in the command. The question itself, the way he asks it, is layered, rich with implications you aren’t entirely sure you’re ready to face. His words drift through the space between you, thick with that unspoken promise, and for a moment, it feels as if time itself has stopped. You can feel the weight of it, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The flush on your cheeks deepens, and you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. His presence, the way his words have wrapped themselves around your mind, has left you breathless. You’re not sure if you’re responding to the promise of loyalty in the way he means it, or if you’ve misinterpreted it entirely, your thoughts racing into dangerous territory. But Thranduil, ever the observer, sees the shift in you—the way your breath quickens, the subtle tension in your shoulders, the flush in your cheeks—and it only serves to further amuse him. He’s playing with you, testing the boundaries of your control, and you can’t help but feel as though he’s already won.

Thranduil steps closer, his presence overwhelming as the air between you seems to narrow, charged with something unspoken. His smirk deepens, a subtle curve that holds both amusement and intrigue, as though he’s unraveling every thought tumbling through your flustered mind. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that feels like silk brushing against your skin. His hand, so light yet deliberate, grazes the barest edge of your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost innocent, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through you. His gaze sharpens, watching as your lips part slightly, caught between a breath and a response you can’t seem to find. “Don’t worry.” His words are a low purr now, each one carrying a weight that presses down on you. “I’ll show you exactly how to handle it.” Your chest tightens at his phrasing, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you. He seems so certain, so effortlessly calm, while your thoughts spiral deeper into dangerous territory. The confidence in his tone, the commanding edge laced with that undercurrent of promise, leaves you unsteady on your feet. You know—you know—he means something else entirely, but the way he says it… your cheeks burn hotter, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining something far more intimate.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The sun had set, casting a gentle twilight glow over the valley of Rivendell. The golden light reflected off the rushing water that wound its way through the valley, bringing with it a sense of calm. The two of you had taken a stroll earlier, as you often did, your arm linked with Elrond’s as you walked side by side, occasionally exchanging soft words or comfortable silence. But now, the day had worn down, and you found yourselves in the quiet warmth of Elrond’s study, where the glow of the fireplace danced over the high, arched stone walls. He had been seated at his desk, reading through scrolls of ancient knowledge, but his attention shifted to you as he noticed the slight tension in your shoulders. You were curled up in a chair, your legs tucked under you, and your posture stiff. The weight of the day—of your thoughts, of your quiet anxieties—had settled on your body, making you uneasy. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Elrond’s gentle gaze swept over you. His piercing eyes softened in concern.

As the leader of Rivendell and one of the most ancient of the Elves, Elrond had seen countless expressions, heard many words, and understood much of the hearts and minds of those around him. But the slight crease of your brow, the tension in your shoulders—these things spoke to him without words, louder than any speech could convey. He stood from his desk, his movements deliberate and calm, yet there was a tenderness in the way he approached you. “Mellon nín,” he murmured, his voice low, “You carry the weight of many thoughts this evening.” He moved closer, his presence filling the space, a steady, comforting warmth. The proximity between you both—just a step away—was enough to send a quiet ripple through the air. He was a tall figure, regal in his manner, and yet now, he leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on you with both understanding and something softer.

He knelt down beside your chair, his hand resting lightly on the back of it. His fingers brushed the delicate fabric of your sleeve, the touch of his skin just enough to draw your attention to the closeness, the subtle pull between you. “You’re so tense,” Elrond said, his voice carrying an innocent sincerity, unaware of how his words might be interpreted. He leaned in slightly closer. “Shall I massage you? You’ll feel much looser under me.” The words slipped from his lips in perfect sincerity, his intent to ease your discomfort pure, but they hung in the air between you both, carrying a double meaning that left you with a quick breath. The way his gaze lingered just a moment too long made your heart skip. Elrond, for all his wisdom and centuries of experience, seemed blissfully unaware of the innuendo his words had inadvertently conjured.

Your breath hitched at his words, a flush rising to your cheeks as his innocent suggestion landed. You knew Elrond, knew how his mind worked, and yet there was something in the way he spoke to you—so direct, so matter-of-fact—that it felt a little too intimate, a little too close to the edge of something deeper. His words were innocent enough, the kind he would offer any guest in need of comfort or care, but his proximity—the warmth of his hand just behind your shoulder, the way he was bending just slightly to meet your gaze—made everything feel… different. You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat in your cheeks. The space between you both, so often a comforting familiarity, now felt charged. His deep, velvet voice, his gaze steady and soft, seemed to understand exactly where you needed to feel safe, but in that moment, his words somehow stoked the fire of your own flustered thoughts.

Trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, offering a forced smile, but the playful glint in his eye made it hard to keep your composure. “Elrond…” you began, but your voice faltered slightly, unsure whether to address his words directly or to brush it off. His brows furrowed ever so slightly in concern. “Did I say something wrong?” You hesitated, looking at him. His earnest expression was almost too much to bear. He truly did not seem to realize the effect his words were having on you. How could he, when his understanding of language was so direct, so innocent? He had always been somewhat naïve to the nuances of human interaction—those sly little jokes or innuendos that often slipped past him. “No… No, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, trying to regain your composure. “I just—wasn’t expecting it.” You laughed softly, but the flush on your skin remained.

A soft chuckle escaped him then, low and melodic, as he leaned in just a touch closer, his face now mere inches from yours. “Ah, Mellon nín, I meant only to ease your tension. I would never wish to cause you discomfort.” He reached out then, fingers gliding over the tense muscles in your shoulder, as if trying to physically soothe you. His touch was gentle, purposeful, and you couldn’t help but feel the unspoken understanding in the way he moved. Elrond was so tender, so deliberate in his every action. His closeness only amplified the heat that had begun to settle beneath your skin. “I will ease your discomfort,” he said quietly, his voice both reassuring and soft. As he leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing your ear, the innocent nature of his words took on a different edge. For all his wisdom and poise, Elrond’s understanding of the subtleties of human relationships had its limits.

Yet, in his earnestness, he seemed to have unwittingly created a moment where closeness became more than just physical, but something more intimate, something personal. Something you weren’t sure whether to welcome or to shy away from. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. His presence, his touch, had the power to disarm you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. And yet, as you looked up at him, you knew—despite the growing warmth between you both—that there was something undeniably genuine in Elrond’s actions. He was here for you, as always, whether you needed the massage he offered, or whether you needed space to clear your thoughts. Still, the tenderness in his gaze, the soft, deep sincerity that flowed through his words, left you wondering just how much of his affection was truly as innocent as it seemed.

(Second one)

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth. The high stone walls of Rivendell’s training hall stood as a testament to the skill and discipline of its people, and tonight, you were once again in Elrond’s care. You had come here to learn, to train in the ways of combat and defense, and Elrond—masterful as always—had been a patient, dedicated teacher. His lessons, though often stern, had always been delivered with a quiet kindness. Tonight, however, there was something different in the air. You could feel it, a shift. Elrond had been watching you closely as you practiced your swordplay, your form becoming more fluid, more precise with each strike. You had improved under his guidance, but this evening, it felt as if he were less focused on the formality of training and more on the connection between you both. He stood behind you now, the weight of his presence almost overwhelming, his tall figure casting a long shadow over the floor. His hands were behind his back, watching intently, but there was a certain softness to his expression. A small, approving smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed you, the practiced ease with which you handled your weapon now a point of pride.

His gaze never wavered from you, studying your movements, the subtle fluidity of your form, the grace that was slowly becoming evident. You have done well, he thought, but the satisfaction of seeing your progress only deepened the quiet hunger to see more. To guide you further. To understand you more fully. He could feel your energy—a faint tremble in your stance as your muscles burned from the exertion, the focus in your eyes that spoke of a deeper engagement than simple technique. It was a connection that went beyond instruction. His voice, when it came, was soft, measured, and tinged with a warmth he often reserved only for those who proved themselves worthy of his trust.

“You’ve been such a good student,” Elrond said, his tone low, the hint of praise lingering in the air. “I can see the effort you’ve put in. Would you like to know what happens to those who please me?” He stepped forward, his presence drawing near. The words, though they could easily be interpreted as praise for your progress, seemed to hang in the air with an almost too suggestive quality. His smile lingered just a moment too long, and the glint in his eyes—the subtle flash of something darker, more possessive—suggested there was another lesson at play.

It was as if he were offering more than just guidance. As if his approval meant something deeper. Something he had not yet said aloud, but you could feel it nonetheless. His words echoed in the stillness of the room, and for a moment, the weight of the air between you both seemed to thicken. You straightened instinctively, unsure whether to respond with gratitude for his praise or to question the meaning behind his words. Elrond had always been so careful, so precise in his speech, that the unexpectedness of his tone took you by surprise.

At first, his statement appeared innocent, almost like a mentor’s simple acknowledgment of your hard work. But the way his smile curved at the edges, the way his eyes softened with that knowing glint—suddenly, you weren’t so sure. There was an unspoken weight in his voice, a shift in his demeanor that was hard to ignore. It felt as though there was more to this than mere praise for your training. He was closer now, his presence towering over you in a way that made your breath catch. His words—were they a test? An invitation? You couldn’t tell, but the air felt charged. You knew he was a master of more than just combat and wisdom; his understanding of people, of connection, was something that had always been subtle, even hypnotic. You could feel your pulse quicken as his proximity made the room feel smaller, more intimate. What happens to those who please him?

The question lingered, and you found your own thoughts flickering—should you ask him to clarify, or did you already know? Had you somehow crossed a line without realizing it? His quiet confidence, his effortless power, made everything seem so delicate, so easy, as if he could command anything with just a look. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but there was something about him that made it difficult to hold onto your usual composure. His praise was a rare thing, and you’d always known that earning it from him was something special. But now, the edges of his words seemed to promise something more—a lesson that could very well be more personal than you’d anticipated.

The silence between you two stretched, thickening the air. Your heart pounded against your chest as his gaze never left you, an intensity in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe. His words, though seemingly innocent, were loaded with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. You felt your mind scrambling for something to say, something to break the tension, but all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your breath, growing faster with each passing moment. It happened before you could stop yourself. The words slipped from your lips, an unbidden response to his question—almost a whisper, but they were there, unmistakably. “Please you, my lord?” The moment the phrase left your mouth, you froze, feeling a rush of heat surge through your cheeks. The words had sounded so innocent, so formal in your mind, yet hearing them aloud, spoken directly to him, suddenly carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated. You hadn’t meant to say it like that, but there it was, and the immediate flush on your skin made it clear that you understood exactly how that could be taken.

Elrond’s expression didn’t falter. His lips remained curved in that knowing smile, though now, there was something in his eyes that made your pulse spike even further. He was no longer simply the patient teacher, the wise healer, the master of Rivendell’s ways. No, now there was something more, something darker, flickering just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. His voice was soft when he finally spoke, but it was laden with a layer of amusement, as if he found your slip both endearing and… intriguing. “My, my,” he said, stepping even closer, his presence now almost overwhelming. His words felt like a caress against your skin, both gentle and possessive. “It seems you’ve already understood part of the lesson, though not quite in the way I intended.”

He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing your ear, and the proximity made everything inside you tighten, an unfamiliar tension pooling in your stomach. There was no escaping the look in his eyes now, the glint that told you he knew exactly what had just happened, and the way he was savoring the moment made you realize that the balance between your training and something else entirely had shifted. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so… eager,” Elrond murmured, the faintest trace of a tease in his voice. Your heart hammered, your thoughts in disarray. You had never meant to sound… that way. But now, it seemed your slip had opened a door to something you weren’t sure you were prepared for. His proximity, the heat of his gaze, the soft, commanding tone of his voice—it all swirled together, threatening to pull you into something deeper, more complicated.

You shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond. Did you try to correct yourself, explain it away? Or did you simply accept that your slip had led you down a path you might not have been able to turn back from? The answer, it seemed, lay in the tension that still hung heavy between you both, a tension that, for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to escape. Elrond’s lips quirked slightly showing his amusement, as if he were waiting for your response, patiently observing the way your mind worked to piece together the right words, or whether you would simply… remain silent, letting the moment unfold on its own. The choice, it seemed, was yours.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The small, dimly lit meeting chamber hummed with quiet tension. The heavy wooden door closed behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling halls. A faint smell of polished wood and old parchment lingered in the air, but it did little to mask the energy that crackled between you and Gil-galad. He stood near the center of the room, his regal armor gleaming under the soft light from the high windows. Even in the stillness, his presence was undeniable. The way he stood, tall and poised, every inch the king—yet there was something about the way his eyes followed you, focused with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something about this moment felt different.

Gil-galad’s gaze remained on you, calculating, as if he was measuring more than just your physicality. He’d always been a master of reading the room, and you could sense that, just as in battle, he knew exactly what kind of challenge to present to draw out your true strength. He stepped closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor the only noise that broke the silence. “I would show you the full extent of my strength,” Gil-galad’s voice was low and controlled, but there was an undeniable edge to it—like the calm before a storm. His eyes never left yours as he continued, his words slow, deliberate. “But only if you can prove you’re worthy of it.” You blinked, momentarily stunned. Was this a challenge of combat? Or something more? There was a dangerous undertone to his words, one that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just speaking about strength in battle. You could tell. The way he phrased it, the soft command in his tone, suggested that this challenge was more than physical. It was something deeper, something rawer. A game of wills, a clash of desires, emotions, and unspoken promises. Your body tightened, and before you could stop yourself, your mind wandered—unbidden—to places it shouldn’t. You thought of him not as a warrior but as a lover, the power that surged through him in a far different context. You imagined his strength, his solid frame pinning you against the bed, his hands gripping you with that same firm intensity he used in battle. The thought hit you like a sudden wave.

You found yourself blushing—a heat flooding your face that spread rapidly through your chest. You couldn’t look away, but you couldn’t stop the surge of thoughts either. Was that the kind of strength he was speaking of? Was he daring you to enter a different kind of battle? One where his strength would take on a far more intimate form? You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. Gil-galad, ever perceptive, saw the change in you immediately. His lips curled up into the faintest of smiles, but there was no hint of mockery—only a knowing look, as if he could read your thoughts more clearly than you ever could. His gaze deepened, and for a moment, he was still—waiting, watching, allowing the silence to hang in the air between you like a taut rope ready to snap. You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as his next words came with even more weight than before, his voice dropping an octave lower, more gravelly. “You think you can match my strength in more ways than one?” he said, his words slow, testing, his breath warm against your skin as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Prove it. Show me you’re worthy.” Your heart skipped a beat, and a wave of warmth rushed over you, thick and heavy. There was no mistaking what he was implying now, no ambiguity. Gil-galad wasn’t just offering a challenge of strength, he was inviting you into something far more intimate, a space where emotions, desires, and vulnerabilities tangled together.

You could feel the tension thickening, swirling between the two of you like an unseen force. His posture was perfect, commanding, yet there was a subtle shift in him now, something just for you. His eyes never left yours, daring you, waiting for you to respond. But the only thing you could feel was the heat in your chest, your lips dry, your body both frozen and yearning. How would you respond to a challenge like that? The words were barely on your lips, but before you could speak, Gil-galad spoke again, his voice softer now, but just as heavy with meaning. “I’ve seen your strength.” His voice was almost tender now, though still laced with that underlying edge. “But now I wonder… how far you’re willing to go to prove it.” You swallowed again, your mind a whirl of confusion and desire. He was daring you. But to what end? You couldn’t even find the words to explain how his presence, his strength, and his challenge had you reeling.

The silence stretched unbearably as your thoughts churned in disarray. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you were sure Gil-galad could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the intensity of his words, the challenge in his posture—all of it was too much. You wanted to respond, to summon some clever retort or steady reply, but nothing came. You simply stood there, caught in the maelstrom of emotions and desires he had so effortlessly stirred within you. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, and he took another step closer, the faint sound of his boots on the stone floor breaking through the haze clouding your mind. Before you could retreat, his face was inches from yours, his tall frame towering over you as he leaned down slightly. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and teasing as he finally broke the silence.

“Earth to Y/N,” he said, a rare flicker of humor coloring his tone, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Are you still with us, Y/N?” The words startled you, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. His tone was playful, but the proximity, the way his voice wrapped around your name, and the sheer force of his presence made your breath hitch. You tried to respond, but your tongue felt tied, your thoughts still caught somewhere between propriety and the wicked turn your imagination had taken moments before. “I—yes, my king,” you managed, though your voice cracked slightly. The heat in your cheeks deepened as you quickly looked away, but it was impossible to escape him. He didn’t move back. If anything, he leaned even closer, his presence utterly overwhelming.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. “Because you seem… distracted.” Your eyes snapped back to his, wide and alarmed. His gaze searched yours, and there was no denying it—he knew. The faint smile that lingered on his lips told you that he’d read every thought that had crossed your mind, every inappropriate flash of imagery you’d tried so hard to suppress. “I—no, I’m not,” you stammered quickly, though you cursed yourself for how unconvincing you sounded. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone casual but his words deliberate, as if testing the weight of each one. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Because for a moment, you seemed far away. Lost in thought. Or perhaps…” He let the sentence trail off, the silence more damning than any words he could have spoken.

Your pulse raced, and your knees felt weak as his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that left no room for escape. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, testing you, or something more, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of him—his closeness, his strength, the sheer power he exuded even in such an intimate space. “I’m not distracted,” you said finally, though your voice lacked the conviction you so desperately wanted to project. He smiled then, a slow, knowing smile that sent another wave of heat through your body. “Good,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same weight it had before, but now laced with unmistakable amusement. “Because I’d hate to think my words went unheard.”

(Second one)

The air between you and Gil-galad seemed thicker than before, a charged stillness filling the dim chamber as if the very walls were listening. He stood before you, radiating a calm and calculated strength, his piercing eyes fixed on you with a weight that made your heart thunder. The subtle tilt of his head and the way his fingers rested lightly on the edge of the table spoke volumes, though his words were yet to come. There was an undeniable authority to him, but it wasn’t the kind of authority that demanded—it was the kind that commanded. “I know how to break a person,” he said at last, his voice low, steady, and smooth as molten silver. The words sent a jolt through you, not because they sounded cruel, but because of how deliberate they were—measured and intimate, like a confession meant only for your ears. “But I would much rather see you surrender willingly.”

The way he spoke made your mind falter, tripping over the multiple layers in his statement. Was he speaking of battle? Testing your defenses, your resolve? Or was this something else entirely? You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry, and the faint heat already rising in your chest now rushed through you like wildfire. Your gaze darted to the floor briefly, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes, but the moment you did, the unbidden thought crept into your mind—a thought you couldn’t unsee. Surrender. The word seemed to echo in your mind, taking on a form all its own. Your traitorous imagination painted the image with startling clarity: you, on your knees before him, your head bowed in submission, not in defeat but in something far deeper, something raw and entirely outside the bounds of propriety. The thought burned through you like a brand, and you felt a flush creep up your neck and into your cheeks. You tried to push it away, to remind yourself of who he was and who you were, but his words… they lingered. The way he had said willingly felt too intimate, too knowing, and it unraveled you further. Gil-galad, perceptive as ever, noticed the change in your posture immediately. His gaze sharpened, his lips curving into the faintest smirk—not one of mockery, but of quiet understanding. “You hesitate,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, his tone low and coaxing. He took a step closer, the movement precise and deliberate, closing the already small gap between you. “I—” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between protest and surrender, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier with meaning. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “What it means to surrender. What it would feel like.” Your heart leapt into your throat. He couldn’t possibly know what had just crossed your mind, could he? The thought was mortifying, but the way his voice dropped, the way his words lingered, made you wonder. “N-no, I wasn’t,” you stammered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “No?” he murmured, stepping even closer. His presence was overwhelming now, his height, his posture, the sheer weight of his attention all crashing down on you like a tide. He studied your expression carefully, and for a moment, you thought you saw the barest flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “Then why are you blushing?” You froze, the words catching you off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you scrambled for a response that wouldn’t further incriminate you.

“Do not lie to me,” he said, his tone soft but commanding, a gentle nudge that stripped away your defenses. “You can deny it all you wish, but I see it. The idea tempts you, doesn’t it?” The weight of his words made your knees weak, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you wondered if he would notice if you truly sank to them now. The image in your mind surged forward again, unbidden and undeniable. You, kneeling before him, surrendering not out of defeat but because of the trust and power he exuded—because of the unrelenting pull you felt toward him.

Gil-galad leaned in slightly, close enough now that you could feel the heat of him, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “There is no shame in surrender,” he murmured. “Not when it is given freely.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare up at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. The weight of his presence, his words, his gaze—it was too much. You felt like you were unraveling beneath him, but the faint, knowing smirk on his lips suggested that he wouldn’t let you fall completely. At least, not until you chose to.

[runawaymun]

👑?

👑To which High King of the Noldor do you owe your allegiance? Why would you offer them your fealty?

I literally love them all but I have to go with Gil-Galad my beloved. (Let's ignore trop/partake!Gil-Galad for a second)

who's his dad anyway? The controversy is too much fun.

first person to form a successful near-universal alliance since Maedhros. Except I'd argue that The Last Alliance accomplished more than the Union of Maedhros.

Part of the sexy circle of "Tolkien characters who were fostered/adopted and went on to be welcoming to others and/or foster and adopt"

Extremely politically savvy and not above working with other races to achieve his goals (so he doesn't seem to carry the an ounce of elf-supremacy in him) -- though it's debateable how much of this is from having Elrond as his herald. That's a chicken-or-the-egg situation though.

Gil-Galad really seems like the best High King out of the history of High Kings tbh. He doesn't repeat his predecessors' mistakes, he listens to counsel, repeatedly makes good/wise decisions, and he's fiercely protective of the people he feels responsible for. I love how he always seems to be personally on the front lines in the midst of battle. He doesn't let other people do the dangerous work for him. I mean he and Elendil take up the entire responsibility of dueling Sauron. And I think there's something to be said for the fact that he does it with Elendil. Fingolfin's fight against Morgoth was awesome but it was doomed and hubristic (and sexy). But Gil-Galad took an ally with him and even though they both died, they were able to do enough damage that Isildur was able to deal that fatal blow.

IDK there's a lot I could say, but Gil-Galad is best boy & I love him.

silm ask meme

[grey-gazania]

Gil-galad daughter of Fingon supremacy.

[ospreyeamon]

Parf Edhellen says Lindórinand is a Nandorian name meaning “Vale of the Land of Singers”. The Nandor is what the Quenya-speaking Amanyar called the elves who broke off from the initial Great March to Aman before reaching Beleriand; the Lindi is what they called themselves. So, Lothlórien has two ancient names given to it by the Silvans’ forebears which we can approximate to “Valley of the Singers (the Lindi)” and “Valley of Gold(en Light)” and Treebeard gives both together because why use a short name when you could use a longer one.

Nearly all the Watsonian written records containing the history of Middle-Earth we have access to were made by Noldor, Númenorians, or hobbits. The peoples of the third tribe of the elves (the Sindar, the Lindi, the Silvans, the Laiquendi etc.) tended to keep oral rather than written histories, so everything we know about them comes second or third-hand. The Noldor and Númenorians both have issues with cultural supremacy; their name for the Nandor means “Those who go back on their decision/word”.

Tolkien Gateway’s page on mellyrn’s source for the story of Galadriel bringing the mellyrn to Lothlórien is A Description of the Island of Numenor’s story about how Númenor’s king gave Gil-galad the seeds which Gil-galad gave to Galadriel who planted them in Lothlórien. It’s a Númenorian account claiming all the mellyrn in Middle-Earth came from Númenor. (The Númenorians would like you to know that their malinorni were definitely taller than the Silvans’ ones. Almost as tall as the ones on Tol Eressëa even though theirs were younger so they totally would have grown taller than the ones on Tol Eressëa eventually).

Frodo, who personally heard Haldir’s words, is the more reliable source.

The Case for the Silvan Mellyrn

I have a post about this in the newsletter tag, but, in fellowship of the ring, Haldir says this:

Alas for Lothlórien that I love! It would be a poor life in a land where no mallorn grew. But if there are mallorn-trees beyond the Great Sea, none have reported it.'

which is odd, because according to Tolkien Gateway, the Mellyrn were brought to Lothlorien by Galadriel from Valinor (via numenor, apparently), which Haldir would presumably know.

And Treebeard calls Lothlorien by an ancient name, Laurelindórenan, which means the valley of singing gold, which, according to Tolkien Gateway, was a Silvan name

The land in which they dwelt (the forest east of the Hithaeglir, above Fangorn and below Mirkwood) became known in the Silvan tongue as Lórinand, or Laurelindórenan.

It would not make sense for this to be the name of the golden wood before the golden trees. Tolkien appears to have adressed this, (at least, according to Christopher) saying:

In a manuscript composed by Tolkien sometime after The Lord of the Rings, Lórinand is said to be a Nandorin name, meaning "valley of gold" (containing the "Elvish word meaning 'golden light'").[1]

However, Christopher Tolkien notes that in a later manuscript the name Lórinand was reconceptualized as "a transformation, after the introduction of the mallorns, of a yet older name Lindórinand"

It is not entirely clear on Tolkien Gateway what Lindórinand means? Maybe someone can help me with that

So the mellyrn are, in one iteration of the canon, introduced to Lothlorien through Valinor. In another, however, and my case is that this is the version of the canon to which The Lord of the Rings belongs, they were always there.

And then if the mellyrn are, in fact, Silvan, than it also makes sense that Legolas would be so excited about seeing them. They're a legend to his people, not an echo of Valinor via Numenor.

'Here is Nimrodel!' said Legolas. 'Of this stream the Silvan Elves made many songs long ago, and still we sing them in the North, remembering the rainbow on its falls, and the golden flowers that floated in its foam.

It definitely seems like the golden flowers predate the separation of the silvan elves from mirkwood from the silvan elves in lothlorien. I like this version of the canon a lot better I think. Not everything beautiful needs to come from Valinor—I like the idea that the world simply has things which are enchanted and beautiful.

[makalauriels]

Controversial Opinions Hour

And I have a lot of those.

Anyway, I think it's great that the show has no rights to the Silmarillion. The situation they have now with the Tolkien Estate having a seat at the table and thus more control of how the story will go is preferable to being bound to one book. The Tolkien Estate can choose to let the Rings of Power team access whatever letters or writings they personally see fit, we're essentially seeing the next generation of Tolkien's heirs trying to come up with a unified narrative.

This is always a fun thing because, what with Tolkien usually writing half a dozen different versions of one event scattered across notes and receipts and his dirty old napkins, everyone has their own personal version of Middle-earth based on their preferred genealogies and sequence of events. The reason that there's a whole academic community based on Tolkien's works is because of this complexity.

It also personally works for me because there are family trees in the Silmarillion that I don't personally like and as I mentioned here I think there's a version of Gil-galad's dad that will make the coming events even more tragic.

[rosencatholic]

I knew Gil-Galad wouldn’t let me down, this is a Gil-Galad supremacy account GIL-GALAD ONLY

[celebrimbot]

Gil-Galad supremacy

He's my boyfriend

[eviljewelry-tolkienfancollection]

Long haired elves are the best

this is what the vip long haired elf warrior club looks like right now. sorry amazon, no one except for Gilly-G qualified from your team, do better 💁🏻

[earthlybeam]

Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your writing. Especially the way you write Elrond! So good. You've very quickly become one of my favorite tumblr posters :) I don't know if anyone has asked this yet, but if not, how would Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad react to the reader rescuing them from being captured by orcs/bandits? Thanks!

Thank you so much for your kind words! It truly means the world to me to hear that you enjoy my writing. 🥹❤️‍🔥🫶✨

As for your question, I actually wrote something similar to this idea before the title called “Elves reacting their you saving their life’s” it’s on my Masterlist pinned at top of my page you’ll find it in their, though I haven’t explored a scenario with orcs or bandits specifically—so I’d be more than happy to write it for you. It’s such a fun and dynamic setup, and I love the idea of exploring how Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-galad would react in that kind of situation. Thank you for the inspiration! 🥺🤌

how would the elves react to this?

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Elrond, Gil-Galad Círdan Version below.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The ancient woods of Eregion were silent, the kind of silence that came when predators were near. The golden light of dusk bled through the canopy, staining the forest floor in hues of amber and crimson. The wind barely stirred, as if the trees themselves held their breath. Somewhere within this tranquil facade, chaos brewed. Elrond Half-elven had been captured. The orcs had struck swiftly and without mercy, ambushing him and his small party as they returned from a reconnaissance mission. His guards had fought valiantly but were quickly overwhelmed. Now, bound and bloodied, Elrond knelt in a rough clearing, surrounded by the jeers of his captors. His silver-threaded tunic was torn, his dark hair matted with dirt and blood. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability, his eyes shone like steel—cold, calculating, and unyielding.

The orcs had made a mistake. They had underestimated him. But even Elrond, for all his cunning, could not see a clear path to freedom. His hands were tightly bound behind him, the ropes cutting into his skin, a reminder of his helplessness. His weapons were gone, and though his mind raced with strategies, every scenario ended the same: with his blood soaking the earth. His pride and experience told him to fight, but in the quiet dark of the clearing, with the weight of captivity pressing down on him, Elrond knew he was out of options. For a fleeting moment, something close to frustration stirred within him—but he quickly pushed it aside. Anger wouldn’t free him, nor would it serve him here. He needed to think, needed to wait, but time was a luxury he no longer had.

The orcs were already bickering over their prize. One particularly large brute brandished a jagged blade and snarled something in their guttural tongue. Elrond didn’t flinch. He met the orc’s gaze with cold detachment, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of his fear. He had seen this before—death in various forms, and in many guises. If this was to be his end, he would meet it with dignity. But even as he steeled himself, he could feel the weight of his impending fate, the very real possibility of this moment being his last. And then, a sound—a faint rustle in the underbrush. The orcs didn’t notice, too consumed by their squabble, but Elrond’s keen ears caught it. His sharp gaze flickered toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing, where the fading light painted shifting patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, his mind raced. Was it a stray animal? A larger threat? No. The movement was too deliberate, too precise, to be mere chance.

A slight shift in the air, a tension, drew his attention fully. He felt a strange spark of hope—a quick, unfamiliar surge, like a breath after being submerged too long. And then, his senses sharpened, pulling his attention entirely to the darkness beyond. Something—or someone—was coming. Someone was there. Someone you. You had tracked the orcs for hours, following the trail of broken branches and spilled blood. When you’d come upon the scene—Elrond bound and surrounded—you hadn’t hesitated. There wasn’t time to formulate a grand plan or to consider the consequences. All that mattered was saving him.

From the shadows, you moved with practiced stealth, each step as quiet as the fall of a leaf. Your hand tightened around the hilt of your blade as you assessed the situation. The orcs were many—more than you’d expected—but their focus on Elrond gave you the element of surprise. It would have to be enough. Your attack was swift. The first orc didn’t even have time to scream before your blade slid across its throat. The second fell just as quickly, your dagger finding its mark in the gap between its armor. By the time the others realized what was happening, you were already upon them, a whirlwind of steel and determination.

Elrond’s head snapped up at the commotion, his sharp gaze locking onto your form as you cut through his captors like a storm. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by something else—something akin to awe. You moved with a grace that rivaled even the elves, your every strike precise, your every motion purposeful. The orcs snarled and lunged at you, but you were relentless. The clearing erupted into chaos as you danced between them, your blade gleaming in the fading light. One by one, the orcs fell, their cries echoing through the trees. Still, more kept coming, their brute strength and numbers threatening to overwhelm you.

Elrond, though bound and weaponless, wasn’t idle. He twisted his wrists against the ropes, his sharp mind analyzing every detail of the fight. When one orc charged toward you from behind, he shouted, “Behind you!” His voice, commanding even in captivity, gave you just enough warning to sidestep the attack and deliver a killing blow. Finally, the last orc fell, its body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. The clearing was eerily quiet once more, the air thick with the stench of blood. You turned to Elrond, your chest heaving as you hurried to his side.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your voice breathless but steady. “Nothing that won’t heal,” he replied, his tone calm despite the ordeal. His eyes, however, betrayed the storm of emotions roiling beneath his composed exterior—relief, gratitude, and perhaps a touch of disbelief. You knelt behind him, cutting through the ropes with quick, efficient movements. As the bindings fell away, Elrond flexed his hands, wincing slightly at the raw skin beneath. He rose to his feet with the grace of one who had endured far worse, his imposing presence undiminished by his injuries. “You should not have come for me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It was reckless.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But I wasn’t about to leave you to them.” For a moment, Elrond said nothing, his piercing gray eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, the corners of his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Foolish,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But brave.” Together, you moved through the forest, leaving the carnage behind. Elrond insisted he was fine, though you couldn’t help but notice the way he favored one leg as he walked. When you offered to slow down, he waved you off with a faint smirk. “I am not as fragile as I look.” As night fell, the two of you stopped to rest in a small, sheltered glade. Elrond sat with his back against a tree, his eyes fixed on the stars above. You sat beside him, the silence between you comfortable but charged with unspoken words. Finally, Elrond broke the silence. “You saved my life,” he said, his voice soft. “I do not say this lightly, but I am in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you replied. “I did what anyone would do.” “No,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Not anyone. Few would risk their lives for another, let alone against such odds. You have my gratitude—and my respect.” There was a sincerity in his tone that left no room for doubt. For all his wisdom and strength, Elrond was not one to offer his trust easily. Yet, in this moment, he looked at you not as a subordinate or even a savior, but as an equal. As the night deepened and the stars shone brighter, you realized that this moment—shared in the aftermath of danger—was the beginning of something far greater than either of you could have anticipated.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-Galad might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The night air was cold, and the sky overhead was shrouded in a blanket of clouds. The dark, twisted trees of Middle-earth seemed to close in, casting ominous shadows across the forest floor. In the heart of the woods, Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, stood tall—his regal bearing unshaken, even in the face of danger. The faintest shimmer of starlight glanced off his golden armor as he and his companions prepared for an ambush. His keen silver grey eyes scanned the surroundings, always vigilant, always prepared for what came next. But even the most vigilant of Elven kings could be caught off guard. The attack was swift. Orcs, crawling from the dark crevices of the forest, came at them like a tide. The clash of metal on metal rang out as Gil-galad led his warriors with strength and precision, a beacon of light in the chaos. His movements were fluid, his strikes calculated, but even he was not immune to the overwhelming number of attackers.

In the midst of the fray, one of the Orcs, taller and stronger than the others, launched itself at Gil-galad with terrifying speed. It knocked the King off balance, sending him crashing to the forest floor with a heavy thud. His sword fell from his hand, skidding away into the underbrush. For a fleeting moment, Gil-galad’s breath was knocked from his lungs, his vision blurred from the sudden impact. The sting of the fall reached deep into his ribs, and the sharpness of the pain reminded him that even a King was not invincible. The Orcs closed in, snarling, their eyes gleaming with malice. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his pulse quickening as he struggled to regain his bearings. Gil-galad’s gaze sharpened despite the fog of disorientation, his mind already calculating his next move. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade aimed at his heart. He reached for his sword, but it was too far away. There was a fleeting moment, a brief weakness—something unfamiliar—that passed through him. A flash of helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. It was swiftly buried beneath layers of command and duty, but it lingered just a little longer than he would have liked. Just as the Orcs began to close in, something unexpected happened.

A rush of movement swept through the trees. In a blink, you appeared—your form silhouetted by the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. Without hesitation, you leapt into the fray, your blade flashing like a streak of lightning in the darkness. The battle paused for a brief second as Gil-galad, still on the ground, turned his head in your direction. His heart skipped a beat—not from fear or shock, but from an overwhelming sense of awe. With swift precision, you cut through the nearest Orc, your movements an elegant dance of strength and agility. The creatures fell back, surprised by the sudden turn of events, their snarls turning to fearful hisses. But it wasn’t the Orcs that held Gil-galad’s attention. It was you. Your movements were effortless, your focus unwavering. You cut through their ranks, protecting the King as though you were born for this very moment. Gil-galad’s thoughts raced. He knew his warriors were skilled, but there was something about you—something about the way you moved, the way you fought with such certainty and grace—that left him speechless. A profound sense of gratitude and admiration swelled in his chest.

His breath was still ragged from the fall, but he forced himself to push off the ground, his hand gripping the earth for support. His eyes locked on yours as you cleared the final Orcs with a grace that could only come from an elf with purpose. The moment you turned toward him, your gaze filled with concern, his lips parted to speak, but no words came. For the first time in many long years, the weight of the battle felt distant compared to the relief that flooded him at your presence. He could feel the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but it was tempered by an undeniable surge of gratitude. You had been there when he faltered—when the weight of the crown, the history of his people, and the perils of the battle had threatened to pull him down. You stepped toward him, your voice calm and steady as you spoke. “Are you injured, my king?” Gil-galad, still shaken but steadying himself, nodded. “I am unharmed, thanks to you.” His voice was low, but the words carried a sincerity that he could not conceal. There was no formality in his words, no regal distance between you. Only an unspoken appreciation. He would have never admitted it aloud, but in that fleeting moment, he felt an unfamiliar vulnerability, one he did not know how to shield himself from.

You bent down to help him, extending your hand. He took it, and as you helped him rise to his feet, a look of quiet admiration crossed his face. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze softening as he took in the full depth of your actions. A flicker of something more stirred within him—a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. But it was the steadiness of your touch, the way you stood by him without hesitation, that left him in awe. The king, ever the leader, found his heart racing not with the weight of his title, but with something far simpler: a respect, perhaps something even deeper, for the one who had stood by him in the face of danger. “You have my deepest gratitude,” he said, his tone rich with meaning. “Without your intervention, I may not have made it out of this alive.” There was a weight in his words—an acknowledgement that, in this chaotic world of shifting alliances and countless battles, your presence had changed everything. He had long borne the weight of his kingdom, the responsibility of leadership, but tonight, that burden had been eased by you.

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world around them faded. The sounds of battle, the crashing of blades, the cries of the fallen—all of it melted away as Gil-galad’s gaze softened. “Your bravery… it does not go unnoticed,” he added, his voice low and earnest. “I will not forget this.” As you stood by him, your hands still holding his, he felt the weight of the moment settle between you both. The connection was undeniable. He had seen countless lives lost in the wars of Middle-earth, witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, but in this fleeting moment, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—trust. Perhaps, even something more. The night was still, the threat of the Orcs momentarily forgotten, as the two of you shared a brief but significant moment. It was then that Gil-galad realized the depths of your loyalty—not just as a warrior, but as someone who had saved him not for glory, but for the simple love of what was right. And as he returned to the fight, standing side by side with you, the King’s heart swelled with something he hadn’t expected—hope.

🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

Círdan might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The salt-laden air of the Grey Havens stung the skin as the distant waves crashed relentlessly against the shore, their rhythm a cruel backdrop to the chaos unfolding on the docks. The normally serene harbor had become a battlefield, its once tranquil shores stained with the blood of the brave and the wicked alike. Orcs had struck swiftly, their guttural cries mingling with the clang of steel and the roar of flames licking the sky. A boat had been set ablaze, its wreckage casting an eerie glow on the water as smoke swirled into the darkening sky. Círdan, his silver hair flowing behind him like a banner, stood as an unyielding sentinel amidst the chaos. His movements were fluid, a dance of deadly elegance as he cut down the attackers one by one. Despite the ferocity of his strikes, his age was beginning to show. His breath, though steady, came with more effort now, and his movements were slower, less sharp than they had once been. The weight of centuries rested on his shoulders, and though his resolve was unbroken, fatigue crept into his limbs.

The orcs were relentless, and soon he was surrounded. A heavy cleaver struck his sword with a resounding clash, forcing him back against the stone wall of the harbor. The ground beneath his feet was slick, and for a brief moment, Círdan felt the full weight of age and weariness. His heart pounded in his chest, but still he raised his sword, determined to protect his people, to fend off the dark tide. Then, the sound—a rustle in the trees above, so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind. But not to Círdan. His sharp eyes flickered toward the movement, his heart quickening with hope. He knew what it meant. You were here. You had been tracking the orc band for days, following their trail with patience and precision. But when you had seen the smoke rising from the docks, when you had realized that the mighty Shipwright himself was in peril, there was no hesitation. You burst from the shadows, a whirlwind of action and determination. Your blade was already in your hand as you descended from the ridge above the harbor, landing with the grace of a predator.

The first orc never knew what hit it. You moved like lightning, your strike clean and efficient, the orc’s blood spilling across the stones before it even had time to scream. The second orc fared no better, falling at your feet with a single, well-placed blow. Círdan’s blue eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you, the flicker of disbelief in his gaze quickly replaced by something far deeper—recognition, relief, and perhaps even a touch of awe. You had come for him, risking everything to pull him from the jaws of death. “Stay behind me!” you shouted as you moved toward him, your voice firm and unyielding amidst the chaos of battle. For a moment, Círdan hesitated. He had always been the protector, the one to stand between others and danger. But as he saw you cut through the orcs with such deadly precision, the decision was made for him. He gritted his teeth, his sword rising once more to meet the next foe. Together, you formed an unstoppable force, a seamless unity that struck terror into the hearts of the orcs.

The battle raged on, but your combined strength was a force of nature. At one point, a brutish orc captain, wielding a massive axe, charged at you. Círdan saw it coming before you did. Without hesitation, he stepped into the line of fire, his sword parrying the deadly blow that would have otherwise struck you down. The force of the strike rattled him, but his gaze remained as steady as the sea. “You risk much for an old shipwright,” he said, his voice calm even in the midst of the battle. “I’m not leaving you here!” you replied fiercely, spinning to meet another attacker. “Not after all you’ve done for Middle-earth.” For a fleeting moment, Círdan’s expression softened, and his eyes lingered on you with a new respect. Few understood the sacrifices he had made over the centuries, the countless battles fought in the shadows, the weight of leadership that bore down on him. But you—here you were, putting everything on the line for him. And somehow, it stirred something deep within him.

With renewed purpose, you fought side by side, driving the orcs back, step by step, until their resolve shattered. The last of the attackers fell with a guttural cry, their bodies littering the stones of the harbor like discarded refuse. The once-bloody battlefield fell silent. The air was thick with the scent of salt and blood, but the clamor of battle had ceased. Only the gentle lap of the waves against the shore and the distant cries of gulls broke the stillness. Círdan stood beside you, his breath coming in measured, steady bursts. He was still strong, but the toll of the fight had left its mark on him. His cheek was bloodied, a thin cut running across his face, but his posture was unyielding. He looked at you with gratitude and something deeper—an understanding that had not existed between you before.

“You have my thanks,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion. His blue eyes held yours, and for the first time in your presence, he spoke not as a leader, but as a fellow soul who had witnessed your bravery firsthand. “Few would have risked their lives for me. Fewer still would have succeeded.” You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “You’ve spent centuries helping others, Círdan. It’s about time someone returned the favor.” A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but filled with warmth. “Then I am fortunate it was you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the harbor, you and Círdan stood side by side, looking out over the water. The battle had been long and fierce, but the bond forged between you in the heat of conflict was even stronger. There was no need for words now. The understanding between you was clear.

Círdan placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip gentle but strong—a silent gesture of respect. “You have the heart of a mariner,” he said softly, his voice carrying the cadence of the sea. “Fearless, steadfast, and loyal. I will not forget this.” And as the light of the new day broke over the Grey Havens, you knew that, in your heart, you had not only saved a life—you had earned the trust and respect of one of Middle-earth’s greatest figures.

[earthlybeam]

Requested by @morganas-pendragons

The elves reacting to the different types of kisses (forehead, cheek, jaw, wrist elven ear, nose, shoulder, lips...)

Gil-Galad version below

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Forehead kiss

The night had woven its silent tapestry across the land of Lindon, the golden hues of sunset fading into the cool embrace of twilight. From the tall window in his chambers, Gil-galad gazed out over the vast, calm sea. His mind, however, was far from tranquil. It was consumed by the weight of leadership—by the ever-growing responsibility he carried as High King of the Noldor. The lands of Middle-earth were in turmoil, and the shadow of Sauron continued to creep closer, threatening to engulf all in darkness.

He stood alone, the faint light of the stars reflecting off the water, yet his gaze remained distant, lost in thought. His posture, usually so composed and regal, now bore the unmistakable signs of a man wearied by time and the endless battles he had fought, both in war and within himself. His crown, symbol of his authority, felt like an unrelenting weight atop his brow.

You entered the room quietly, your footsteps light against the polished floor, barely making a sound. The space between you and Gil-galad seemed to dissolve as you approached, the world outside temporarily forgotten. You stood beside him, your presence grounding him in the present moment, offering him the comfort only you could give. Without a word, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips gently brushing his cool skin.

For a brief instant, he stiffened, his sharp, elven senses startled by the unexpected tenderness. His head tilted slightly, as if to feel more of the warmth of your kiss. He closed his eyes, a rare flicker of emotion crossing his face as a soft smile, one that was seldom seen, tugged at the corners of his lips. In that fleeting moment, the burdens of his kingship, the fears of impending war, and the loneliness that often plagued him seemed to lift, if only for a breath.

Gil-galad’s breath deepened, a sigh of quiet relief escaping his lips. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forehead against yours, drawing a strength from your presence that words could not express. The turmoil of Middle-earth, the weight of thousands of years of his people’s history, faded, and in its place was a simple, peaceful stillness that only you could provide.

With his forehead resting against yours, he whispered softly, his voice more vulnerable than you had ever heard it, “You ease my heart like no other, my moonlight.” His arms, always so composed and restrained, slipped around you, pulling you closer in a rare display of vulnerability. There was no grandeur in his embrace—just a king, a warrior, a soul who had long borne the weight of the world, finally finding solace in the warmth of another.

The room fell silent, save for the soft rhythm of your shared breaths, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. In that space, it was just the two of you—his eternal protector, his light in the darkness, and he, the ever-resolute leader, allowing himself to rest.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Cheek kiss

The council chamber was bathed in the warm glow of the torches lining the walls, their flickering light casting shadows across the faces of Gil-galad’s advisors. The discussion was tense, fraught with the political intricacies of war, alliances, and the preservation of their people. Gil-galad sat at the head of the table, his posture regal and composed, though his mind was racing, analyzing every word spoken, every angle considered. His thoughts were sharp, every decision weighed against the future of Middle-earth.

As the meeting wore on, the air became thick with tension. Even the most capable of advisors had their concerns—one wrong move, one wrong alliance, and the fate of their realm could be forever changed. It was a heavy burden to bear, but one that Gil-galad did with unparalleled grace. Amidst the intellectual sparring, your presence was a quiet relief. You had been there in the background, listening intently to the discussions, your support always steady. Yet, when the room began to fall into a momentary lull, your gaze met his, and without a word, you quietly approached him.

In the midst of the complex conversations, when the weight of the room felt too much, you leaned toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The moment your lips touched his skin, a subtle shift occurred within him—his sharp, calculating gaze softened, his usually unflappable demeanor cracked just for an instant. For a brief moment, he turned his head, meeting your eyes. His lips parted, and though he said nothing aloud, there was a flicker of something tender in his expression—a warmth that was reserved for you alone. The briefest of smiles danced at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible to anyone but you.

Outwardly, Gil-galad was still the stoic, unwavering High King—calm, composed, and collected—but those who knew him well would have caught the quiet shift in his expression. His eyes lingered on you as you stepped back, and for the briefest moment, there was a depth of connection between you that surpassed the words of politics around him. As the council session drew to a close and the room emptied, Gil-galad found you once again, this time in the quiet of the balcony, the moon casting a silvery glow upon your face. He stood there for a moment, watching you, his gaze soft and full of affection.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with a mixture of gratitude and something almost playful, “You’ve spoiled me with your affection.” His words were laced with warmth, the rare playful side of him emerging. He had seen countless battles, but your love, this quiet intimacy, was a gift he cherished deeply.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, and he brought it to his lips with a tenderness that was almost reverent. The touch of his lips against your skin was gentle, as if sealing the moment in time, marking it as something precious. For a king who had faced the most difficult of decisions, this was his solace: your love, pure and unwavering. Standing together in the silence of the night, the world felt more at peace than it had in ages, and Gil-galad knew that no matter what the future held, he would always have this moment with you—a reminder of the love that kept him grounded, no matter the storm outside.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jawline Kiss

The night had drawn a veil over the land of Lindon, the bustling sounds of the day now replaced by the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant murmur of the sea. In the quiet sanctum of Gil-galad’s study, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ink. The only light was the soft glow of a candle on his desk, flickering faintly as it cast dancing shadows on the bookshelves that lined the walls, each holding ancient texts and scrolls filled with the weight of history.

Gil-galad stood by his desk, his sharp eyes scanning the reports his scouts had brought him, each letter and number informing his decisions for the days ahead. His expression was one of intense concentration, a furrow in his brow as his thoughts moved at lightning speed, calculating, analyzing, and planning. Yet, despite the storm of responsibility swirling around him, he was keenly aware of you. You had been standing near the door, silently watching him, but you had already long since become the center of his world, a presence he could not ignore.

Sensing the quiet tension between duty and affection, you made your move—playful, yet full of affection. You crossed the room softly, your steps light as you approached him, a glint of mischief in your eyes. Without warning, you leaned in and pressed your lips softly against the curve of his jawline. The kiss was tender, but the unexpectedness of it broke through his focus like a gentle breeze through a storm.

Gil-galad froze, his body reacting before his mind could fully comprehend the interruption. His jaw tensed, and for the briefest of moments, he felt himself torn between the responsibilities that defined him and the love that enveloped him. But then the warmth of your kiss lingered, and a soft exhale of laughter escaped him—a sound so rare, so filled with genuine amusement, that it made your heart flutter.

His head turned toward you slowly, his usually impassive face softening as his eyes met yours. His lips curled slightly, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners, a smile that had no place in a king but existed only for you. His voice, a deep and rich baritone, was laced with affection, as he murmured, “You’re terribly distracting, my heart,” his tone teasing, but there was no real reproach in it. Only warmth.

A faint blush colored his high cheekbones—an acknowledgment of the rare vulnerability you drew out of him. His normally commanding presence softened as his gaze turned more intimate, more vulnerable. He turned his face toward yours, as though seeking more of that warmth, that affection you so freely gave him.

You could see the longing in his eyes, the hunger for this connection, as his lips parted slightly, and he leaned closer, eager to close the distance between you. His arms reached out, encircling you with a tenderness that belied the strength of his frame. He pulled you close, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath, and let out another quiet laugh. This one was deeper, richer, as though he was marveling at how easily you could affect him.

In that moment, the weight of the kingdom, the burden of leadership, all faded into the background. There was no crown, no duty, no war—just the two of you, in the quiet intimacy of the study. You had become his sanctuary, and he had found solace in your embrace, something he would never have imagined in the midst of his endless responsibilities.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Wrist Kiss

The evening air was crisp, a refreshing chill that carried the scent of the sea from the distant shores of Lindon, mingling with the earthy aroma of the gardens that surrounded the palace. The night sky stretched overhead, a blanket of stars twinkling with a timeless elegance. The gardens, so often alive with the sound of laughter and voices, were now silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Gil-galad had removed his cloak, revealing the fine, dark fabric of his tunic, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strong, elegant curve of his wrist. His posture was relaxed, though the weight of his thoughts could still be seen in the way his brow furrowed as he gazed out at the horizon, his mind seemingly lost in the vastness of the world beyond Lindon. The far-off lights of other elven realms were faint pinpricks in the distance, but here, in this quiet corner of the kingdom, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness.

You stood beside him, captivated by the way the light of the stars seemed to reflect in his eyes, as though the very heavens themselves had taken residence there. You reached for him, moved by a deep and overwhelming affection that surged within you. With a delicate, reverent motion, you reached out and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. The warmth of your lips against his skin was a silent declaration of love, a tender act that spoke volumes without the need for words.

The touch was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver through Gil-galad’s frame. His entire body stilled, his gaze softening as he slowly turned toward you, his heart stirring with an emotion so powerful that it almost rendered him speechless. He had always been a king, a leader, but in this moment, you had made him something else entirely: a man who could be loved without reservation.

Without a word, he gently took your hand in his, his long fingers curling around your palm. His touch was a perfect balance of strength and tenderness, and he pressed a kiss to your knuckles in return. The gesture was simple, but there was an undeniable weight to it, as though he were offering you a piece of his soul, something that had once been guarded so fiercely, now freely given to you.

“You humble me, my little flower,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. The words were sincere, filled with gratitude and devotion, as though he were offering you a promise in return—one that spoke of protection, of loyalty, of love that would endure no matter the trials to come.

His hand lingered in yours, the strength of his grip a quiet reminder of his resolve, of the king he had to be. But the gentleness with which he held you spoke of a man who, despite the weight of his crown, had found solace in the love of the one he cherished above all else.

As the two of you stood in the garden, the world seemed to pause. The stars overhead, the soft rustling of the leaves, and the distant sound of the sea—all became a quiet backdrop to the love you shared. It was a love that needed no grand gestures or declarations, for it was woven into the fabric of every quiet moment, every tender touch.

Gil-galad, once the proud High King of the Noldor, now stood beside you, no longer just a ruler, but a man who had found peace in the simple devotion of the one he loved. And as the night stretched on, you both stood there, lost in the warmth of each other’s embrace, knowing that no matter the storms that would come, this moment of quiet tenderness would always be a sanctuary—a place to return to when the weight of the world became too much to bear.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Lips Kiss

The night had grown still, the stars scattered across the velvet sky above Lindon, their soft glow shimmering over the water that kissed the shores of the city. The distant hum of the ocean waves created a quiet symphony, a lullaby that seemed to harmonize perfectly with the peaceful atmosphere of Gil-galad’s private chambers. The flickering candlelight in the room cast long shadows, softening the edges of everything around you. The usual burden of responsibility that weighed heavily on Gil-galad’s shoulders seemed to vanish in this moment, leaving the two of you in a rare, intimate space—a space free from the demands of kingship.

Gil-galad stood close to you, his tall frame looming slightly above, but it was the warmth of his presence that enveloped you, drawing you in. His hand rested on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your tunic, the touch firm but gentle. His usually commanding gaze softened as his eyes met yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of everything unspoken. His usually composed expression was a little undone, as if in your presence, he could release the weight of being High King. The soft tension in his jaw betrayed his vulnerability, though he did not speak of it. His eyes were filled with longing, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show so openly.

The silence between you was thick, heavy with anticipation. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, matching yours in a rhythm of quiet understanding. His breath, slow and deliberate, seemed to synchronize with yours, as if the very act of being near you grounded him in ways he could not articulate.

In a soft and almost imperceptible movement, you closed the gap between you. Your fingers brushed against his chest as you leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his lips. The kiss was slow at first, gentle and cautious, as if both of you were savoring the moment before allowing it to deepen. There was no rush, no urgency—only the quiet reverence of two souls coming together. Your lips lingered on his for a heartbeat longer, as though each second was a treasure, a fleeting eternity that you both wanted to hold onto.

Gil-galad’s response was immediate and just as deliberate. His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair with a careful urgency. He pulled you closer, as though in that moment, he could not be near enough to you. His lips parted gently against yours, allowing the kiss to deepen. The world outside ceased to exist—there was no kingdom, no court, no burden of rule. There was only the two of you, lost in the quiet intimacy of a single kiss.

When the kiss finally broke, Gil-galad did not pull away. Instead, he kept you close, his forehead resting against yours, as if grounding himself in the connection you shared. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your back, a subconscious gesture of affection that only he could offer. His breath was steady, but there was a tremor of emotion beneath it, a quiet reverence that spoke volumes.

“Every time you kiss me,” he murmured, his voice rich and low, carrying the weight of his heart, “I am reminded of why I fight for this world. For you.” His words were simple, but they were everything—his devotion, his love, his reason for enduring the endless trials of his kingship. In this moment, you realized that his fight was not only for the safety of his people but for the love you shared, a love that gave him purpose beyond the crown, beyond the battlefield. He was not just a king in this space—he was simply Gil-galad, the one who loved you deeply and without question.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Temple Kiss

The evening was peaceful, the firelight flickering gently and casting dancing shadows across the room. The warmth from the hearth provided a quiet comfort, but it was Gil-galad’s presence that truly made the space feel like home. His usually composed demeanor had softened tonight, his shoulders relaxed as he sank into the deep chair near the fire. His regal air was still present, but there was something different in the way he carried himself, a sense of fatigue that spoke of the days spent bearing the weight of leadership.

You had convinced him to take a rare moment of rest, knowing that the demands of his kingship often overshadowed his own need for reprieve. Now, as you sat beside him, the silence between you was companionable, an unspoken understanding filling the space. Gil-galad’s gaze was distant, his mind undoubtedly still swirling with the concerns of his kingdom. His eyes occasionally fluttered shut, a fleeting escape from the constant pressure he carried.

Noticing the slight tension in his brow, you reached out instinctively, brushing your fingers gently through his hair. The touch was soft, tender—a silent gesture of care that spoke volumes. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch your gaze, and there was a softness in his eyes that was rare. It was a glimpse of the man beneath the king, a man who carried the weight of so much yet allowed himself to be vulnerable in your presence.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his temple, just below his ear. The contact was a quiet offering, filled with a depth of affection that had no need for words. As your lips touched his skin, you felt his breath hitch, his body going still for a brief moment. The vulnerability of the gesture seemed to catch him off guard, and his eyes fluttered open, the usual mask of control slipping away just for a moment.

Gil-galad let out a soft sigh, and in that breath, there was an unspoken relief. His gaze softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, he seemed far less like the ruler of a kingdom and more like a man who had found solace in the arms of someone who truly saw him.

“You bring me peace in ways I cannot describe,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. There was warmth in his tone, a softness that melted away the usual command he carried. He raised his hand, gently cupping your cheek in his palm, as if to ground himself in the tenderness you offered. His touch was a silent plea for more—a desire to bask in the comfort you gave him.

As he leaned forward, he nudged his nose against yours, the gesture affectionate, intimate. His breath was warm on your skin before he planted a soft kiss on your forehead, a gentle, loving act that spoke of his trust in you. It was a kiss that held no pretense, no politics—only raw, honest affection.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes soft as they met yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. “For this… for giving me a moment to simply be.” His hand remained at your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin, as though trying to memorize the sensation of your closeness.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Neck Kiss

The study was dimly lit, the golden glow of the candlelight casting long shadows over the walls lined with ancient tomes. The atmosphere was quiet, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustling of parchment. Gil-galad sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the pile of reports that had been sent from his scouts. His face was etched with the weariness of leadership, the weight of his duties pressing on him as the king of Lindon.

Hours had passed, and yet he remained deeply entrenched in his responsibilities, his mind a maze of strategy, war, and the unending demands of the kingdom. The air around him felt heavy with the burden of decision, and despite his usual composure, there was something in his posture that hinted at a growing fatigue.

But you noticed. The subtle twitch in his jaw, the way his hand lingered a little too long over the parchment. You knew him well enough by now to recognize that look in his eyes—one of weariness, of being caught in the eternal dance between duty and the weight of his title.

Without a word, you moved closer, your footsteps light on the cold stone floor. You came up behind him, standing close enough to feel the warmth of his presence, but not quite touching him. For a brief moment, you simply stood there, watching him as he remained engrossed in his work, as if the world outside of the papers before him didn’t exist.

But you knew better. You knew how the burdens of his rule could consume him, how they could trap him in a world of paperwork and diplomacy, far from the quiet peace that only moments with you could provide. Your fingers gently brushed the tops of his shoulders, a light, soothing touch that seemed to draw his attention away from the paperwork before him. His body stiffened for the briefest moment, but then, as if he were pulled from the depths of his concentration, his head tilted slightly to the side, allowing you closer.

With a softness that matched the intimacy of the moment, you leaned in, your lips finding the side of his neck. The kiss was tender, lingering just below his ear, the warmth of your breath ghosting over his skin. The contact was unexpected, and for a moment, Gil-galad froze. His usual calm and unshakable demeanor faltered as a soft, low chuckle—so rare for him—escaped his lips.

It was a sound of pure surprise, one filled with warmth and affection, a stark contrast to the commanding king who typically filled the room with his authoritative presence. You felt his body relax, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as your lips pressed gently against his neck. His head tilted just a fraction more, an unspoken invitation for you to continue.

“Are you trying to undo me, my love?” His voice was soft, tinged with a playful affection that made your heart flutter. There was no reproach in his words, only a rare vulnerability that you cherished deeply. His gaze softened as he looked toward you, his eyes twinkling with a quiet amusement.

You smiled, a teasing glint in your eyes as you leaned in once more, brushing a soft kiss along the curve of his neck. His lips parted slightly in response, and the once-unshakable king became simply a man, caught in the intimacy of the moment.

His arms reached out toward you, pulling you into the space between him and his desk. This time, there was no royal command in his actions—only the quiet, tender strength of his affection. As he drew you close, his lips found your forehead, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your skin. The weight of his crown, of his kingship, seemed to fade into nothingness, and in its place, only the warmth of his love remained.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Hand Kiss

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. The air was filled with the comforting scent of wood burning, a scent that somehow made the world feel more intimate. Gil-galad had been working tirelessly all day, his mind consumed with the demands of his kingdom. His brows furrowed as he sat in his chair, one arm resting lazily on the armrest while his other hand, fingers tense, drummed lightly against the wood. His gaze flickered between the stack of reports in front of him and the distant shadows in the room, his mind still reeling from the weight of his responsibilities.

But when you entered the room, everything seemed to slow. There was something about the way you moved—your presence that seemed to fill the space with quiet grace—that immediately soothed the tension in his body. His eyes, tired from hours of leadership, softened as they met yours. For just a moment, the noise of the world outside seemed to fall away, and it was only you and him in the room.

You watched him for a moment, the subtle lines of exhaustion etched on his face, the ever-present tension in his shoulders. Gil-galad was a king, a leader to his people, but in this moment, you saw him as he was—a man who carried an impossible weight on his shoulders, yet still yearned for moments of tenderness and connection.

With quiet steps, you crossed the room to him. The firelight illuminated your face as you reached his side, your gaze gentle and filled with understanding. Slowly, you extended your hand toward him, the gesture simple yet full of meaning. As your fingers brushed over his, his gaze flickered toward you, meeting your eyes with something akin to a soft sigh of relief.

Without saying a word, you raised his hand to your lips, pressing a light kiss to the back of his hand. The contact was brief, but the effect was immediate. Gil-galad’s breath hitched ever so slightly as the tenderness of the gesture seeped into his soul. For a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to fall away, replaced by the quiet intimacy between the two of you.

His eyes closed briefly, savoring the touch. The gesture was simple, but to him, it spoke volumes. You had given him something that no crown or title ever could—a reminder that, despite all that was expected of him, he was still human, still loved. When his eyes opened again, he reached for your hand, drawing it to his lips in return. His kiss was just as gentle, just as full of reverence. It was not the kiss of a king to his subject, but of a man to the one he cherished most. He kissed your hand with a quiet vow of devotion—of love, of gratitude.

“You honor me more than I deserve,” he whispered, his voice low, the words filled with sincerity. His fingers gently traced the outline of your cheek before traveling upward to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering long after he pulled away. You looked at him, the weight of his gaze steady, filled with quiet adoration. For a brief moment, the room felt timeless, as though the rest of the world could fade away, leaving only the two of you in your quiet, unspoken love. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. There was only peace, only love, and only the two of you.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Shoulder Kiss

The night unfolded with a tranquil stillness, a serenity that contrasted with the weight of the world outside Gil-galad’s chambers. The soft flicker of candlelight created delicate patterns across the room, casting long shadows that seemed to fade into the quiet. The fire crackled in the hearth, sending a steady warmth into the cool air, yet it was the peace in the room, in his presence, that truly calmed you. The night was not just silent but pregnant with an almost palpable sense of ease, a rare gift in the life of a king burdened with so many responsibilities.

Gil-galad sat by the fire, his profile illuminated by the golden light. He had shed the formalities of his day—the crown, the armor, the posture of command—and now sat in an almost contemplative stillness. His broad shoulders, usually squared with unyielding strength, were relaxed, his frame slouched slightly as he leaned back into the high-backed chair. Even his posture spoke of weariness—the tiredness of a king who had borne the weight of many lives on his shoulders, day after day.

But in this moment, as you stood in the doorway, watching him in the flickering light, you saw not just the king but the man beneath. The man who, in moments like this, allowed himself to be vulnerable, allowing the silence to fill the space where words or demands would otherwise go.

You moved quietly across the room, each step measured, until you stood behind him. He did not turn, but you could feel his awareness of your presence, an invisible pull that tethered him to you in ways more profound than anything he could express. Slowly, your hand reached out to rest lightly on his shoulder.

His breath hitched for a moment, his body tensing at first, but then he relaxed. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his head tilted slightly, surrendering to the touch. The tension in his muscles seemed to melt away, but there was no spoken word, no request for peace. Only the touch that said everything.

Without a word, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder. The kiss was tender, the warm press of your lips lingering, a momentary touch that held so much unspoken. His body stilled completely at the sensation, as though the kiss grounded him in a place of softness he often neglected. The warmth of your breath, the intimacy of your touch, eased something within him that even the fire’s glow could not.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His hand, which had been resting at his side, slowly covered yours on his shoulder. His fingers were gentle, almost as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace you had created. When he spoke, his voice was low and laden with a quiet kind of relief.

“You ease me in ways I cannot explain,” he murmured, his words soft but filled with an emotion that went deeper than gratitude. There was a tenderness in his tone, an openness that revealed the vulnerability he often kept hidden behind the armor of kingship. Your kiss had brought him back to himself, reminding him that, despite the weight of his rule, there was solace in being cared for, in being loved. You stayed close, not speaking but simply offering the comfort of your presence. Your hand remained on his shoulder, your touch a silent promise. In this moment, there was no kingdom, no war, no responsibility. There was only him—a man, at peace in your arms.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Nose Kiss

The moonlight spilled through the open window, its pale beams casting a soft, ethereal glow over the room. Outside, the quiet night enveloped Lindon, the world beyond seeming distant, far removed from the tender quiet within. Gil-galad stood near the fireplace, his back to you as he gazed out into the night, his profile framed by the silvered light. The ever-present weight of his duties seemed to have faded for the moment. For the first time in what felt like a long time, he was simply… present.

You watched him for a moment, standing silently in the doorway, observing the stillness that surrounded him. The stoic king, usually so focused, so burdened by his kingship, now appeared almost serene. He had let go of the rigid air of authority, the crown heavy upon his brow, and stood in the quiet peace of the moment, wrapped only in the warmth of the fire and the silence between you.

There was something about the way he stood there, so unguarded, that made you smile. You couldn’t resist the urge to approach him, to remind him that even amidst the gravitas of his life, there was room for lightness, for laughter.

You moved toward him, your footsteps light, and without a word, you slipped up behind him. As you reached him, he turned slightly, sensing your presence before his gaze met yours. His eyes softened at the sight of you, his lips curving into a small smile, though there was still a touch of weariness in them.

Before he could ask what you were doing, you leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. It was a quick, playful gesture, but one filled with affection. His reaction was instantaneous—a small intake of breath as he blinked in surprise, his elegant brow arching in mild confusion. It was a gesture so unexpected, so lighthearted, that it seemed to momentarily break through the walls he so carefully maintained.

A soft chuckle escaped from him—gentle and warm, a rare sound from the King of Lindon. The chuckle was followed by a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as he leaned closer, the playful side of him revealing itself with an almost teasing smirk.

“Are you trying to undo me with such sweet, playful gestures, my dearest?” His voice was rich with affection, but the amusement was clear, and for a fleeting moment, the burdens of his kingship fell away, leaving only the man before you.

You smiled back at him, feeling lighter in his presence, before he leaned down and returned the gesture. His lips gently brushed against your nose in a soft, reciprocal kiss. It was a kiss that seemed to echo the simplicity of the moment—no power, no duty, just the shared joy of being with one another.

“You remind me to cherish these fleeting joys,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity, but with a touch of warmth that made the words all the more meaningful. There was no pretense in his voice, no weight of the crown. In this moment, there was only love, a reminder of the joys that existed between you—simple, fleeting, but precious all the same.

As your foreheads touched gently, you both remained close, basking in the peacefulness of the moment. There were no demands here, no expectations, only the quiet contentment of being together. In that fleeting kiss, in that shared laughter, you had found something timeless: a connection that would endure through everything.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Elven Ear Kiss

The night had settled in like a soft, comforting blanket, enveloping the world outside Gil-galad’s chamber in stillness. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, sending occasional sparks that illuminated the room with a warm glow. Shadows danced across the walls, and the air was thick with a sense of calm. Gil-galad, as ever, sat by the window, his posture perfect and composed, as if the weight of the world rested upon him—even in moments like this when the night seemed to slow down the rhythm of the world. His gaze, though distant, remained sharp, focused on the stars outside as if the answers to his questions were written there among the constellations.

It was these quiet moments, when he thought the world had slowed and his responsibilities were distant, that you cherished most with him. His regal aura never truly left him, even in the absence of the duties that called him away. He had learned to wear the mantle of kingship so well that it was part of him—perhaps more than he realized. But tonight, you wanted him to feel something different: a soft moment of intimacy, unclouded by royal duties and responsibilities.

You approached him slowly, your footsteps light against the floor as you closed the space between you. The night air, cool and fresh, seemed to mingle with the warmth from the hearth, and the scent of wood smoke and the faint earthiness of the outdoors filled the room. Without a word, you moved behind him, stepping so close that you could feel the quiet energy that radiated from him. His shoulders were slightly tense, betraying the constant weight he carried. His back, though straight, held the hint of exhaustion that he never spoke of.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear as you gently pressed your lips just below its delicate curve. The kiss was soft, a playful touch meant to stir something inside of him. Your lips lingered for a moment, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath brushing against his skin. Then, as you withdrew, you whispered something sweet in his ear, just for him to hear. The words were soft, meant to make him feel the simplicity of your affection rather than the grandeur of his kingship.

The effect was immediate. Gil-galad’s entire body shivered, just the slightest tremor, but it was enough to send a surge of affection through you. His composure never faltered, but his usually stoic face was slightly flushed, the flush of someone unaccustomed to such intimate, teasing affection. The faintest tremor in his shoulders—barely perceptible—was the only sign that your touch had affected him. He turned his head slowly, not quite fully meeting your gaze but enough to see the playfulness in your eyes reflected in the soft light of the room.

His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of amusement beneath it. “You are far too bold,” he murmured, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. His eyes held a glimmer of something—warmth, perhaps, or the recognition of how rare these moments were, moments when the weight of the world slipped away and the two of you could simply be. Despite his words, there was no chastisement, only a soft affection that hinted at his enjoyment of the intimacy you had just shared.

He didn’t pull away, instead tilting his head just slightly, a silent invitation for you to stay close. The warmth between you both lingered, settling over you both like a protective blanket. In that moment, it was as if the world had paused—no kingdom to command, no crown to wear, just the two of you in a space where love and affection existed outside the confines of duty.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Back of the Neck Kiss

The day had been long for Gil-galad, a blur of strategy meetings and weighty discussions that never seemed to end. His mind had been sharp and incisive, as always, but the strain of making decisions for his people, his kingdom, weighed heavily on him. Hours had passed with little time for rest, and now, as the evening finally crept in and the world outside darkened, he retreated to the solitude of his chambers. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the walls.

You had been observing him from a distance throughout the day, noticing how the relentless demands of his kingship had taken their toll. The regal composure that always seemed to define him was now overshadowed by a quiet tension in his shoulders, the lines of his face taut with the weight of responsibility. His back was slightly hunched, a subtle sign of the fatigue that had settled in after hours of standing at the center of power.

You knew that these moments, where he could let go, were few and far between. You seized the opportunity to offer him a comfort he so rarely allowed himself. You approached him slowly, silently, not wanting to startle him, and stood behind his chair, where he sat with a scroll in his hands. His eyes were fixed on the document, yet the furrow in his brow never quite disappeared. His attention was wrapped up in the duties of the day, but you could see the exhaustion in the subtle tremble of his hands.

Without a word, you reached out, your fingers brushing the back of his neck with a gentle, soothing touch. The soft contact, at first, was barely noticeable, but it was enough to interrupt the tension that had built in him throughout the day. His body stiffened instantly, an involuntary reaction to being touched, as though caught off guard by the sudden tenderness. For a brief moment, he straightened, as if preparing to shield himself from the vulnerability of the gesture. But as your fingers lingered on his neck, massaging the muscles that had grown tight under the pressure of his responsibilities, you saw him release the instinctive barrier.

Gil-galad closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his body finally relaxed into the soothing rhythm of your touch. He hadn’t allowed himself this kind of respite in so long, and it was almost as if the burden of the day was slipping away, if only for a moment.

You continued, your hands moving with a tender care, kneading the muscles that had been strained under the weight of leadership. His breath grew slower, deeper, and with every moment that passed, the tension in his body seemed to melt away. Then, without warning, you leaned forward, pressing your lips gently against the nape of his neck. The kiss was slow and soft, lingering just long enough to convey the affection that had been building in you throughout the day.

Gil-galad’s breath caught for a moment, his muscles tightening briefly at the unexpectedness of the kiss. For a split second, it seemed like he might pull away, but instead, he let out a soft, audible exhale, the kind that came when he allowed himself to relax completely. The kiss, simple yet deeply affectionate, was like a balm to his weary soul, and the final traces of tension in his body faded.

“You test my composure, my love,” he murmured, his voice husky with a mix of surprise and affection. His hand, slow and deliberate, rose to rub the back of his neck, an unconscious movement that betrayed the vulnerability he usually kept so hidden. You could feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, the subtle tremor of his muscles as they unraveled beneath your touch. There was no rebuke in his voice, no sharpness; only the soft, intimate tone of someone who had found solace in your presence.

As you gently placed your hand over his, he guided it to rest on top of yours, his fingers curling gently around yours. There was a moment of silence between you both, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with understanding. For a brief instant, the king was not in the room with you. He was simply a man—no crown, no duties, no obligations—just a man who felt the weight of everything he carried lighten with the tenderness of your touch.

“You have a way of reminding me that I am not just a king,” he whispered, his voice low, vulnerable. The hardness that so often defined him had faded, leaving only the soft warmth of someone who was allowed to feel loved and cared for. His eyes, usually so sharp with authority, were now gentle, searching yours with a quiet gratitude.

Without saying anything more, he pulled you closer, his hands guiding you into his lap. The gesture was unexpected but natural, as though he had longed for this intimacy, the closeness that only you could provide. You settled there, your body fitting against his like two pieces of a puzzle, and he rested his head in your hair, inhaling deeply. The moment was serene, grounding him in a way that only your presence could.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if to draw strength from your warmth, and his fingers softly threaded through your hair. His breath was steady against the crown of your head, and there was something incredibly intimate in that small space between you both—a space that only the two of you could fill.

“I am not used to this,” he murmured after a while, his voice barely more than a whisper. “To this… peace.” His hand drifted to your back, smoothing over the fabric of your clothes, as though he were memorizing the sensation of holding you. The weight of the world seemed to fall away from him in that moment, his heartbeat steady and calming against you.

You stayed like that for a while—no words needed, just the quiet rhythm of shared breaths, the feel of his heartbeat, the warmth of his touch. The burdens of kingship had not disappeared, but in the quiet of this moment, they were nothing compared to the depth of the affection you shared. In his embrace, you both found peace, however fleeting.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[earthlybeam]

hewwoo~ long time enjoyer here! very excited to see someone writes for celeborn. I just love that malewife elf <3

could you do a cheeky/snarky!reader flirting with celeborn, gil-galad and thranduil please? these are my top 3 elves rn and your writing is soooo dreamy :3

how would the elves react to this?

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Celeborn, Gil-galad, thranduil Versions are below. They are two versions of each.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

First one

𖣂 The tranquil beauty of Lothlórien surrounds you, the golden light of the mellyrn trees filtering softly through their shimmering leaves. The ethereal air of the Golden Wood feels almost otherworldly, a quiet calm that speaks of the millennia of wisdom and magic that have shaped this realm. In the center of it all stands Celeborn, a vision of elven grace and nobility. His silver hair glows faintly in the dappled light, his piercing eyes reflecting a serene yet sharp intelligence. He exudes a quiet dignity, a presence that commands respect without arrogance. You approach him, feeling a flutter of nerves—after all, it’s not every day you stand before the Lord of Lothlórien. But instead of bowing in formality, you decide to take a different approach, a playful glint in your eye. You mocking awe “So this is the great Lord of Lothlórien. Wise, graceful… and probably the reason half the elves here are swooning. Is there a waiting list to get your attention, or do I have to bribe someone?”

𖣂 For a moment, Celeborn’s serene expression doesn’t change, and you wonder if your playful tone has fallen flat. Then, his lips curl ever so slightly into a small, amused smile. His gaze meets yours, steady and unflinching, but with a hint of curiosity. Celeborn slightly amused. “You seem resourceful. I imagine you’d find a way without resorting to bribery.” His voice is smooth and measured, carrying a subtle warmth beneath its calm surface. He tilts his head ever so slightly, as if studying you, his amusement flickering like a spark behind his eyes.

𖣂 You take his response as an invitation to continue the playful banter, stepping closer and lowering your voice conspiratorially. You grinning “Oh, I don’t need to bribe anyone. I’ll just charm you into skipping the line.” A soft chuckle escapes him, rare and quiet, but genuine. He regards you for a moment longer, the faintest trace of a smirk lingering on his face. His demeanor remains composed, but there’s an undeniable twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Charm, is it? A bold strategy, but one that requires confidence… and no small amount of skill. I suppose you believe yourself well-qualified?”

𖣂 You feign offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. You mock indignation. “Well-qualified? My lord, you wound me. I’ll have you know my charm has been praised by elves, men, and hobbits alike. But if you doubt me, perhaps I should prove it?” The slight upward twitch of his eyebrow tells you he’s enjoying this far more than he’s letting on. His voice lowers, adopting a playful edge that’s rare for someone so reserved. “Prove it? A dangerous proposition. If I find your proof lacking, I may be forced to remain unimpressed.”

𖣂 The challenge in his words is subtle, but it’s there, hidden beneath layers of calm composure. His tone is light, but his gaze holds yours, unyielding yet inviting. You leaning in slightly. “Then I’ll just have to ensure my proof is flawless. Though, if I may say so, my lord, you don’t seem the type who is easily unimpressed.” For a fleeting moment, Celeborn seems to weigh your words, his expression unreadable. Then, his lips curve into a small, genuine smile—a rare and dazzling sight that takes you by surprise. “Perhaps I am not. But you certainly have a… unique approach. Let us see if your charm is as formidable as you claim.” There’s a softness in his voice now, almost teasing but still restrained, as though he’s testing the waters of this exchange. The quiet Lord of Lothlórien, it seems, is not entirely immune to the art of playful flirtation.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Second one

𖣂 The golden light of Lothlórien dances across the delicate leaves of the mellyrn trees, their quiet whispers filling the tranquil air. Celeborn stands at the edge of a silver fountain, his tall figure radiating an air of timeless grace. His silvery hair catches the light, and his calm, thoughtful expression seems almost impenetrable—a mask of serene composure hiding layers of complexity. There’s something undeniably magnetic about him, a mystery you can’t quite resist unraveling. You approach with a playful smile, deciding to push past his reserved demeanor. After all, who can resist a bit of teasing? You playfully, with mock thoughtfulness. “You know, Celeborn, you’re like a riddle wrapped in an enigma… wrapped in very nice robes. Care to unravel yourself for me?”

𖣂 For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his sharp eyes studying you with quiet intensity. Then, the corners of his lips lift in the faintest hint of a smile—a rare gesture from the ever-composed Lord of Lothlórien. His gaze flickers with subtle amusement as he tilts his head slightly. Celeborn calmly, with a touch of humor. ”Perhaps some mysteries are better left unsolved.” His voice, smooth and rich like a stream gliding over polished stones, carries the faintest undertone of mischief. He clasps his hands behind his back, watching you with that infuriatingly composed expression, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

𖣂 Not one to back down, you step closer, your smile turning into a confident grin. “Oh, don’t be shy. I’m very good at solving puzzles. Especially handsome ones.” He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound low and rare, like a secret shared in the stillness of the woods. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze with a quiet intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. For a moment, his hands shift slightly, as if he’s about to reach for the clasps of his robe. Celeborn with a playful glint in his eye. “You’re certain you’re prepared? Unraveling a mystery often leads to more questions than answers.” For a heartbeat, you freeze, caught off guard by the sudden flicker of teasing in his voice. His fingers hover near the clasp of his elegant robes, and you swear there’s a flicker of humor in his otherwise serene expression. Then, just as quickly, he lowers his hands again, his composure fully restored, as though he’s never broken it.

𖣂 Celeborn with a quiet smirk. “But I fear you’ll have to be content with the mystery for now.” Your jaw drops slightly, and he watches your reaction with subtle amusement, clearly pleased with his ability to turn the tables. His serene demeanor may have returned, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes now—a rare glimpse of the playful side hidden beneath his reserved exterior. You laughing, shaking your head. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But don’t think this means I’m giving up. I’ll unravel you yet, Lord Celeborn.” His gaze softens, his smile lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter before he speaks again “Persistence can be a virtue. Perhaps, in time, you may find the answers you seek. Until then… I shall enjoy watching you try.” With that, he turns, his silver hair catching the light as he walks away with the same composed grace that drives you both intrigued and infuriated. You can’t help but grin to yourself, already planning your next move.

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

First one

🜲 You leaning casually against one of the smooth marble pillars of Gil-galad’s study, your posture relaxed yet deliberate. A mischievous glint dances in your eyes as you tilt your head slightly, watching him pour over a parchment with that signature air of kingly focus. Your voice cuts through the serene quiet, light and teasing, deliberately challenging the stillness of the room. “Is it exhausting being the High King of the Noldor? All that responsibility, all those admirers…”

🜲 Gil-galad His quill pauses mid-stroke, hovering above the parchment as the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly. He doesn’t respond right away, instead straightening slowly, his head tilting with an expression that borders on amused curiosity. His sharp blue-gray eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, he studies you as though he’s weighing the best course of action. With quiet deliberation, he sets the quill down and moves the parchment aside. His gaze lingers, his regal composure softening just enough to betray a flicker of playfulness. Finally, his lips curve into a small, knowing smile—a smile that feels rare and deliberate, as though meant just for you. “The burden is lighter than it seems.” You pushing off the pillar, your steps slow and deliberate as you cross the room toward him. The marble floor cool beneath your feet echoes faintly with each step, but your focus is entirely on him. Your voice drops slightly, playful and edged with a hint of challenge, your eyes locked onto his as you draw closer. “Good. Wouldn’t want you too tired to pay attention to me.”

🜲 Gil-galad His smile widens slightly, though it remains subtle, restrained. He’s a king accustomed to holding himself in check, to hiding emotions beneath layers of composure, yet the faint glimmer in his eyes reveals far more than words could. He leans back in his chair with deliberate elegance, folding his hands in his lap as though truly considering your words. For a brief moment, he remains silent, allowing the weight of his gaze to settle on you, his expression one of thoughtful amusement. When he speaks, his voice is low and smooth, steady as always but carrying a faint undercurrent of dry humor. “I fear that might be the greatest burden of all,” he muses, his tone calm yet laced with subtle warmth, “To balance the weight of my duties with the demands of someone as… captivating as you.”

🜲 You laughing softly, the sound light and genuine, unable to resist the warmth blooming in your chest at his carefully chosen words. You feel your cheeks flush despite yourself, though you try to mask it with an exaggeratedly skeptical glance. “So you do pay attention, after all.” Gil-galad His gaze softens, and for a moment, the High King standing before you seems more man than monarch. There’s something deeply personal in the way he watches you now, the faintest trace of warmth lingering behind the carefully composed exterior he so often wears. Rising from his chair, he moves toward you with the measured grace of a ruler, each step deliberate, each movement carrying an unshakable authority. And yet, as he closes the distance between you, there’s a subtle shift in his demeanor—a slight easing of the ever-present weight on his shoulders. He stops just a pace away, his posture relaxed yet still commanding.

🜲 “I could hardly afford not to,” he replies smoothly, his voice quieter now, edged with sincerity. “You have a way of ensuring no one forgets your presence.” You crossing your arms, your lips quirking into a playful smile as you tilt your head, pretending to study him with exaggerated seriousness. Your tone takes on an air of mock suspicion as you raise an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment or an accusation?” Gil-galad A low chuckle escapes him, the sound deep and warm, carrying the kind of richness that feels rare, a private melody meant only for you. His usual stoic mask cracks slightly, replaced by an expression of quiet amusement. He leans in just enough to close the space between you, his voice lowering to a tone reserved only for these rare moments—intimate, yet measured in its affection. “Whichever pleases you more, my heart.” As his words hang in the air, there’s a quiet sincerity beneath the teasing tone, a depth to his gaze that speaks volumes more than he says aloud. His presence, as always, is commanding, but in this moment, it feels as though the weight of his kingship has been set aside, leaving only the man beneath.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Second one

🜲 You leaning back against the edge of the grand oak desk in Gil-galad’s study, your fingers lightly brushing the polished surface as you fix him with a teasing smile. The golden light of the setting sun filters through the tall arched windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Your tone is light, playful, but edged with a challenge as you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “Do you always get your way, High King? Or is that just with the elves?”

🜲 Gil-galad Seated across the room, his tall frame is poised in his chair, one leg crossed over the other with effortless elegance. He has been reviewing a series of maps and reports, but at your words, he pauses. His sharp blue-gray eyes lift to meet yours, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths. The faintest trace of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, one of those rare, restrained smiles that carry far more meaning than they let on. Setting the map aside, he leans back slightly, his hands resting lightly on the armrests of the chair, his tone calm but laced with playful humor. “I like to think my influence speaks for itself.” You pushing off the desk, you take a slow step toward him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Your voice drops just slightly, a touch more challenging now, as though daring him to rise to the bait. “Mm, I’m not so easily influenced. Care to try your luck?”

🜲 Gil-galad His expression shifts subtly, the amusement in his eyes deepening as his smile widens just a fraction—a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that carries a quiet confidence. He remains seated, perfectly composed, though there’s a distinct shift in his demeanor now, an energy that feels both commanding and utterly unhurried. His gaze never wavers from yours, as though he’s assessing you with the same precision he would an opponent on the battlefield. When he speaks, his voice is smooth, steady, and just a little too calm, as though he’s already several moves ahead in the game. “You underestimate me,” he says, his tone light but carrying a faint, teasing edge. “I’ve persuaded kings, warriors, and even dwarves to see things my way. Convincing you, I suspect, will be far more rewarding.”

🜲 You laughing softly, you step closer still, your hands coming to rest lightly on the back of the chair he’s seated in. You lean forward just slightly, close enough now that you can see the fine details of his features—the faint lines of wisdom and wear, the undeniable sharpness of his gaze. Your tone is playful, but there’s a spark of genuine curiosity beneath it as you tilt your head “Rewarding? Now I’m intrigued. What makes me such a challenge, Your Majesty?” Gil-galad For a moment, he allows the silence to linger, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of quiet intensity. His fingers drum lightly against the armrest of his chair before he finally stands, his movements smooth and deliberate. Rising to his full height, he steps closer, closing the distance between you with a measured confidence that feels almost magnetic. His voice lowers slightly, though it remains as composed and calm as ever, the weight of his presence filling the room. “Because you’ve already decided not to make it easy for me,” he says, his tone laced with a warmth that hints at the depth of his amusement. He leans in just enough to meet your gaze directly, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips. “And something tells me you enjoy watching me try.”

🜲 You grinning, your heart skipping a beat at the way his voice dips just enough to send a thrill through you. You lean back slightly, folding your arms as though to regain the upper hand, though the glint in your eyes betrays your delight. “Well, you’re not wrong. But you’ll need to do better than charm if you want to win me over.” Gil-galad Chuckling softly, the sound low and velvety, he straightens, his posture once again effortlessly regal but with a relaxed air that makes him seem a touch more human. His gaze remains steady, filled with that same quiet confidence that somehow manages to disarm you without him needing to say another word. Finally, he tilts his head slightly, his tone light but edged with unmistakable challenge. “Then I’ll just have to prove that my charm isn’t the only weapon in my arsenal.” There’s a moment of tension, warm and playful but charged with the kind of energy that leaves you breathless. As the silence stretches between you, his expression softens just slightly, the teasing fading into something deeper—more genuine. His next words, when they come, are softer, more sincere. “But I think you already know that, don’t you?” Would you like to expand on this dynamic further or explore their growing connection?

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

First one

𐂂 “Is it a requirement for Woodland Kings to look this good, or are you just an overachiever?” The moment the words leave your lips, Thranduil’s gaze sharpens, his sharp features softening just slightly as his eyes lock onto yours. There’s a quiet intensity in his expression, like a king accustomed to being admired yet intrigued by your boldness. He stands tall and unshakable, draped in the finest silks and delicate leathers that reflect the light of the dim torches around him, his crown—woven from intricate threads of ivy and moonstone—sitting like a regal crown atop his silvery hair. Every inch of him seems to radiate an ethereal, otherworldly charm, and you can feel the weight of his presence even before he speaks. He takes a slow, measured step closer to you, the long folds of his cloak trailing behind him, creating a slight rustle that adds to the tension of the moment. His gaze remains steady and unwavering as he tilts his head slightly to the side, lips curling into a smile that is both knowing and a touch condescending, but with a flicker of something more—amusement, perhaps, or even admiration.

𐂂 “It is my duty to embody the finest qualities of my people,” he replies, his voice as smooth and velvety as the finest elven fabric, laced with a sense of quiet authority. His eyes glint with the centuries of wisdom he carries, as if every word spoken is as deliberate as the actions of a seasoned ruler. The corners of his mouth twitch upward as he watches you, clearly amused by the impish challenge in your tone. His presence fills the space, and the air seems to thrum with an ancient energy, a reminder of the weight of his lineage and the depth of his experience. Yet, his response is not one of arrogance, but of confidence—Thranduil is not a man who feels the need to boast because his actions speak louder than any words ever could. You find your heart skip a beat, even as you try to maintain your composure. Thranduil doesn’t break eye contact as he waits for your next move, and you can tell that he’s enjoying this back-and-forth. “And here I thought your finest quality was making my heart race. My mistake.” The words leave your lips with just a hint of teasing, and the moment they do, Thranduil’s smile deepens, the cool elegance of his demeanor shifting, ever so slightly, into something more playful. His eyes narrow, but it’s not in a way that suggests offense—it’s a look of someone who’s been caught off guard but enjoys the challenge.

𐂂 He takes another step closer, his height making you feel small, but not uncomfortable—more like a willing subject in a game with a ruler who knows all the rules. His voice, when it comes, is low, warm, and rich with amusement. “Your heart races, you say?” His voice is almost a whisper now, a quiet challenge. His gaze flickers down to your lips before returning to your eyes, and for a moment, he seems to enjoy the effect he’s having on you. “I suppose it’s not entirely unexpected. I am, after all, a king. Kings tend to have that effect on those in their presence.” You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, but you hold his gaze, refusing to show any sign of retreat. Thranduil leans in just slightly, his proximity sending a quiet, almost imperceptible thrill through your body. His hand rests lightly on the back of his throne, the fingers elegant and graceful, a reminder that every movement of his is deliberate, every action measured.

𐂂 “But I wonder,” he continues, his eyes now twinkling with a mix of mischief and intrigue, “how much longer your heart will race, once you realize the full measure of the danger in such words.” It’s a teasing warning, yet you can’t help but feel the pull of his presence—the way his every word seems to carry weight, but still, there’s a softness behind it, a reminder that despite his regal persona, there’s more to him than just the king. There’s a man, a father, a warrior, who’s just as capable of feeling as he is of ruling. He straightens, his posture as dignified as ever, though the smile still lingers on his lips—one that tells you this game is far from over. The flicker of warmth in his eyes betrays that, despite his cool exterior, you’ve captured his attention in a way few others have.

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Second one

𐂂 “You’re so tall and elegant, Thranduil. How do you manage to stay grounded with all that perfection?” Thranduil’s eyebrows arch slightly, and a knowing smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. He leans back in his throne, one arm draped elegantly over the armrest, his fingers idly brushing the stem of a goblet. His piercing, ice-blue eyes sweep over you with the air of someone both amused and intrigued, as though he’s indulging in a game he didn’t expect to find entertaining “I do not concern myself with trivialities,” he replies, his voice smooth as the finest elven wine, laced with a soft, amused edge. There’s a flicker of challenge in his gaze, as though daring you to continue this line of conversation.

𐂂 You take a step closer, emboldened by the faintest twitch of his smirk. The warmth of the dim torchlight flickers against the intricate carvings of the throne room, but nothing compares to the heat that rises to your cheeks under his penetrating gaze. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say, tilting your head and letting your own smirk bloom across your lips. “I think you should concern yourself with me.” For the briefest moment, a flicker of surprise crosses his features, though he recovers quickly, tilting his head ever so slightly to regard you with renewed interest. The playful amusement in his eyes deepens, like sunlight glinting off the sharp edge of a blade. “Should I?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a lower register, laced with feigned indifference. Yet, the faint curl of his lips betrays his curiosity. “And why, pray tell, should I entertain such… boldness?” His words are clipped, deliberate, but there’s no mistaking the hint of a challenge—an invitation for you to prove yourself worthy of his attention. His gaze is steady, unflinching, and yet you can sense that beneath the stoic façade, you’ve intrigued him in a way he finds both unexpected and irresistible.

𐂂 You draw closer, your confidence unwavering. “Because, my king,” you say, holding his gaze as if you were his equal, “perfection such as yours deserves to be admired by someone who knows how to appreciate it… thoroughly.” For a long moment, there’s silence in the room, save for the faint rustle of the forest beyond the stone walls. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest narrowing of his eyes, and the flicker of a grin that he doesn’t quite suppress. “It seems,” he says slowly, his voice laced with wry amusement, “that you possess the audacity of a dwarf and the finesse of an elf. A most… peculiar combination.”

𐂂 You laugh softly, undeterred. “I suppose it’s only fitting, my king. One must be bold to catch your attention.” He leans forward slightly in his throne, the golden light catching in the silver strands of his hair and illuminating his face like a carved statue brought to life. The faintest flicker of warmth touches his otherwise icy demeanor as he studies you. “Consider it caught,” he says finally, his voice smooth as silk, though the subtle arch of his brow reminds you that he will not be easily won. “But beware, little mortal. Tread lightly, lest you find yourself entangled in matters far beyond your comprehension.” And yet, the faintest smile plays on his lips, an unspoken promise that he finds the prospect of this game far more entertaining than he cares to admit.

[earthlybeam]

I find your work so captivating. Could you do Gil-Galad courting with an elf reader?

Thanks and hope 2025 is treating you well 💕

Gil-galad courtship x elf reader (but also can be used for any race really too however, elves would understand their traditions a lot more than race)

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Gil-Galad Version below.

🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad’s courtship would reflect his noble, composed, and deeply romantic nature while staying rooted in Elven traditions. As a High King of the Noldor, his actions would be thoughtful, symbolic, and full of depth, emphasizing his sincerity and lifelong devotion to you.

Gil-galad’s Courtship Rituals

🜲 At first Phase he is Subtle Admiration and Observation, Reserved yet Intentional Gestures At first, Gil-galad would keep his feelings hidden, quietly observing and ensuring his admiration for you was grounded in something real. His early gestures would be subtle yet meaningful Complimenting your wisdom, skill, or beauty with carefully chosen words. Offering small but thoughtful gifts, such as a single flower or a book of ancient lore that resonated with your personality. Allowing his gaze to linger on you during gatherings, his eyes speaking the affection he doesn’t yet voice. Seeking Your Presence as Gil-galad would subtly arrange for your paths to cross, whether in council, social events, or peaceful walks in Lindon. He’d always seem calm and collected, but his longing for your company would be unmistakable.

🜲 Symbolic Gestures of Affection as Elves value symbolism in love, and as a king, Gil-galad’s expressions of courtship would carry profound meaning like Crafting or Gifting Something Personal as Gil-galad might craft a small piece of jewelry for you himself, like a bracelet or necklace with intricate Elven designs, signifying his personal effort and the connection he feels. It would carry the emblem of Lindon or a star motif, reflecting his lineage and his role as a guiding light. A Poetic Token Being a Noldorin High Elf, Gil-galad would likely write poetry or compose a song dedicated to you. These would speak of your virtues, the beauty he sees in you, and his dreams of a shared future. He might perform it privately or leave it for you to discover. Planting a Symbol of Your Bond, Gil-galad would take you to a secluded garden or forest and plant a tree or flower together. This living symbol would grow alongside your bond, a reminder of the permanence and beauty of Elven love.

🜲 Words of Devotion and Promises of Eternity When he feels the time is right, Gil-galad would take a more open approach in declaring his feelings. A Formal Confession of Love In a private, serene setting (perhaps by the sea or under the starlit sky), he would express his love with carefully chosen words. He would promise his eternal devotion, ensuring you understood that his heart belonged to you entirely.

🜲 Presenting a Gift of Great Significance He might present you with an heirloom or a crafted piece of significance, such as a star-shaped pendant (symbolizing his lineage and unwavering love). Alternatively, he might give you something imbued with protective magic or a token to symbolize that you are always in his thoughts. A Secret Garden for You Alone as Gil-galad, in his private time, would prepare a secluded garden or sanctuary filled with flowers and trees reminiscent of your favorite colors and scents. He would bring you there as a private escape, a place for just the two of you.

🜲 Public Recognition of His Love As a king, Gil-galad would ensure that once your bond was established, his court and people knew of his devotion in a way that honored you. A Traditional Elven Betrothal Gift In Noldorin tradition, he might give you a circlet or a ring to symbolize your betrothal. This gift would carry Elven inscriptions of love and loyalty, likely crafted by his own hand or by Círdan, someone he deeply trusts. A Celebration or Feast In the later stages of courtship, he would host a small feast or gathering in Lindon to celebrate your bond. While Gil-galad is reserved, he would take pride in honoring you in front of trusted friends and allies.

🜲 The Physical and Emotional Connection Though composed and dignified in public, Gil-galad would be deeply affectionate and tender in private he Soft Spoken Words of Love When you’re alone, he would whisper sweet words, calling you endearing names like “meleth” (my love), “galad en gûr” (light of my heart), or “elen en ambar” (star of the world). Gentle Touches He would show his love through soft, lingering touches—brushing a strand of hair from your face, clasping your hand during quiet moments, or holding you in a protective embrace. Moments of Vulnerability While Gil-galad is often stoic, he would open up to you about his fears and burdens as a king, trusting you with his deepest thoughts. These moments of vulnerability would solidify the intimacy of your relationship.

🜲 Promises of the Future As your bond deepens, Gil-galad would offer you: A Home in Lindon He would ensure you feel like an integral part of his life by sharing his home and his world. A Shared Life of Purpose as Gil-galad would involve you in his duties as High King, seeking your counsel and valuing your opinions. He would view you as an equal partner in his life, not merely a companion. Eternal Devotion Being an Elf, Gil-galad’s love would be undying. He would promise that even should death or separation come between you, his spirit would remain bound to you forever.

🜲 Courtship Challenges Being a High King, his courtship would not come without difficulties. His duties to his people and the rising threat of Sauron might force him to keep his feelings private for a time, fearing that his love could be used against him. However, once he is certain of your bond, nothing would keep him from pursuing a union that is both a personal joy and a beacon of hope for his people.

Gil-Galad Grand Gestures of Love for you

🜲 Creating a Song for You as Gil-galad, possessing a deep and resonant singing voice that carries both power and tenderness, might compose a ballad about your virtues, beauty, or the joy you bring into his life. His voice, honed by centuries of Elven tradition and filled with emotion, would weave a melody so enchanting that it could stir the hearts of all who heard it. This song would be sung under the stars or during a private moment by the sea, accompanied by his skilled harp playing. Every note and word would reflect his admiration and love, making the moment unforgettable. The song itself would remain etched in your heart, a timeless gift of his devotion.

🜲 A Star-lit Night of Astronomy Knowing the Elves’ deep connection to the stars, Gil-galad might take you to a high hill or a cliffside, far from the city lights of Lindon, where the vastness of the night sky could be fully appreciated. Together, you would sit beneath the stars, his arm gently resting around your shoulders as he points out the constellations. Each constellation would hold a story from Elven lore, tales of bravery, love, and the ancient past. With a soft smile, Gil-galad might even name a star after you, whispering, “This star shall always remind me of your light in my life—brighter than any in the sky.” Your name, forever etched in the stars.

🜲 Hosting a Private Festival in Your Honor In Lindon, Gil-galad might arrange a small yet magnificent festival, where the air is filled with the sound of music, the soft glow of lanterns, and the scents of delicious feasts. Though he would never openly claim the festival as being in your honor, the subtle touches—perhaps a dish you love most, the songs played by the Elves—would reveal its true purpose to those who are closest. The guests, if they are perceptive, would know that the night’s beauty was a reflection of your place in Gil-galad’s heart.

🜲 Commissioning a Custom Jewel or Artifact as Gil-galad, seeking a tangible expression of his love for you, might consult with the greatest of smiths—perhaps even Celebrimbor, if he were still alive. Together, they would craft a piece of jewelry or artifact that is uniquely yours. Maybe a pendant in the shape of a delicate star, symbolizing your radiance in his life, or a flower-shaped ring representing the beauty and growth of your bond. This jewel would carry great meaning, imbued with the love and care Gil-galad put into commissioning it. When you receive it, he would say softly, “This is a token of my heart, as eternal as our bond.”

🜲 Crafting a Keepsake Himself As a sign of his personal effort and unwavering devotion, Gil-galad might set aside time from his royal duties to craft something with his own hands—something intimate and meaningful just for you. Perhaps he would carve a small, intricately designed box, each detail carefully etched with symbols of his love and your shared moments. Or he might fashion a delicate flute, its notes reminiscent of your laughter or the peaceful times you’ve shared together. Another gesture could be weaving a garland of silver and gold leaves, each leaf representing a vow or a promise he has made to you, binding you both together in the elegance of nature’s symbolism. The process would take time, patience, and skill, reflecting his deep commitment to creating something that truly belongs to you, crafted from the heart. When he gives it to you, he would speak softly, perhaps with a slight hesitation, “This… was made with my hands, but it carries my heart.”

🜲 Taking You to Legendary Locations When Gil-galad wishes to share something truly special with you, he might invite you on a journey to legendary locations of great Elven significance. Perhaps you would visit the shores of Valinor’s light as seen from Middle-earth or walk through the hidden groves of Lindon, each place steeped in history and memory. As you stand together in these awe-inspiring locations, Gil-galad would share the stories that shaped his people, tying each tale to the strength of his feelings for you. “Here, where the Elves’ history was written,” he might say, “I wish to write our story together.”

🜲 A Tapestry of Your Story as Gil-galad might commission a master weaver to create a tapestry, one that would symbolize your journey together. Perhaps he would even take up the task himself, pouring hours into crafting something that tells the story of your relationship through intricate designs. The tapestry might blend elements of nature—flowers, stars, and trees—each symbolizing parts of your love, while the threads would weave together moments of your shared experiences. Once completed, he would present it to you with reverence. “This, my heart,” he would say, “is a woven representation of us—of our past, our present, and the future we will create together.”

🜲 Dedicating a Battle Victory to You In the aftermath of a hard-fought battle against Sauron’s forces, when victory is within his grasp, Gil-galad would stand tall amidst the cheers of his warriors, his face solemn yet proud. With a steady voice, he would raise his sword in salute to you, even if you were not present on the battlefield. “This victory,” he would declare, his gaze fixed on the horizon or wherever you might be, “is not just for the freedom of Middle-earth, but for you. Your love is my strength, the reason I fought and endured. It is your light that has kept me alive through every shadow.” In his heart, your love is the unshakable foundation that anchors him in times of strife, a source of hope and courage that drives him to push forward, no matter the cost. The victory is as much yours as it is his, for it is your devotion that fuels his every action.

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Grand Gestures of Love

🜲 Creating a Song for You As Gil-galad, possessing a deep and resonant singing voice that carries both power and tenderness, he might compose a ballad inspired by your virtues, beauty, and the joy you bring into his life. His voice, refined over centuries of Elven tradition and steeped in emotion, would weave a melody so enchanting it could silence the wind and stir the hearts of all who heard it. This song would be sung beneath the starlit sky, his gaze steady upon you, or shared during an intimate moment by the sea, the rhythmic waves harmonizing with the gentle strains of his harp. His fingers would move deftly over the strings, each note a reflection of his love, while his voice soared with a depth that spoke of eternity. Every word would be crafted to honor you, filled with an admiration so genuine it would leave no doubt of his devotion. The song would be etched into your heart, a timeless gift, as enduring as the stars and as profound as his love for you.

🜲 Braiding Your Hair As an intimate and tender gesture, Gil-galad might sit with you in quiet moments, offering to braid your hair with his steady, graceful hands. He would weave delicate threads of silver or gold through the strands, each thread symbolizing the enduring bond between you. His touch would be gentle, focused, and precise, the rhythm of his fingers working in harmony with the tranquility of the moment. The act itself would be a quiet declaration of his deep affection—a way to honor your beauty while creating something uniquely yours. Once he finishes, he might lean forward, his breath warm against your skin, and kiss the back of your neck or the curve of your shoulder blade, his lips lingering for a brief moment as he whispers, “You are the most beautiful creation I know.”

🜲 Leaving Morning Gifts Before you wake, Gil-galad might quietly place small, thoughtful tokens by your bedside—fresh flowers still dewy from the morning, a pressed leaf from a rare tree, or a note written in elegant Elvish script, filled with words of devotion. If you’re fortunate, however, he might remain beside you, his strong yet gentle presence still lingering as dawn breaks. In those rare moments, he would wake you with the softest of kisses—a brush of his lips against your forehead or temple—his voice low and warm as he murmurs, “Good morning, my love.”

🜲 Warming Your Hands On a chilly day, Gil-galad might gently take your cold hands into his own, his touch firm yet comforting. His warmth would seep into your fingers as he cradled them, his thumbs brushing over your skin in soothing strokes. If the chill lingered, he would lift your hands to his lips, softly exhaling warm breaths against your fingers to chase away the cold. With a soft, reassuring smile, he’d murmur, “You should never feel the cold while I am with you,” his voice low and full of promise—a quiet vow that he would always keep you safe, warm, and cared for.

🜲 Gifting Rare Books Knowing your passion for knowledge, Gil-galad might search tirelessly for rare books or ancient scrolls, even from distant lands or forgotten libraries. When he presents them to you, his expression would be serene, though his eyes would gleam with quiet pride. Handing the gift to you, he might say in his soft, measured voice, “This reminded me of your wisdom and curiosity,” a subtle acknowledgment of how deeply he understands and cherishes your interests.

🜲 Offering His Cloak In a sudden chill or rain, Gil-galad would unhesitatingly remove his royal cloak, its rich fabric imbued with his warmth, and drape it over your shoulders with effortless grace. His hands would linger just a moment, securing it snugly around you as he gazed at you with quiet concern, murmuring, “Your comfort means more to me than my own.”

🜲 Tucking a Flower in Your Hair While strolling together through the woods, Gil-galad might pause to pluck a delicate bloom that catches his eye. Turning to you, he’d carefully tuck it behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek as he did so. His lips would curve into a soft, private smile, his voice low as he remarked, “Even the finest flowers pale in comparison to you.”

🜲 Carrying You Playfully If you faltered during a long walk or showed the slightest hint of weariness, Gil-galad would scoop you into his arms without hesitation. His movements would be smooth and effortless, his strength as steady as his laughter, which would rumble softly like distant thunder. “You should have told me sooner,” he’d tease, a playful light in his eyes. Cradling you close, he’d carry you as though you weighed nothing, the warmth of his embrace and the gentle sway of his steps lulling you into ease. “Let me be your strength, as I always will.”

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Romantic Rituals and Gestures

🜲 Lighting Lanterns Together On quiet evenings, as the night sky begins to darken, Gil-galad might invite you to share in the ancient ritual of lighting lanterns together. The two of you would gather the delicate lanterns, their surfaces adorned with Elven runes, and light their flames in silence. With a quiet glance, he would hand you one, and together, you would release them into the night. As the lanterns float upward, their soft glow lighting up the dark sky, it would symbolize your shared hopes, dreams, and love—a bond that soars high, reaching for eternity.

🜲 Dancing Under the Stars Though Gil-galad is often seen as composed and regal, in the privacy of your shared moments, he might lead you into a slow, graceful dance under the stars. There need not be music; the sound of the wind rustling through the trees or the gentle crash of waves against the shore would be enough. His hand would rest against your back, guiding you effortlessly as he gazes at you with such deep tenderness. The dance would be slow and intimate, an unspoken connection between the two of you, beneath the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

🜲 Writing You Love Letters Even in the midst of his royal duties, Gil-galad would take the time to pen letters to you. His words, carefully chosen, would reflect not only his affection but the depth of his longing for you when he’s away. These letters might include verses from poems he’s written for you, expressing his admiration and devotion. You might find them left in your chambers, tucked into the folds of your favorite book, or hidden among the flowers in your garden—each letter a precious piece of his heart that you could treasure until his return.

🜲 Candlelit Evenings When you share a quiet evening together, Gil-galad would ensure that it is serene and full of comfort. In a private chamber, he would set the atmosphere, filling the space with the soft glow of countless candles, the flickering flames casting gentle shadows on the walls. The scent of fresh flowers would linger in the air, their petals as soft as his touch. Perhaps a soft melody would play in the background, but for the most part, the evening would be filled with quiet conversation, shared laughter, and the warmth of each other’s company

🜲 Weaving Flower Crowns On peaceful days spent in nature, perhaps while walking through a meadow or forest, Gil-galad might gather the most beautiful flowers to weave into a crown for you. His hands, steady and gentle, would work in graceful movements as he creates a delicate circlet of blooms. Once finished, he would place it on your head with great reverence, his eyes filled with admiration. It would be a symbol of the deep respect he holds for you and the beauty you bring into his life—a quiet, tender moment that speaks volumes of his love and affection.

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Small, Subtle Actions

🜲 Always Standing Beside You In the grand halls of Lindon or at royal councils, Gil-galad would make sure to subtly position himself at your side, whether you were standing or seated. In his quiet, dignified way, it would be a constant show of his support and devotion. Even in the most formal of settings, you would never feel alone, for his presence would be a steady comfort. His quiet strength would stand as a reminder that no matter the occasion, he was always there for you, a pillar of support amid the grandeur of the Elven courts.

🜲 Carrying Items for You Whether it’s a basket of flowers from a garden walk, a book you’ve been reading, or even your weapon during a journey, Gil-galad would never let you bear the weight alone. He would take whatever it is with a natural grace, his smile gentle as he offers to carry it for you. His gesture would be simple but profound, showing his care for your comfort and well-being. Even the smallest things, like a sword or a scroll, would not escape his attentive kindness.

🜲 Brushing Your Hair Back Whenever the wind or a passing breeze catches your hair, Gil-galad would instinctively reach out and brush the stray strands from your face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His fingers would gently tuck your hair behind your ear with a fond, tender movement. It would be an intimate gesture, quiet but filled with love, as he takes a moment to admire you and make sure you’re undisturbed, even by something as small as a stray hair.

🜲 Watching You Quietly There would be moments when Gil-galad would simply watch you from a distance, his gaze soft and full of admiration. Whether you were engaged in conversation, reading, or simply lost in your thoughts, his eyes would be on you, memorizing your every detail with quiet affection. He might say nothing, but the intensity of his gaze would communicate more than words ever could—a deep appreciation for who you are, both inside and out.

🜲 Offering Small Compliments Though he is reserved and often prefers to keep his thoughts private, when Gil-galad does speak, his words are meaningful. With an understated grace, he might turn to you in the middle of a gathering or a quiet moment and say something as simple as, “You brighten the hall today,” or, “Your wisdom inspires me.” His compliments would never be rushed, always thoughtful, and carefully chosen, a reflection of how deeply he values you and the unique qualities that make you so special to him.

🜲 Sharing His Food with You During meals, especially when seated together, Gil-galad would make sure that you have the best portions from his plate, offering you the finest delicacies with a quiet smile. If something was particularly special or rare, he might taste it first, making sure it’s perfect for you before offering it. He would be attentive in this small way, his care extending even to what you eat. Each bite shared would be a reflection of how much he cherishes your company, ensuring that you feel both cared for and loved, even in the smallest moments.

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Protective Gestures

🜲 Placing Himself Between You and Danger Gil-galad’s protective instincts would be unwavering, no matter the situation. In moments of potential danger, whether in a crowd or in the midst of battle, he would always instinctively place himself between you and harm. His movements would be swift and decisive, his body acting as a shield before your safety. Even in less threatening moments, he would make sure you were always safe, positioning himself so that you were never in harm’s way, his presence a constant comfort and protection.

🜲 Carrying a Token of Yours As a silent yet deeply meaningful gesture of his love, Gil-galad would often carry something of yours close to his heart. Whether it’s a handkerchief you’ve given him, a ribbon you’ve woven, or even a pressed flower from a walk you shared, he would keep it with him at all times. This small, intimate token would serve as a quiet reminder of you, a piece of you he could carry into battle or through the daily duties of royalty. It would be his personal way of holding you close, even when apart, a symbol of his devotion that no one else would ever truly understand.

🜲 Guarding Your Rest When you fell asleep in his presence, Gil-galad would take great care to ensure you were comfortable and undisturbed. Whether you were resting after a long journey or simply taking a nap beside him, he would ensure you were warm, gently smoothing your hair or adjusting your blankets to keep you cozy. His watchful eyes would never leave you as you slept, always alert to any potential disturbances, but at the same time, he would do so with a tenderness that showed how deeply he cared. It would be a silent promise that he would always protect you, even in the quietest of moments.

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Private, Intimate Moments

🜲 Tracing Elven Runes on Your Skin In a quiet, private moment, Gil-galad might take your hand gently in his, his eyes soft with admiration. With delicate movements, he would trace the ancient Elven runes of love, protection, or devotion across your skin, the patterns only he understands. His touch would be light, almost as if the runes were being written in the air itself, leaving a lingering warmth. As his fingers glide over the surface of your skin, he would softly whisper the meanings of each rune—words of strength, love, or eternity—allowing you to feel the deep, ancient magic in the gesture. His presence would be calm, soothing, a reminder of his eternal devotion to you.

🜲 Listening to Your Voice as Gil-galad would cherish your voice above all else, taking the time to listen to every word you say with rapt attention. Whether you are speaking of your thoughts, dreams, or simply sharing a story, he would be fully present, offering his complete focus. His gaze would be warm, his expression thoughtful, as he absorbs the sound of your voice, valuing it more than any other in the world. In these moments, he would offer you a safe space to speak freely, knowing that his love and admiration are unwavering. His silence would be a testament to his deep respect for your words, his quiet presence an anchor for your soul.

🜲 Touching Foreheads A deeply intimate Elven gesture, Gil-galad would often press his forehead gently to yours in moments when words are unnecessary. His touch would be a silent, powerful connection—a simple, yet profound expression of trust, affection, and unity. In the stillness, with your foreheads aligned, you would both feel the shared strength of your bond. His calm, steady presence would envelop you, offering a sense of peace and belonging, as though the world outside simply ceased to exist for a while. This intimate gesture would signify the deep connection you share, where even without words, your hearts speak to each other.

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Acts of Pure Devotion

🜲 Defending Your Honor If anyone dared to insult or belittle you, Gil-galad’s usually composed demeanor would shift into one of quiet but unyielding strength. His regal stature would become even more imposing as he defended your honor, his voice calm but firm. “No one speaks of my beloved in such a manner,” he would say, his gaze unwavering, revealing the fierce loyalty he holds for you. His words would not be said in anger but in the kind of respect that only the High King could command, making it clear to all present that you are valued, protected, and adored. This act of defense would show his deep love for you and the reverence he holds for your spirit.

🜲 Reading to You On peaceful evenings, when the stars outside glittered softly, Gil-galad would sit beside you and open a cherished book of Elven poetry, ancient histories, or songs. His voice, rich and melodic, would carry the beauty of the Elven language, its cadence slow and hypnotic, drawing you into the stories and songs of old. The words would flow like a river, and with every tale he shared, you would feel closer to his world—the world of the Elves. As he read, his eyes would sometimes glance at you with a soft smile, sharing in the quiet moment, his affection reflected in his voice as much as in the words he spoke.

🜲 Learning Your Hobbies Gil-galad, though a king with endless duties, would always make the time to engage with your passions and interests. Whether you were skilled in crafting, singing, or even in the art of combat, he would approach each pursuit with the same dedication and reverence he gave to all things important. If you crafted beautiful jewelry or wove intricate tapestries, he would sit beside you, watching closely and learning your techniques, his hands gently imitating your movements. If you sang, he might join in, offering his own voice, adding harmonies that reflected his admiration for your talents. And if your interests were in combat, he would train beside you, ensuring you were never alone in your pursuits. His willingness to learn and grow with you would show how deeply he valued everything that made you unique.

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[earthlybeam]

Gil-Galad x Reader (You Like to Bite and Leave Marks) Nom nom on their skin 🤣

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Gil-Galad Version below. (Thranduil and Elrond links to their too as quite lengthy) - Thranduil Elrond

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

(Your Gil-galad friend version)

His First Response to Your Affectionate Bites

🜲 Momentary Surprise, Then Amusement The first time you bite him, Gil-galad is caught off guard. His usual composed nature falters for just a second as he feels the sharp but gentle pressure of your teeth. He freezes briefly, staring down at you with wide eyes, a faint blush creeping into his features. “Well, that was unexpected,” he murmurs, voice laced with both surprise and amusement. It doesn’t take long before the surprise melts into a soft chuckle, and he raises an eyebrow. “I had no idea I was so… bite-worthy,” he teases, his voice light and playful as he looks at you with curiosity, intrigued by your unconventional way of showing affection.

🜲 Curiosity with Caution Initially, he might be cautious, unsure of how to interpret your actions. Gil-galad’s usual reserved demeanor doesn’t easily allow for such overt displays of affection. He might gently pull back, inspecting the mark with a slightly raised brow, trying to process the meaning behind it. After a quiet moment, he’ll smile slightly, though still unsure of how to handle it. “It’s… different, I will say that,” he admits, “but I suppose I can’t fault you for expressing your feelings, in your own way.” He’ll relax a little more after seeing that you are comfortable, though a playful glint remains in his eyes, signaling that he’s curious to see where this new form of affection will go.

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Gil-galad: Reader Who Likes to Bite and Leave Marks on His Skin

🜲 Your Playful Behavior vs. His Dignity A Tension of Composure As someone who embodies the regal dignity of an elven king, Gil-galad finds it difficult to reconcile your playful behavior with his normally composed nature. When you playfully bite him, he's taken aback for a moment, his posture stiffening as if he's trying to maintain his usual grace and formality. He might give you an exasperated, yet amused look, his brow furrowing slightly. "Must you truly do this, my dear friend?" he asks, though there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes. His voice is still steady, but his lips betray a smile that tugs at the corners. Even though he's trying to maintain his elven dignity, he can't help but be charmed by your boldness and the warmth behind your affectionate gestures.

🜲 Trying to Maintain Distance, but Losing the Battle Gil-galad's usual level of restraint is something he's proud of, and when you bite him playfully, he tries to keep his composure. He might momentarily take a step back, straightening up to create some physical distance. "You are insufferable," he says with a half-smile, though his eyes sparkle with warmth. Despite his attempt to maintain a sense of distance and composure, his laughter soon follows. He can't stay serious when you so effortlessly disrupt his solemnity, and he finds himself entertained, yet trying to regain his usual elegant, dignified demeanor. Ultimately, he gives in, even if it's just for a moment.

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When You Bite Him: Reactions, Sounds, and Movements

🜲 A Momentary Stiffness, Then Relaxation Gil-galad's first instinct is to stiffen when you bite him. His body reacts to the sudden, unexpected sensation, and for a moment, he seems almost frozen in place, his eyes wide as he processes the touch. You may hear a small, surprised sound slip from his lips, a mix of a soft gasp and a low chuckle, the kind of sound that might slip out when he's caught off guard but amused. His posture straightens in an attempt to regain control, but his shoulders relax soon after, especially when he sees the mischievous twinkle in your eyes. "You truly cannot be serious," he murmurs, but his voice is lighthearted as he lets himself enjoy the interaction. He doesn't pull away but remains still, secretly allowing himself to savor the unexpected intimacy.

🜲 A Quiet, Appreciative Sigh As a friend, his reaction to your bite is mostly one of bemusement, though there's an underlying warmth in his demeanor that indicates he's not entirely uncomfortable. He'll make a small sound, a soft sigh, as his body relaxes, adjusting to your touch. His movements are composed but softer than usual. He might even touch the spot where you bit him afterward, lingering just a little longer than necessary. There's a quiet affection behind his expression as he glances at you, a flicker of approval in his eyes that betrays his stoic exterior.

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Does He Hide or Not to Hide: How He Reacts to Visible Bite Marks in Public

🜲 Always Covered, Yet Concealed with Grace Gil-galad, as a friend, is well aware of the public perception surrounding his status as a king and his composed nature. No matter how much he enjoys your affectionate bites in private, in public, he keeps the marks you leave on him hidden. He may wear higher collars, adjust his sleeves, or even arrange his cloak to ensure that no one sees the marks. While he enjoys your affection, he prefers these marks remain a private symbol between the two of you. His dignity is important to him, and he’ll take care to ensure that your marks don’t compromise his regal and composed exterior.

🜲 A Silent Acknowledgment Though he hides the marks in public, there is a subtle pride in the way he walks. When he feels your mark on his skin, he may subtly touch it under his clothing, a brief, private moment just for him. His composure doesn’t falter, but there’s a silent acknowledgment that the marks you leave are a cherished sign of your affection, even if they remain hidden from the eyes of others.

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Marking His Neck, Collarbone, Shoulder, Wrist, Elven Ear, and Other Areas

🜲 Neck: When you bite Gil-galad’s neck, the response is one of surprise followed by calm acceptance. His neck is sensitive, and your bite elicits a faint gasp, but he doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he’ll gently smile, though there is a slight tension in his body, as he tries to maintain his composed demeanor. “A bold move, Mellon-nîn,” he might say softly, his voice laced with both amusement and quiet approval. The mark left on his neck is intimate, but he will quickly cover it with his clothing when in public.

🜲 Collarbone: Gil-galad’s collarbone area is a bit less sensitive than his neck, but it’s still intimate and meaningful. When you bite here, he reacts with a small breath of surprise, his usual calmness momentarily shaken. His posture remains straight, but his gaze softens, and he may give you a playful, teasing look. “You have a rather unique way of showing affection,” he’ll comment, though there’s no disapproval in his voice. It’s a quiet, affectionate moment between you, even though he’ll cover the mark when in public.

🜲 Shoulder: The shoulder area is slightly less sensitive for Gil-galad, but it still provokes a small reaction. His body will stiffen for just a moment before relaxing again. He might chuckle softly and give you a playful look, though he will still remain composed. “You are quite fond of leaving your mark, aren’t you?” he may ask with a soft, teasing smile. He’ll be more accepting of this mark, but it’s still covered when he goes out in public.

🜲 Wrist: Gil-galad’s wrist is a particularly sensitive spot for him, and when you bite it, he’ll react almost immediately. His hand clenches lightly, and his breath catches as he feels the bite. He doesn’t pull away, however, and there’s a certain vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely shows to anyone. “You’re more daring than I thought,” he might whisper, a hint of intrigue in his voice. While he may allow this mark to stay for a while in private, he’ll quickly cover it when he’s in public to maintain his usual regal composure.

🜲 Elven Ear: Elven ears are a deeply intimate and sensitive part of Gil-galad’s body, and when you bite or nibble on his ear, his reaction is immediate. His body tenses, and a sharp intake of breath escapes him. For a moment, his usual composure falters, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and desire. “You are aware that my ears are most sensitive, are you not?” he will ask with a low, almost playful voice. His face flushes just a little, but he won’t pull away, enjoying the closeness you bring with such a deeply intimate gesture. Though he quickly adjusts his hair or cloak to hide the mark in public, there is no mistaking the deeper connection the mark represents in private.

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When He Notices a Mark Later How He Reacts to Finding Unseen Marks

🜲 Surprised but Composed When Gil-galad discovers a bite mark he didn’t notice before—perhaps while undressing, adjusting his armor, or catching a glimpse in a mirror—he first reacts with a slight, unspoken surprise. His eyes will flicker over the mark, and he might tilt his head slightly, inspecting it as if it were something foreign to him. His expression remains composed, but there’s a subtle shift in his demeanor. His fingers might graze over the mark, feeling its presence, and for a brief moment, he may allow himself a small smile—a rare sign of amusement or private affection. “I didn’t realize you had been so bold,” he may say with a quiet chuckle, though there’s no disapproval in his voice. It’s a mark of affection he finds endearing, even if it was hidden from his awareness until now.

🜲 Subtle Gratitude While Gil-galad doesn’t outwardly show much emotion at the discovery, you can tell he enjoys the mark in an unspoken way. His gaze softens, and his posture might relax just a fraction. If it’s in private, he might trace the mark with his fingers, almost as if reflecting on the bond it signifies between the two of you. “You’ve left your claim,” he’ll say, voice low and thoughtful, though it may have a hint of pride. He appreciates that you’ve marked him in such an intimate way, even if he might not call attention to it.

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Gentle Bite: How He Reacts to Your Soft Teeth Against His Skin

🜲 Startled, Yet Deeply Appreciative Gil-galad’s first reaction to a gentle bite is one of surprise, though he recovers quickly. The light pressure of your teeth against his skin causes a faint, instinctive intake of breath. He doesn’t pull away; instead, he stands still, as though savoring the sensation. His posture might shift slightly, his chest expanding as he takes in the moment. The delicate nature of the bite causes his usually composed demeanor to soften just a little. “Such gentleness,” he’ll say with a soft smile, his voice low with quiet appreciation.

🜲 Calm and Introspective Though Gil-galad is always calm, the sensation of a gentle bite lingers in his mind. It’s a sign of trust and intimacy, and the way you touch him in such a subtle manner moves him more than he would ever admit. He will look at you with a tender expression, his gaze slightly unfocused as if he’s reflecting on the warmth of the moment. “I did not expect this from you,” he might comment, his tone thoughtful, though it is clear that he enjoys this gentler, more intimate side of your affection. He may even allow the mark to stay visible longer than usual, appreciating how it connects the two of you.

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Biting Him in the Heat of the Moment

🜲 Playful, Yet Slightly Surprised In moments of argument or lighthearted teasing, when you bite him, Gil-galad may be initially taken aback by the unexpected pressure. His normally composed nature will falter just for a second, as his breath catches at the sudden mark you leave. However, instead of being angry, his reaction is more of bemusement, mixed with a touch of confusion as he tries to process what you’ve done. He might pull back just enough to look at you with a raised eyebrow, his expression softening with affection and a bit of playful intrigue. “You’ve quite the way of asserting your point, my friend,” he might say, his voice low and amused, though there’s a flicker of a smile on his lips.

🜲 A Subtle Glint of Amusement Even in heated moments where your bite might be more intense, Gil-galad remains composed—though he will not shy away from the mark you leave. He might chuckle softly after you bite him, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of affection and mock reproach. “You do not hold back, do you?” he asks with a half-smile, though there’s a warmth in his voice that shows he enjoys the playful side of your affection. If the bite is particularly intense, he might place a hand gently on your shoulder, his fingers tracing the mark, the smile never quite leaving his face. “Careful, you might make me think you’re claiming me as yours,” he’ll tease, though he’s not at all displeased.

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When He Sees You Admiring Your Marks on His Skin

🜲 Unruffled but Quietly Proud If Gil-galad notices you admiring the marks you’ve left on him, he will regard you with a quiet, almost unnoticeable shift in his expression. His usual dignity remains intact, but his eyes will soften, and you might catch a glimpse of the pride he feels in your attention. He may not openly express it, but he’ll be aware of the significance these marks hold in your friendship—an intimate sign of connection and affection. “I see you’re studying your handiwork,” he’ll remark with a small, wry smile, though there’s no sense of discomfort or embarrassment in his voice. Instead, there’s an unspoken understanding that these marks represent something meaningful, something private between the two of you.

🜲 Appreciation in Silence Gil-galad may not comment at all when he notices you admiring the marks, simply watching as you trace the bite with your fingers. While his words are few, there’s a quiet pride in the way he allows you to focus on the marks. He doesn’t shy away from it, and if anything, he enjoys seeing the bond between you deepen with every mark you leave. “It seems you’ve claimed me again,” he says softly, as if acknowledging the gesture without needing to state the obvious. His eyes hold a tenderness when he watches you, and while he may not voice it often, he is deeply moved by your affection.

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Biting Him During Moments of Stress

🜲 A Moment of Comfort Amidst the Chaos When Gil-galad is under stress, whether from political duties or external pressures, your affectionate bites provide him with a surprising sense of relief. If you bite him gently during a particularly tense moment, his usually unflappable demeanor will falter just slightly. The sensation of your teeth against his skin helps to ground him, breaking the mental tension for just a moment. His breath might catch in surprise, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you. “Mellon-nîn,” he murmurs, voice low and filled with quiet gratitude. “I had not realized how much I needed that.” His stress melts away for just a brief moment as he leans into your touch, appreciating the connection and affection you provide without words.

🜲 Silent, Subtle Relief If you bite him when he’s particularly overwhelmed, perhaps as he’s pacing or buried in thought, the effect can be immediate. He’ll pause, his posture stiffening momentarily before relaxing. Gil-galad might not openly admit that he’s found comfort in your playful gesture, but the slight smile that tugs at his lips and the brief softening of his eyes reveal his gratitude. “You always know how to ease my mind, don’t you?” he might say softly, though there’s a touch of awe in his voice. His composure returns quickly, but the marks you leave are an unspoken reminder of the small, intimate moment of solace you provided.

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His ‘Punishments’ for Over-enthusiastic Biting

🜲 A Light Tease, with a Hint of Authority If you bite him too hard, Gil-galad is quick to correct you, though never harshly. His regal nature doesn’t allow him to be easily upset, but he will gently reprimand you, though his tone remains light and teasing. “Careful, my little wildling,” he’ll say, his voice full of fond exasperation. “That spot is much more sensitive than you realize.” He’ll pull away just enough to give you a meaningful glance, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes, a sign that he’s not truly angry. Instead, his correction serves as a reminder of his composure and authority. “If you must bite me again,” he’ll add with a smile, “try to be more mindful of my more… delicate areas.” His reprimand is more of a playful nudge, reminding you of the line between affection and indulgence.

🜲 A Gentle Restraint If your bites grow more enthusiastic than usual and he feels a bit more pressure than he’s comfortable with, Gil-galad will take a more direct approach. He may gently take your wrist and hold you still, his expression soft yet serious. “I did not say you could leave marks in places that might be… difficult to explain,” he’ll murmur with a slight smile, though the playful edge is still there. He’ll bring your face close to his, his thumb gently brushing over the mark you’ve left. “Next time, I will remind you of my limits,” he says, but there’s no anger in his voice—only the calm authority of someone who gently sets boundaries. Despite his correction, he will always show you the affection you crave, even when reminding you of his limits.

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(Your Gil-galad Lover version)

His First Response to Your Affectionate Bites

🜲 Pleasure and Surprise, Soft Exhale The first time you bite him as your lover, Gil-galad’s reaction is much more immediate. He feels the pressure of your teeth on his skin and freezes for a moment, a soft, almost imperceptible gasp escaping him. His mind races for a moment, overwhelmed by the unexpected yet intimate sensation. Then, the initial shock fades, and he exhales a soft, approving sound. He looks at you with deep affection, his eyes softening as he processes the meaning behind your gesture. “Melethril,” he whispers, the term of endearment slipping from his lips. “You know how to make my heart race.” He pulls you closer, his hand brushing against the place where you bit him, as if savoring the mark you’ve left.

🜲 Delight and Tenderness Gil-galad’s response to your bite as a lover is much more tender and appreciative. His first reaction is not one of surprise, but one of immediate warmth and affection. The mark you leave on his skin causes him to pause for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lets out a soft sigh. “You truly do have a unique way of showing love, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice laced with both admiration and amusement. He raises a hand to touch the spot you’ve marked, his fingers trailing over the skin with a gentle caress. “It seems I am now permanently marked by you,” he adds, his tone teasing yet filled with fondness, “I will wear this mark proudly, my love.”

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Gil-galad: Reader Who Likes to Bite and Leave Marks on His Skin

🜲 Your Playful Behavior vs. His Dignity, Barely Containing Desire As your lover, Gil-galad is much more susceptible to your playful bites. While his composed nature is always present, the way he responds to you changes. He'll try to retain his usual royal air, but his response is softer, filled with quiet yearning. When you bite him playfully, he lets out a soft exhale, his gaze deepening with longing. He'll offer you a teasing, half-smile, leaning in ever so slightly, his voice low but still dignified. "You are truly testing my patience," he murmurs, but the words have little force behind them. His body leans into the bite more than he intends, betraying his desire for intimacy despite his desire to maintain an air of dignity.

🜲 Eager to Let Go of Composure In the moments when he's more attuned to you, Gil-galad may not even try to keep up his regal composure when you bite him. He may wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer, and gently guide your face toward his neck or shoulder. His usual restraint slips as his body responds to the playful bite. His breathing deepens, a quiet, throaty sound escaping him, his fingers lightly grazing your skin as if to urge you on. "Melethril," he whispers, his voice a mixture of affection and need, "You always find a way to make me forget myself." He no longer feels the need to hold back, allowing the intimacy to flourish, but there's still an underlying layer of affection and dignity that guides him, even in such moments.

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When You Bite Him: Reactions, Sounds, and Movements

🜲 A Sharp Intake of Breath, Soft Groan When you bite him as your lover, Gil-galad's reaction is much more intense. A sharp intake of breath escapes his lips, the feeling of your teeth pressing into his skin sending a ripple of pleasure through his body. His head tilts slightly, his eyes closing as he lets the sensation wash over him. He's still trying to maintain his composure, but a soft groan escapes him as he leans into the bite, his muscles relaxing. His fingers may instinctively curl into the fabric of your clothing or rest on your back, as if grounding himself through the intimate connection. The sound is low, full of emotion, and slightly rough. "By the Valar," he murmurs, his breath shaky, "You know just how to leave me undone."

🜲 A Deep, Satisfied Sigh and Gentle Movement As a lover, his body reacts to your bite with an even deeper level of intimacy. When you bite him, he sighs deeply, his whole body seemingly relaxing under your touch. His head tilts back, allowing you access to his skin, and his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. His hand will find its way to your back, caressing the curve of your spine in a slow, languid movement, as if grounding himself in the intimacy you're creating. There's an undeniable pull toward you, and his movements become more fluid, his body drawing you closer as the bond between you deepens. He might even pull you into a slow, possessive kiss afterward, as if trying to absorb every moment of affection you're offering.

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Does He Hide or Not to Hide: How He Reacts to Visible Bite Marks in Public

🜲 Covered, but More Comfortable with His Affection As your lover, Gil-galad still keeps the marks you leave on him hidden from public view. However, there’s a subtle shift in his reaction. Though he will still cover the marks carefully, there’s a quieter confidence in his demeanor. He may not be as meticulous in making sure no one sees them, but he still values his privacy and composure. When no one is looking, he may let the marks peek out slightly, but if someone notices, he will casually cover them, with a look that says, These marks are a private matter, and only I am allowed to share them.

🜲 A Flicker of Pride Though Gil-galad keeps the marks covered in public, there’s an undeniable pride when he sees or feels them. He knows that these marks are a symbol of the closeness and trust between you. In private, he may even show them to you, letting you admire them as he admires you. His expression softens, and you can feel his pride in knowing you’ve marked him with such affection.

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Marking His Neck, Collarbone, Shoulder, Wrist, Elven Ear, and Other Areas

🜲 Neck: As your lover, Gil-galad’s neck is a deeply intimate area for him, and when you bite him there, he feels a thrill of both pleasure and affection. His initial response is a sharp breath, his body tensing as he absorbs the sensation. “You do enjoy leaving your mark,” he might murmur, his voice low and full of desire. The mark you leave here will stay with him for a while, even after he covers it in public. It’s a reminder of the bond you share, and he will quietly trace the mark in private, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls the moment.

🜲 Collarbone: Gil-galad’s collarbone is a sensitive but not overly vulnerable area. When you bite him here, his response is one of quiet pleasure. His muscles tighten just slightly, and a soft, appreciative sigh escapes him. “This spot is often reserved for gentler touches,” he will say with a smile, though the warmth in his voice tells you he doesn’t mind. His regal demeanor doesn’t waver, but there’s a softness in his eyes that shows how much he enjoys the intimate gesture. In public, he’ll still cover the mark, but he wears it with a quiet pride in private.

🜲 Shoulder: The shoulder is less sensitive for Gil-galad, but the moment you bite him there, his response is still one of surprise followed by acceptance. He might raise an eyebrow in amusement, his lips curling into a small smile. “You never fail to surprise me,” he might say softly, his hand resting lightly on your back. While the mark left here is less intimate than the others, it still holds meaning for him. In public, he might casually adjust his cloak or armor to cover it, but there’s a gentle affection in his touch as he recalls the mark in private.

🜲 Wrist: As your lover, Gil-galad’s wrist is an especially intimate area. When you bite it, his reaction is immediate—a gasp, followed by a soft exhale as he tries to regain his composure. “You have a way of making me lose myself,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both surprise and admiration. His hand will instinctively curl into a fist, but he won’t pull away. He allows the mark to remain, savoring it as a reminder of your affection. In public, however, he will still cover the mark, but in private, he will trace it with gentle fingers, a soft smile playing on his lips.

🜲 Elven Ear: The ear is one of the most sensitive parts of an elf’s body, and as your lover, Gil-galad’s response to a bite here is one of both vulnerability and pleasure. His breath catches in his throat, and his body shudders slightly at the sensation. “You do realize the effect you have on me, don’t you?” he will say, his voice hushed and filled with desire. His usually composed exterior falters for just a moment, and he looks at you with a mixture of affection and admiration. Though he will quickly adjust his hair to hide the mark in public, there’s no mistaking the deep connection you share through this intimate gesture.

🜲 Other areas: Inner Elbow, Ribcage, or Thighs As your lover, when you mark Gil-galad in deeply intimate areas like his inner elbow, ribcage, or thighs, the intensity of his response escalates. These areas are sensitive for him, and his body reacts in a way that betrays his usual composure. His movements become more fluid, his breath shallow and quick. Each mark sends a ripple of pleasure through him, and if your bite is especially intense, a low moan escapes him-something he doesn't often allow. He's usually so controlled, but in moments like these, he surrenders completely to the connection between you two. "I belong to you," he murmurs softly, his voice thick with desire. "Do not stop." There's no pride or restraint in his voice now; just raw, unfiltered emotion. The marks you leave on him, especially in these private, intimate spots, are a testament to the bond you share, and he accepts them completely, without reservation.

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When He Notices a Mark Later How He Reacts to Finding Unseen Marks

🜲 Soft Amusement and Desire As Gil-galad’s lover, when he notices a mark he didn’t realize you’d left on him—whether it’s on his neck, collarbone, or any other sensitive area—there is a flicker of amusement in his expression. He’ll pause, running his fingers lightly over the mark as if testing its presence, his eyes narrowing slightly in pleasure. There’s a quiet, satisfied smile on his lips, and his gaze softens as he remembers the intimacy of the moment. “I see I’ve been marked in ways I did not expect,” he’ll say, his voice a gentle whisper of both surprise and appreciation. Though he may not speak loudly, the warmth in his tone suggests that the mark brings him joy, signaling your bond.

🜲 A Moment of Quiet Connection His reaction is not just one of surprise but also one of deeper connection. In private, he might allow the mark to linger longer, standing before a mirror as if contemplating it. His fingers will graze the mark softly, and you’ll notice a thoughtful look in his eyes. “I had no idea you were so fond of leaving reminders of your affection,” he’ll say with a slight, teasing smile. While Gil-galad maintains his dignity, he’s not above feeling a sense of pride or joy from these marks. They become part of the intimate bond you share, a quiet declaration of affection he cherishes.

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Gentle Bite: How He Reacts to Your Soft Teeth Against His Skin

🜲 Calm, But With a Hidden Rush of Desire When you give Gil-galad a gentle bite, he reacts first with stillness, his body momentarily tensing in anticipation before relaxing. Your soft teeth on his skin send a wave of warmth through him, and he will instinctively take a deep breath, savoring the sensation. His eyes may flutter shut briefly, and a soft sound might escape him—something between a sigh and a low hum of approval. “This is… unexpected,” he will murmur, though there’s no discomfort in his voice—only a quiet pleasure in the intimacy of the moment.

🜲 Deeply Affectionate, With a Slight Hint of Playfulness Though Gil-galad is usually composed, a gentle bite can draw out a more playful side of him. His response may be subtler than in more passionate moments, but the effect is just as strong. The way your soft bite contrasts with his usual stateliness brings a smile to his face, one that’s intimate and warm. “Meleth-nîn,” he might whisper, using the word for “my friend” in a way that feels tender and affectionate. He may even return the gesture, placing a kiss where you left your mark, his actions slow and purposeful. “Your bite, so light and gentle… yet it says so much,” he’ll remark, his voice filled with quiet admiration.

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Biting Him in the Heat of the Moment

🜲 Intense and Passionate In moments of heated passion, Gil-galad’s reaction to your biting becomes one of intense focus and deep connection. When you bite him in the midst of an argument, argument-induced passion, or during moments of heated affection, his usual restraint cracks, and he responds with a slight gasp or a sharp intake of breath. The bite takes him by surprise, but instead of pulling away, he holds you closer, as if letting you mark him is a form of claiming him back. His own body responds, muscles tightening, and his pulse quickens at the sensation of your teeth against his skin. “That’s… certainly one way to get my attention,” he says breathlessly, but there’s a definite undertone of desire and appreciation in his voice.

🜲 A Playful, Heated Exchange If the moment is filled with playful affection rather than tension, your bite in the heat of the moment might provoke a passionate response from Gil-galad. His grip tightens around you, and a soft moan escapes him as he feels your bite. He won’t pull back, even if your teeth mark him in ways he can’t immediately hide. Instead, he will press his lips to your ear, whispering softly, “You know, this is a dangerous game you’re playing.” There’s a slight smile on his lips as he presses closer, his breath quickening. His normally regal composure slips entirely in the wake of the intimacy and passion between you both. “I might have to remind you that I’m the one who commands respect,” he teases, though it’s clear that he’s enjoying every moment of this more aggressive display of affection.

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When He Sees You Admiring Your Marks on His Skin

🜲 A Quiet, Loving Moment When Gil-galad notices you admiring the marks you’ve left on him, he is still, allowing you to study the marks as you trace them. His eyes soften as he watches you, the regal distance he normally maintains slipping in favor of something more tender. He doesn’t speak at first but instead meets your gaze, his expression a mix of fondness and something deeper, something protective. He may gently take your hand and guide it to the mark, his voice low and soothing. “Admiring your handiwork, are you?” he asks, the words teasing but carrying a weight of emotion. His gaze is intense, loving, and there’s an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond you share—the marks a reminder of his place in your life and your affections.

🜲 Possessive Yet Loving If you linger on the marks too long, Gil-galad may give you a slightly possessive but affectionate look, stepping closer to you. “Do you like what you see?” he might ask with a slight smirk, clearly enjoying the attention you’re giving his skin. He is proud of the marks you leave—seeing them as a sign of your love, affection, and possession. His fingers will graze over the marks lightly, a private moment between the two of you, showing that he doesn’t mind that you’ve claimed him in such a physical and intimate way. “I’ve always been yours, my love,” he might say softly, as he gently pulls you closer, savoring the closeness and connection the marks represent.

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Biting Him During Moments of Stress

🜲 A Source of Solace and Connection In moments of deep stress—whether from responsibilities, political matters, or simply the weight of his own duties—Gil-galad finds comfort in your bites. They are grounding, providing a sense of intimacy and distraction from his burdens. Your bite might come as a surprise, but instead of pulling away, he’ll lean into it, as if seeking the connection it offers. His usual restraint falters as a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips. “Meleth-nîn,” he’ll breathe, voice soft and full of relief. Your bite, gentle or firm, gives him a sense of control over his emotions, and for a moment, he can escape the weight of his responsibilities in the simplest way: through your touch.

🜲 A Hidden Comfort When his stress has built up over time and he’s becoming too preoccupied with his thoughts, your bite acts as an anchor. As you sink your teeth gently into his skin, his back straightens, but his reaction is not one of shock or annoyance. Instead, his face softens, his breath deepens, and his body seems to relax under your touch. “I had not realized how much I needed this,” he confesses quietly, allowing the tension to leave his frame. Though he remains outwardly composed, there’s an unmistakable vulnerability when he looks at you—a recognition of the solace you bring, in ways both large and small.

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His ‘Punishments’ for Over-enthusiastic Biting

🜲 Slightly Stern, Yet Affectionate If your biting gets a bit too enthusiastic, particularly when you’re caught up in the heat of the moment, Gil-galad’s response is one of both affection and gentle correction. He will firmly, but lovingly, pull you away from the mark you’ve just left, offering a calm and serious glance. “I do not mind your affections, but I do have limits, my love,” he’ll say softly, his voice almost like a quiet reprimand. His tone isn’t harsh, but there’s a certain authority to it that leaves you no room for argument. “Next time,” he adds, his gaze steady and his hand on your cheek, “be mindful of where you place your mark, for there are some parts of me that are not made for your teeth.”

🜲 A Playful Tease With A Hint of Control If you’ve left marks that are more intense than he’s comfortable with, Gil-galad will gently reprimand you with a small, playful smile. He’ll take your hand and press a soft kiss to your fingers, his gaze affectionate but slightly stern. “You must learn to control that enthusiasm of yours,” he’ll tease, though the glint in his eyes shows he’s not upset. “If you mark me too fiercely again, I might have to punish you—though, I think I can find ways to make it a more… pleasurable lesson.” His hand will slide down to rest on your neck, just where your bite was, and he’ll look at you with a faint smile. “But for now, we will leave it at a simple reminder.” His tone remains gentle, but there’s an undeniable undercurrent of his playful authority—one that both surprises and excites you.

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[earthlybeam]

Your writing is amazing, it makes me feel so many emotions.

How would Gil-galad, Lindir, and Haldir be as a spouse and a parent (if you think they would have any children that is)

how would the elves react to this?

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Gil-Galad, Haldir, Lindir Version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

🜲 As a king and someone with a noble, reserved nature, Gil-galad would approach his role as a spouse and parent with utmost seriousness and dedication. His love for his family would be profound, though not necessarily expressed through grand displays of emotion. Instead, his love would be felt in the quiet, steadfast ways he cares for those he holds dear. His actions would speak louder than words, for Gil-galad is a man of deeds, not just promises. His devotion to his family would mirror his devotion to his people—deep, constant, and unwavering.

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Gil-Galad As a Spouse

Gil-galad, as a husband, would be a man defined by his profound sense of duty and responsibility. His love for his spouse would be marked by a deep, enduring loyalty, but it would often be shown in actions rather than words. He is not one to express his emotions overtly, but he believes that love is a matter of providing, protecting, and standing firm. As the High King of the Noldor, his position requires constant vigilance, and his royal duties—leading his people, managing political alliances, and strategizing against the forces of darkness—would take much of his time. As a result, his presence at home may be intermittent, though when he is there, his attention is fully yours. His sense of protection is not just physical but emotional. Even if he cannot always be by your side, Gil-galad ensures that you are shielded from the world’s difficulties. His protective nature would manifest in his thoughtful decisions: whether through securing your safety in times of conflict or managing the burdens of court life so you are not overwhelmed. If there are challenges within the kingdom or the larger world, he will work tirelessly to ensure that these threats do not reach you, either through direct action or by making arrangements to keep you at ease.

The strength of Gil-galad’s affection would be seen in his consistency and reliability. His love would be like the quiet, steadfast growth of a tree—unassuming but unshakable. His devotion would be such that you would never doubt his commitment. He is a man of few words, but each action he takes is a quiet testament to how much he values and cherishes you. If you were to need support—whether in times of joy or sorrow—he would be there, steady and resolute. Though his role as king requires that he maintain an air of authority, his tenderness, when shared in private, would be unmatched. As a spouse, Gil-galad’s love is not just an emotional connection but a sense of deep partnership. He would share with you his hopes and his concerns, though he may not be the first to open up about his inner turmoil. His personal burdens, especially related to the fate of the Elves and the looming threat of Sauron, would weigh heavily on him, but he would not ask you to bear them with him. Instead, he would strive to maintain the role of protector, even as he grapples with his own fears and doubts.

When it comes to affection, Gil-galad would likely express it through the ways he takes care of you. A touch on the hand when words are unnecessary, the shared silence in moments of peaceful companionship, and the subtle but meaningful acts that show his thoughtfulness—like tending to your well-being or making sure you have everything you need. Gil-galad may not be the type to shower you with extravagant declarations of love, but his commitment and the calm presence he offers would be his most enduring form of devotion.

There might be moments, rare but precious, when his vulnerability peeks through. These would likely come during the quiet moments between him and you, when the weight of his crown and responsibilities fall away. He might take a moment to place a hand on your shoulder, or whisper soft words of affection in your ear, showing that underneath the composed exterior lies a deep, burning love. In such moments, you would see how truly committed he is, not just to his duties as king, but to you as his partner. Gil-galad’s love would be a calm and unshakeable force. It would not always be loud or obvious, but it would be steady, long-lasting, and dependable. You would always know where you stand with him—by your side, ready to face whatever the world throws at you, and always with the quiet certainty that his love will never falter. His love is not something that fades with time; rather, it is like the roots of the oldest trees in Middle-earth—quiet, strong, and enduring, no matter the storms around them.

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Gil-Galad As a Parent

If Gil-galad were to have children, his approach to fatherhood would mirror the same sense of duty, discipline, and wisdom that defines his reign as king. His love for his children would be profound, but it would likely be expressed in more subtle, steadfast ways rather than in grand, emotional gestures. His primary concern would be to ensure that they grow up to be strong, capable, and honorable individuals, able to navigate the complex and often perilous world around them. Fatherhood would be an extension of his kingship, for he understands the weight of leadership and the importance of preparing the next generation to carry it with dignity and wisdom.

In raising his children, Gil-galad would emphasize values such as duty, responsibility, and the importance of standing firm in the face of adversity. These teachings would be woven into the very fabric of his parenting. His children would be taught not only the history of the Elves and the responsibilities that come with their heritage, but also the principles of strength, honor, and sacrifice. Gil-galad would be keen on instilling in them the importance of self-reliance, not only in terms of physical strength but also in character. He would want them to understand that true leadership is not a matter of power alone, but of compassion, wisdom, and a willingness to make difficult decisions for the greater good.

Though Gil-galad might not be the most outwardly affectionate parent, the love he has for his children would be evident in everything he does. His affection would be displayed in the quiet guidance he offers, in the discipline he instills, and in the protection he provides. His children would know that he stands as their protector, even if his methods are more about teaching them to be strong and self-sufficient than about offering constant reassurance. He would not coddle them or shield them from the realities of the world but would instead prepare them to face it with courage and wisdom. There would be no greater mark of his love than his insistence on their readiness to take on the challenges of their world, for he understands that true love often requires tough decisions and sacrifices. Gil-galad would set high expectations for his children, not out of a desire to see them fulfill his vision of what they should be, but rather to ensure that they can stand firm in the face of whatever might come. He would likely train them in the art of leadership—teaching them the complexities of politics, strategy, and diplomacy—and guide them in the path of wisdom. However, his teachings would not be confined to the intellectual alone. He would also impart the practical skills necessary for survival in Middle-earth, instilling in them the fortitude to endure trials and the emotional intelligence to navigate the nuances of leadership and personal relationships.

In moments of danger or turmoil, Gil-galad would be unwavering in his commitment to protecting his children. His sense of duty as a father would be no different than his sense of duty as king. If ever they were threatened, he would move heaven and earth to shield them from harm, whether by physical defense or by ensuring that they are prepared to face any challenges themselves. However, rather than simply sheltering them, he would encourage them to confront adversity with courage and resilience, preparing them for the weight of the crown and the sacrifices it demands. His protection is not born of fear or weakness, but of a deep-seated desire for them to grow into their potential with the right tools. Though he may not always be present, given his endless duties as king, his love for his children would never waver. There would be moments—often rare but deeply meaningful—when he would sit with them, share stories, and offer lessons drawn from his own experiences. These moments would not always be filled with grand expressions of love, but they would be imbued with a sense of quiet strength and unspoken affection. He would want them to know that his devotion to them transcends words, that his love is a constant, unmovable force that will never abandon them, no matter the distance or the challenges of the world.

In a deeper sense, Gil-galad’s children would be an extension of his legacy. While his role as a ruler might take precedence in the wider world, at home, his legacy would be carried forward in them. His love for his spouse and children would be rooted in the belief that family is not just a private connection, but a crucial part of the greater history of the Elves and the lineage of those who have fought to preserve their people’s future. His children would be raised not as heirs to his personal affection alone, but as heirs to a much larger responsibility—the weight of the history and legacy they carry, and the obligation to live honorably and justly. Despite his occasional emotional distance, there would be no question in his children’s hearts that Gil-galad loved them deeply. His commitment to their upbringing, the lessons he imparted, and the sacrifices he made would be his way of showing love—quiet, unshakable, and steady. And in turn, they would come to understand that love is not always shown through words or acts of immediate warmth, but through a lifetime of dedication, sacrifice, and strength. In his role as father, Gil-galad would prepare them not only to take on the world but to carry the torch for the future of their people with the same quiet dignity, wisdom, and commitment that he himself had shown. His legacy, both as king and as father, would live on in them—through their strength, their honor, and their undying love for the world they must protect.

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Challenges as a Parent

Gil-galad would likely face his own set of challenges in parenting, particularly in balancing his role as king with his duties as a father. His deep sense of responsibility toward his people would sometimes make him distant from his children, as the weight of his leadership never truly leaves him. He would struggle with the idea of letting them take risks or face the dangers of Middle-earth, especially if they show any hint of stepping outside the protection of his care. Gil-galad’s protective nature, honed through centuries of defending his realm, would clash with the desire to let his children grow into strong, independent individuals. He may have a hard time trusting them fully to navigate the world on their own, especially if they show tendencies toward adventure or curiosity about the unknown. As a result, he might hover or become overly cautious at times, though his love for them would always be at the root of his actions. Over time, though, Gil-galad would recognize their growing independence and would find pride in watching them stand on their own, even if it caused him some internal conflict.

Tender Moments Though his role as king would often keep him away from his children, Gil-galad would cherish moments of solitude with them—moments where he could drop the weight of his crown and simply be their father. He would be a father who values quiet, meaningful moments, such as sitting with them under the stars and telling them stories of the ancient days, speaking softly of Elven legends and the victories of their ancestors. In these quiet moments, Gil-galad would express a tenderness that contrasts with his usual stoic demeanor, offering them the comfort of his presence, though never in an overly indulgent or effusive way. When his children were younger, Gil-galad might spoil them in secret—giving them rare gifts from his own collection, taking them on short, private outings far away from the court, and spending time just listening to their questions and thoughts. These small gestures of affection would be his way of showing love, though he would never allow anyone to think he was openly indulgent. He would carefully balance showing them affection and ensuring they understand the weight of duty and responsibility, perhaps giving them a small token or treasure that has meaning to him or to their family history.

As his children grew, Gil-galad would continue to show his love through actions. He might teach them the sword or the ways of strategy, sharing the wisdom he has gained over centuries of leadership. Though his affection might be quieter than others, his guidance would be invaluable. There would be moments when he would let his guard down—perhaps after a long battle or an intense council meeting—and pull his child into a moment of reassurance, a rare smile or soft touch on their shoulder to let them know they are loved and valued. His love would not be demonstrated through grandiose declarations, but in the sacrifices he makes, the lessons he imparts, and the quiet gestures of care. He might, for example, arrange for something special—a secret trip to a peaceful place only he and his child know about, or a personal item passed down through the ages as a symbol of trust and love. Despite the challenges he faces as a father, Gil-galad’s commitment to his children would never waver. His legacy would be built not only upon the strength of his kingdom but also on the quiet, steadfast love he nurtures in his family. His children would grow to understand that, though their father might not always express his love overtly, his actions—his protection, his teachings, and the small, thoughtful gifts he provides—are all expressions of an unshakable, enduring love.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ Haldir, known for his strong sense of duty and his somewhat stern exterior, would be a different kind of partner and father, one shaped by his unyielding dedication to his role as a guardian of Lothlórien and his deep-rooted love for his family.

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Haldir as a Spouse

Haldir would be a deeply devoted and attentive spouse, though his love might initially manifest in reserved and subtle ways. Known for his strong sense of duty and somewhat stern exterior, Haldir would approach marriage with the same sense of responsibility and honor that defines his role as a guardian of Lothlórien. While his emotions might not always be easy to read, his love would run deep, and his actions would speak volumes about his affection and devotion. Haldir’s protective nature would be a defining feature of your relationship. He would ensure your safety and happiness, though his overprotectiveness might sometimes lead to clashes, particularly if you have a more independent spirit. Despite these moments, he would respect your strength and individuality, ultimately finding ways to support your freedom while remaining your steadfast protector.

At first, Haldir’s affection would likely come through actions rather than flowery words—small, thoughtful gestures such as bringing you gifts from his patrols, crafting peaceful moments within Lothlórien’s golden woods, or silently watching over you as you sleep. He would create an atmosphere of quiet care and security, making you feel cherished even without grand declarations of love. Over time, as trust and intimacy deepen, he would allow himself to open up more, sharing his quiet humor, contemplative thoughts, and moments of vulnerability. Despite his stoic exterior, Haldir is a romantic at heart. He would express his love in subtle yet deeply meaningful ways—braiding flowers into your hair, teaching you Elven songs, or weaving tales of Lórien’s beauty as the two of you walk beneath the mellyrn trees. He would treasure private, intimate moments, where he could let down his guard and simply exist by your side, allowing his softer, more tender side to shine.

However, his role as a protector of Lothlórien would always remain central to who he is. There would be times when his responsibilities take him away from you, and he would carry the guilt of leaving you behind. He would work tirelessly to balance his duties with his love for you, ensuring that the time you spend together is meaningful and cherished. His loyalty would be unshakable, and you would always know you have his heart, even in his absence. Haldir might take a little while to warm up to the idea of being a deeply affectionate partner, but once he does, his love would be steadfast and enduring. He would value honesty, mutual respect, and open communication, and though difficult conversations might not come easily to him, he would never shy away from them. While he may seem distant or aloof at first, his love would be protective, physical, and rooted in his desire to keep you safe and happy. His presence would be a constant source of strength, and his devotion would make you feel like the most cherished part of his world.

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Haldir as a Parent

If Haldir were to have children, he would embody both the role of a steadfast protector and a wise mentor. Fatherhood, like everything in his life, would be approached with the utmost care, seriousness, and responsibility. He would instill strong values of honor, discipline, and respect in his children, ensuring they understood the importance of their heritage and the world around them. Haldir’s natural caution and wariness of the world’s dangers would make him an incredibly protective parent, often to the point of being overbearing. Every moment spent outside the safety of Lothlórien would be filled with lessons on vigilance and self-preservation, as he would teach them how to move through the world with quiet grace, always alert to potential dangers.

In the quiet of Lothlórien, he would pass down the ancient traditions and lore of the Elves, ensuring that his children would grow up understanding the beauty of their people and the sacredness of their land. He would teach them the art of archery, of moving silently through the trees, of defending themselves with bow and blade. Each skill would be a lesson not only in survival, but in the strength of character and the responsibility they carried as part of their proud lineage. Yet, despite his focus on strength and discipline, Haldir would encourage a balance—nurturing his children’s creativity and their love of beauty. He would encourage them to sing the ancient Elven songs, to create art that reflects the world around them, and to appreciate the natural wonders that abound in Lothlórien’s golden woods.

Though Haldir might not be the most openly affectionate father, his love for his children would be felt deeply in his actions. He would not be the type to shower them with words of praise, but he would make time to listen to their concerns, offer guidance when needed, and provide comfort in times of distress. His actions would speak volumes about his devotion—whether it was offering them his sword when they needed protection, quietly watching over them as they slept, or simply standing beside them in silence during moments of uncertainty. His children would come to understand that his love was not always shown through words, but through his unwavering presence, his strength, and his constant desire to shield them from harm. They would know they could rely on him in any situation, and his steady guidance would shape them into individuals who admired his integrity and his unyielding commitment to their well-being.

As a parent Haldir would be a firm, yet loving father. His children would grow up with a deep understanding of the values he held most dear—discipline, bravery, and honor. He would be meticulous in training them in both the practical and philosophical aspects of their Elven heritage. Whether teaching them how to wield a bow, or guiding them through the lessons of Elven history, his approach would be hands-on, ensuring they learned the importance of preparation and strength. However, despite his often serious and commanding demeanor, his softer side would emerge in moments of quiet intimacy with his family.

When with his children, Haldir’s typically stoic nature would soften, and a warmth would emerge in his eyes, revealing his deep affection. His love would be seen in the way he holds them close when they are young, or how he shares moments of wonder with them as they explore the wonders of Lothlórien. His devotion to their well-being would never waver, and he would want them to be strong, resilient, and proud of their Elven heritage. In the quiet moments between lessons, he would share with them his thoughts on what it means to be an Elf and to live a life of purpose and honor. His children would grow up knowing that while their father’s love might not always be expressed in traditional ways, it was constant and unyielding, a pillar of strength they could always depend on.

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Challenges as a Parent

Haldir’s rigid adherence to tradition and his cautious nature would likely present challenges in his role as a father. His deep sense of duty and vigilance might lead him to struggle with the idea of his children stepping beyond the safety of Lothlórien’s borders or taking risks he deems unnecessary. If his children were naturally adventurous or curious about the world outside their golden woods, it could create tension between his desire to protect them and their longing for independence.

Haldir might find it difficult to let go and trust their ability to navigate danger on their own, especially if they inherited any of his protective instincts or fiery will. While his intentions would always come from a place of love, his overprotectiveness might occasionally feel stifling to his children. However, his introspective and thoughtful nature would allow him to reflect on these conflicts, and over time, he would come to respect their choices and independence, even if it caused him worry.

Tender Moments Despite his stern and reserved exterior, Haldir would have a profound soft spot for his children, especially during private moments away from the pressures of his responsibilities. As a father, he would cradle them gently when they were young, singing them lullabies in the soft, melodic tones of Sindarin, his voice carrying the wisdom and beauty of the Elves. He would recount tales of Elven bravery and wisdom, filling their minds with the wonder of their heritage and the strength of their people.

As they grew older, Haldir would become their steady and quiet confidant, offering guidance with his calm demeanor and occasional flashes of dry humor. He would treasure moments spent teaching them the skills of archery, swordsmanship, and the ways of the forest, but he would also value quiet walks through Lothlórien, showing them the hidden wonders of the golden woods. In his own way, Haldir would express his love through small, meaningful gestures—leaving flowers on their bedside, crafting a finely-carved bow for a special occasion, or simply standing watch outside their room on stormy nights. His family would come to understand that, though his words might be few, his love was deep, enduring, and unwavering.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

♫ As a reserved and anxious elf with a gentle heart, Lindir would approach the role of a spouse and parent with quiet devotion and tender care. His love would be understated but unwavering, shown more in his actions than grand declarations. His commitment to you would be evident in the little things—through his thoughtful attentions, his patience, and the calm presence he offers in a world that can often feel overwhelming.

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Lindir As a spouse

Lindir’s love for you would be a slow burn, like a steady fire that gently warms rather than overwhelms. He would prefer building the foundation of your relationship with trust, care, and understanding, allowing each step to come naturally. There’s no rush for him—his love is patient and reserved, so his expressions of affection, while deep, would be subtle and thoughtful. The way he looks at you, his soft touch when he brushes your hand, or the warmth in his voice when he speaks to you would all be signs of his affection. He would take his time learning all the little details that make you you—what makes you laugh, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, and what soothes you when you’re upset. He’d remember even the smallest things, showing that he pays attention and cherishes you. And as he grows more confident in his affections, you’d notice that his shy gestures evolve. There might be moments when his hand lingers just a second longer when he holds yours, or when he brushes his lips softly against your cheek in a quiet but intimate display of affection.

Lindir would often leave you thoughtful notes—sometimes just a line of poetry, a verse of a song, or a quiet confession of how much he loves you. He’s the type to write you a letter just to tell you he’s thinking of you, and every word would be written with sincerity and warmth. Whether you’re in Rivendell or somewhere far away, you would always have a small piece of him with you—a reminder that he is always thinking of you, even in moments when he is not by your side. His handwriting would be neat and delicate, much like him, with each word carefully chosen. In public, Lindir would remain reserved, his love for you evident in how he quietly stands by your side, attentive to your needs, and protective in his own way. He would never draw attention to your relationship or act possessive, but you’d always feel cherished. You could catch the way his eyes soften when they meet yours across the room, or how his posture shifts in your presence, as if all his focus is on you. He would steal small moments—perhaps brushing your hand as you walk together, or glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking, his heart full of affection but too shy to speak it out loud.

Lindir’s love would be deeply romantic, but without the grandiose gestures that other elves might be known for. Instead, he would express it through small, meaningful acts. He might surprise you with a beautiful flower, or find a quiet spot in the gardens to sit with you and talk. Even when it’s just the two of you, Lindir would enjoy the comfort of each other’s company, not feeling the need for constant conversation, just being content in the silence that surrounds you both. His idea of a perfect evening might be as simple as reading a book aloud to you or playing his instrument as you sit by the fire together, the melody filling the space between you. If you ever wanted him to sing for you, Lindir would do so without hesitation, but you’d notice a quiet nervousness in him before he starts. When he sings, it’s clear that every note is meant for you—his voice would be soft and beautiful, each melody carrying the weight of his emotions. He would sing the songs that remind him of you or that he has learned just for you, his love woven into the music itself. He would be happy to serenade you, whether in a quiet corner of Rivendell or beneath the stars on a balcony overlooking the valley, the peaceful sound of his voice floating through the air, carrying all the unspoken words he struggles to express in other ways.

Lindir is also incredibly thoughtful when it comes to the things that make you happy. If he notices you enjoy a particular dish, he might make sure to have it prepared for you, or he could offer to share his favorite books or pieces of music with you, eager to connect with you on a deeper level. In the quiet moments, he might just sit with you in the gardens of Rivendell, enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the simple joy of being in each other’s presence. Lindir doesn’t need grand gestures to show his love—he shows it through every moment he spends with you, every look, every word. With Lindir, love is not a loud declaration, but a gentle, unwavering presence that comforts and supports you through everything. Every day spent with Lindir would feel like a gift, with each moment reminding you of how much he treasures you. He may be shy and anxious at times, but when it comes to you, he would never hold back in showing how much you mean to him. His love would be constant, and you would always feel that his heart beats in rhythm with yours, whether in silence or soft words, in songs or quiet laughter.

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Lindir As a parent

Lindir’s approach to parenthood would be deeply thoughtful, patient, and gentle, though he might also experience moments of anxiety about getting things just right. His quiet nature would shine through in the way he interacts with his children—always with a caring touch, a listening ear, and an eagerness to help them grow. Despite his gentle demeanor, Lindir would take his role as a father very seriously, often second-guessing himself and wondering if he’s doing enough to support and nurture his children. His heart would be full of love, but his tendency to worry could sometimes make him a bit anxious about whether he’s meeting their needs perfectly. When Lindir becomes a father, the arrival of his first child would likely put him on high alert. His protective instincts would be strong, but he might also find himself overwhelmed at times, unsure if he’s doing things correctly. As a result, he would want to ensure that everything is perfect for his child, from creating a warm, safe environment to making sure they are given every opportunity to learn and grow. The smallest things would concern him—whether he is providing enough attention, making sure his child feels supported, or if his child’s needs are being met. Lindir would spend a great deal of time researching and asking others, such as Elrond or Erestor, for advice, wanting to ensure that he’s making the best decisions for his growing family.

However, there would be moments when Lindir’s anxiety could get the better of him, especially when balancing fatherhood with his responsibilities in Rivendell. His duties as Lord Elrond’s chief minstrel and as Chief of Staff would often keep him busy, leaving him exhausted and sometimes a little cranky. In these moments, he might become more irritable than usual—his nerves frayed from the pressure of juggling everything at once. Though he would never take it out on his child, Lindir would occasionally find himself snapping at others, perhaps the twins or even you, simply because he’s stretched thin. These moments of frustration would leave him feeling guilty afterward, especially because he always wants to be the perfect partner and parent. When he’s tired and worn out, his normally soft-spoken nature might give way to a short-tempered side, but it would be fleeting, and his regret would soon follow. Despite these moments, Lindir would be a constant presence in his child’s life, always striving to provide the best for them, whether it’s through teaching them songs, introducing them to music, or sharing the history of their people. As a father, he would make every effort to give his children the tools they need to navigate life, encouraging their intellectual curiosity and nurturing their creative spirits. He would be patient and kind, guiding them gently through learning experiences and making sure that they always knew they had his unwavering support, no matter what they pursued.

Lindir would adore quiet, one-on-one moments with his children, teaching them about the world through stories, music, and art. His gentle voice would be a source of comfort as he explained the wonders of nature or played soft melodies on his instrument. He would teach them the songs that have been passed down in Rivendell, perhaps even writing new ones for them to carry on in the future. Lindir would want his children to appreciate the beauty of the world, to embrace the arts, and to understand the importance of kindness, empathy, and creativity. Though Lindir may not have the same confidence in battle as some of the more martial figures in Rivendell, he would still recognize the importance of self-defense. If his children expressed an interest in learning how to defend themselves, he would feel torn. His own anxieties about their safety would make him want to protect them, but he would also know that it’s important for them to learn these skills. As a result, he would turn to others, like Glorfindel or the twins, to teach his children what they need to know. Lindir would feel some discomfort at not being able to teach them himself, but he would prioritize their safety above all else, trusting those with more experience to guide them.

With a first child, Lindir would often find himself overwhelmed by the responsibility and constantly questioning if he’s doing things right. He would lose sleep at times, feeling the weight of parenthood pressing on him as he strives to balance his duties in Rivendell with the new, precious life in his care. He would be exhausted, sometimes grumpy, and unsure of himself, but through it all, he would remain dedicated to his family. His love would be steady and unshakable, even on his most anxious days. Lindir would be a father who gives everything to his children, even if that means occasionally feeling unsure or overwhelmed. In the quiet moments when he’s finally able to hold his child close, Lindir would feel a deep sense of peace wash over him. The love he feels for his family would always overshadow his worries. And as he watches his child grow, he would realize that his soft, patient nature is exactly what they need—a steady, loving presence in their lives, always there to guide and support them. Lindir might be an anxious, shy father at times, but his love would be boundless, and he would pour everything into making sure his children feel loved, safe, and cherished.

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Challenges as a Parent

Lindir’s naturally gentle, patient nature would make him an incredibly thoughtful father, but he would also face certain challenges in his new role. His tendency to overthink and second-guess himself might make him anxious about whether he’s doing enough for his children. He would be a father who constantly strives to get everything right, worrying if he’s providing the right balance of support and independence. His first child, in particular, would leave him on high alert, making him cautious to the point of occasionally being a bit too protective. Though he would never restrict his child’s freedom, his desire to keep them safe would sometimes clash with their natural curiosity or need to experience the world on their own. Lindir might find himself hesitating when it comes to letting his child take risks, unsure if they’re ready for the world outside the comfort of Rivendell. Despite his occasional moments of self-doubt, Lindir’s dedication to being the best father he can be would always shine through. His love for his children would be patient and unshakeable, even if he occasionally struggled with feeling overwhelmed by his new responsibilities. He might find it difficult to balance his demanding duties in Rivendell with the needs of his growing family, and during times of exhaustion, he could become a little short-tempered or easily frustrated, though never to the detriment of his children. His self-doubt would be his greatest challenge, but he would learn over time to trust in his love and his instincts as a father.

Tender Moments Despite his occasional nervousness or anxiety, Lindir would have a profound tenderness toward his children. He would cherish the quiet moments spent with them, finding joy in the simple things like teaching them a new song or telling them stories of the ancient Elven kingdoms. His voice, soft and melodious, would carry the calming presence of his affection, and he would lull them to sleep with gentle songs, his melodies speaking the language of love in a way that words alone could not.

As his children grew, Lindir would be their quiet, unwavering presence—a calm and patient guide through life. He might not be the most outwardly expressive, but his affection would be felt in every little action he takes. He would take time to show them the beauty of music, teaching them how to play instruments, share his songs, and discover the joy in art. He would introduce them to the wonders of Rivendell, guiding them through its tranquil gardens and whispering to them the history and stories of their people. Lindir would always find ways to express his love through small gestures—whether it’s leaving a note with a poem or singing a song that reminds him of them. When his children needed reassurance, his soft, steady presence would be a source of comfort. He would patiently listen to their worries and offer gentle advice, always encouraging them to find their own path while knowing that his love and support would always be with them, no matter where that path leads.

When it came to teaching them, Lindir would be an exceptional tutor, never rushing his children and offering them all the time they needed to learn at their own pace. He would be there to patiently guide them through challenges, making sure they always felt safe to make mistakes and try again. His focus would be on nurturing their hearts and minds, fostering curiosity and creativity rather than pushing for perfection. In his quieter moments, Lindir would sit with his children under the stars, teaching them about the constellations and the timeless stories of the Elves. He would show them the beauty of silence, the importance of observation, and the richness of life’s simple pleasures. Through all of these tender moments, his love for his children would be undeniable, even if he didn’t always have the words to say it.

Lindir might struggle with expressing his emotions outwardly, but he would always ensure his family knows how deeply he loves them. His love would not be grandiose or dramatic, but it would be steady, unwavering, and deeply sincere. Through his music, his patience, and his quiet devotion, Lindir would build a strong, loving foundation for his children, one that would shape their hearts for generations to come. In a family where his tender touch, gentle voice, and thoughtful nature would always be present, Lindir would remain the steady heartbeat of a home filled with love, patience, and quiet joy.

[earthlybeam]

Happy New Year 2025, everyone! May this new year bring joy, growth, and countless moments of happiness to you all. 🎉🥳🙌 I hope you’re as excited as I am to experience this fresh start together. Here is my special New Year gift I created just for you. Continue to read below for the gift. Enjoy 🥰❤️‍🔥🫶✨

New years special

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Gil-galad Version below (you are his lover within this.)

🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The stars gleamed like silver embers in the velvety night sky, their light casting a soft glow over the festivities. Gil-galad stood quietly beside you, the sharp lines of his face softened by the flickering lanterns that swayed gently in the winter breeze. For eleven years now, the High King of the Elves had honored your mortal tradition of celebrating the New Year—a custom alien to the immortal perspective of his people, but one he embraced without hesitation because it brought you joy. Year after year, you had shared the same ritual: a tender kiss as the clock struck midnight, a promise renewed for another year together. But tonight, there was something different in the air, something unspoken lingering in his gaze as it rested on you. His piercing blue eyes, usually calm and composed, carried a weight they had not before, a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch.

The crowd around you laughed and cheered, the jubilant energy of the celebration sweeping everyone along in its current. Yet Gil-galad seemed almost removed from it, his attention fixed entirely on you. His posture was regal as ever, but there was a subtle tension in the way his hands clasped behind his back, a rare vulnerability that only you could see. You felt your chest tighten as you met his gaze—there was a depth there that you hadn’t seen before, a longing that left you breathless. You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind as the countdown to midnight began. “Ten… nine… eight…” The voices of the crowd rose in unison, but to Gil-galad, they might as well have been whispers carried on the wind. For centuries, he had stood steadfast in the face of battles and burdens, unyielding and resolute. Yet now, in this singular moment, he found himself nervous, his usually steady heart beating faster than it had in centuries. He glanced down at the object hidden within his robes—a ring of silver and sapphire, forged with the same care and precision as every decision he had ever made. But this one was different. This decision was not for his kingdom or his people. It was for you.

“Seven… six…” The voices grew louder, the crowd surging with excitement, but Gil-galad’s world narrowed until there was only you. He turned to face you fully, his tall frame casting a protective shadow over you as the cold breeze carried a strand of your hair across your face. Gently, he reached out, brushing it back with the reverence of a man touching something infinitely precious. His fingers lingered for just a moment longer than they should have, trembling ever so slightly, and your heart skipped a beat. “Gil…” you began, your voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. But whatever question you had died on your lips as you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the vast, eternal world he inhabited. “Five… four…”

The moment felt surreal, as though the air itself had shifted. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest, the anticipation of the countdown tightening your nerves like a bowstring. You had expected him to lean in, the way he always did in moments like this—his eyes would soften, his lips would curve ever so slightly, and he’d tilt his head to close the space between you. It was as natural as breathing, the rhythm of your shared affection, and you were ready for it, leaning ever so slightly toward him in unconscious expectation. But then, he hesitated. His gaze, usually so steady and knowing, flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—an emotion too deep, too layered to decipher in the brief second before he spoke

“I have something I must say,” he said suddenly, his deep, melodic voice carrying a rare vulnerability that made your heart ache. The weight of his words froze you in place, your pulse quickening as you searched his face for answers…the comfort of the kiss you’d thought was coming. Confusion laced your thoughts, your brow furrowing as your lips parted to ask what was wrong. But before you could find the words, he stepped closer, his movements deliberate and charged with meaning. Your breath caught, the world narrowing to the space between you. He wasn’t leaning in, wasn’t drawing closer to you in the way you knew so well. Instead, there was a new tension in the air, something heavy and momentous. The weight of it pressed against your chest, and your pulse thundered in your ears and the world seemed to fall away, the noise and lights fading into the background until there was only him. “Three… two…” The countdown faded to a dull echo in the distance as Gil-galad moved with a grace that left you frozen, your body still, your mind racing. He Instead of leaning in for the kiss you had come to expect, Gil-galad dropped gracefully to one knee, his movement as fluid and elegant as the waves of the sea. A collective gasp rose from those nearby, but you barely heard it, Time seemed to stand still as he reached into the folds of his robe, producing the ring that shimmered like starlight in the soft glow of the lanterns.

your eyes wide with shock as you stared down at the Elvenking before you, the sight struck you like a lightning bolt. The High King of the Elves, the unyielding leader, the pillar of strength you had come to love so deeply, knelt before you. The sheer reverence in the act made your breath hitch, your throat tightening as your wide eyes met his. Shock coursed through your veins, mingling with a kaleidoscope of emotions you couldn’t yet name. Your mind struggled to catch up—why? why was he kneeling?—and yet your heart knew, racing ahead, tugging at the edge of realization even as you fought to comprehend what was happening. And then you saw it: the ring, shimmering like starlight in his steady hand. The world stopped turning. All at once, your confusion melted away, replaced by a wave of disbelief so powerful it left you breathless. You felt your knees weaken, your chest tightening as a thousand emotions collided within you—shock, wonder, love, and an overwhelming, aching joy.

“Gil-galad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief. “My love,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “For eleven years, I have cherished every moment spent by your side. You have brought warmth to my heart, light to my spirit, and meaning to my days in a way I had long thought impossible. In your presence, the burdens of my crown seem lighter, and the passage of time feels as though it matters again.” His words hung in the air, each one heavier than the last, and you felt tears well in your eyes. The fireworks began to explode overhead, bright bursts of color painting the night sky, but neither of you noticed. There was only him, kneeling before you with a vulnerability that took your breath away. “You have shown me the beauty of a life shared,” he continued, his voice quieter now, meant only for you. “And I can no longer imagine the years ahead without you at my side, not as my companion, but as my equal. My partner. My heart.”

“Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of eternity. “Will you be my Queen/Consort? My love, forevermore?” (you can pick whatever as as gender-neutral) The question hung in the air, suspended between the two of you, heavier than the stars that burned in the heavens above. For a moment, everything stilled—the world seemed to hold its breath, the faint echo of his words lingering like a prayer. Time stretched unbearably, and Gil-galad’s chest tightened as he waited. He had faced armies, stood resolute in the face of war and darkness, but this—this single moment—rendered him powerless. The silence felt deafening. He searched your face, his sapphire eyes flickering with every emotion he usually kept locked away: hope, fear, yearning. The pause between his question and your answer was like a blade’s edge, cutting into him with every passing heartbeat.

Doubt crept in unbidden, a cruel whisper in his mind. Had he misjudged? Had he allowed his heart to hope too much? His hands, always steady, trembled slightly where they rested on his bent knee. He could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the crowd and the fireworks above. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if all he had dared to dream of was about to be shattered? Gil-galad closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, steadying himself, though the fear remained. It was a vulnerability he hadn’t felt in centuries—laying his heart bare, offering you not only his love but his future, his very soul. And yet, despite the uncertainty gnawing at him, there was something deeper that anchored him: you. When he opened his eyes again, they met yours, his gaze filled with a quiet, unwavering resolve. If this moment were to break him, he would endure it—for you were worth every risk, every moment of vulnerability. The world seemed to hold its breath as his question hung in the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, every emotion you had ever felt for him rushing to the surface in an overwhelming wave.

And then you saw it: the ring, shimmering like starlight in his steady hand. The world stopped turning. All at once, your confusion melted away, replaced by a wave of disbelief so powerful it left you breathless. You felt your knees weaken, your chest tightening as a thousand emotions collided within you—shock, wonder, love, and an overwhelming, aching joy. Your gaze flicked from the ring to his face, and the vulnerability in his eyes was what undid you. He looked at you as though you were his entire world, as though this moment—this question—was the culmination of everything he had ever dared to hope for. The certainty in his expression anchored you, the intensity of his love and devotion pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t notice. All you could do was stare at him, your lips trembling as your heart screamed a single, undeniable truth: this was real. He was kneeling before you, offering you not just a ring, but a future, a promise, a forever. You stared at him, at the raw hope and love in his eyes, and suddenly the answer was the clearest thing in the world. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you inhaled sharply, and his heart clenched.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word fragile yet profound, like the first notes of a song. Then louder, with all the certainty you felt in your heart, His breath caught, and he stared at you as if willing himself to believe it. Then, louder, your voice steady and filled with love that left no room for doubt, “Yes, Gil-galad. A thousand times yes.” This added tension gives readers a deeper sense of Gil-galad’s vulnerability and builds anticipation for your answer, making your final “yes” all the more impactful. Relief and joy flooded his face, and for a moment, the stoic High King was gone, replaced by a man overcome with love. The weight of centuries seemed to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a lightness he had never known. A brilliant smile—a rare, unguarded expression—broke across his face as he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He rose swiftly, his movements graceful yet tinged with a newfound urgency. With hands that trembled slightly despite his usual composure, he took the ring—a delicate creation of silver and gold intertwined, a star set at its heart—and gently slipped it onto your finger. The fit was perfect, as though it had always been meant to be there, a symbol of his love, his promise, and the future he longed to share with you.

For the briefest of moments, he paused, his gaze locked on the ring and then back to you, his lips parting as though to speak—but no words came. The intensity of his emotions rendered him silent. Instead, his actions spoke for him. Before you could say another word, his hands moved to your waist, and with a surge of elation, he lifted you effortlessly into the air. A startled laugh escaped your lips as he spun you around, his embrace strong and steady, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in all of Arda. The world blurred around you, the cheers of the crowd and the bursts of fireworks overhead fading into a distant hum. There was only him—his warmth, his strength, and the pure, unbridled joy radiating from him. When he set you down, his arms still wrapped securely around you, his lips found yours in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. It was a kiss unlike any you had shared before—deeper, more fervent, charged with the emotion of the moment. His lips were warm and soft, yet insistent, as though he were pouring every ounce of love, relief, and gratitude into that single touch.

Gil-galad felt his heart swell as he kissed you, a fierce, unshakable certainty settling within him. This was his home—not the halls of Lindon, not the throne he had borne for centuries, but you. The feel of your lips against his, the way your hands clung to his shoulders, anchoring him even as he felt like he might soar—it was everything he had longed for but had never dared to dream he could have. His fingers slipped into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, his other hand splayed against your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. Time seemed to stand still as he lost himself in the softness of your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the undeniable truth that you had said yes. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless and utterly consumed by the moment. His silver-blue eyes, usually so guarded, were now unshuttered, brimming with emotion as they searched yours. A soft, awed smile curved his lips, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was thick with love.

“You’ve made me the happiest being in all the world,” he murmured, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek. “I will cherish you for all the days of this life and beyond, my love.” Your lips curved into a smile, and you cupped his face gently in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. “And I will stand by you for as long as the stars shine in the sky,” you whispered, your voice steady and full of promise. “You are my heart, my home, and my forever.” His eyes widened slightly at your words, as though he could scarcely believe the depth of your devotion, and his smile grew even brighter. “Forever,” he repeated softly, as if savoring the word. And as he held you there, with the fireworks painting the sky in brilliant colors, you knew without a doubt that this was the start of a forever unlike any other.

Later, when the crowd began to disperse and the echoes of celebration dimmed to a hum in the background, you both found a quiet moment together. The stars above shimmered brighter than ever, but none could compare to the way Gil-galad looked at you. His silver-blue eyes were warm, soft with a vulnerability he showed only to you, his hands resting lightly on your hips, looking down at you as though you were the most sacred thing he had ever beheld. The image struck something playful in you, and you couldn't resist pulling him down to your level slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. "You look so good on your knees for me," you murmured, your voice low and laced with mischief, the words slipping past your lips like silk.

The effect was immediate. A flush rose high on Gil-galad's cheekbones, the faintest pink dusting his otherwise composed face. His lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, he seemed utterly at a loss, his regal composure shattered by the weight of your boldness. Then, a soft laugh escaped him-warm and rich, tinged with both amusement and disbelief. "You are truly shameless," he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation, though his smile betrayed him. He straighten to his full height, towering over you once again, but his hands lingered at your waist, pulling you close. "And yet," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre, "I find myself helplessly at your mercy. Perhaps I belong on my knees before you, my love." His lips curved into a slow, almost wicked smile as he leaned down, his breath ghosting against your ear. "But be careful what you tease for. I might just take your words as an order." The heat that flared in his eyes left you breathless, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, this kiss slower, deeper, brimming with the promise of everything the night still held.

[earthlybeam]

May I ask for how an elf reader would comfort Gil-Galad when he’s stressed from ruling? Thank you!

Overwhelmed by the burdens of leadership, Gil-Galad finds solace at a secluded hot spring, where you guide him into the warm waters and ease his tension with gentle care. From soothing teas to a tender massage, your loving gestures help him truly relax, allowing the weight of his crown to melt away in your quiet, healing presence. Gil-Galad version below

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad had borne the weight of his crown for so long that it seemed woven into the very fabric of his being. The responsibilities of ruling Lindon, of guiding the Noldor through the trials of an ever-unstable Middle-earth, and of carrying the hopes of his people on his shoulders had left their mark. His regal composure, always steady, now betrayed signs of wear. The lines of strain deepened at the corners of his eyes and his brow furrowed with the gravity of decisions only a king would make. His posture, once so dignified and unyielding, now seemed to carry an invisible weight—a burden he could never fully set down. The world outside was a constant blur of politics, counsel, and demands, and he had grown used to the ceaseless pressure. He hid it well, of course, his serene expression a mask to protect those who depended on him. But you knew him better than that. You saw beyond the surface, into the quiet exhaustion that haunted him. He had always been strong, a beacon of leadership, but even the brightest lights needed moments to rest, to fade for just a while to allow the renewal of their strength.

Today, you decided, would be that moment. The decision had come suddenly but with certainty. You had seen the tension in his shoulders as he bent over yet another set of reports or listened intently to the endless stream of advisers. It was clear: his mind needed respite, his body needed peace. And you would provide him with that, even if he didn’t realize it yet. With quiet resolve, you led him from the stone walls of his palace, through the ancient woods that bordered Lindon’s kingdom. The air was crisp, filled with the scents of pine and earth, the whisper of the wind through the trees guiding you to a place where time seemed to slow—an untouched hot spring nestled deep within the heart of the forest. The clearing around the spring was shrouded in a gentle mist, the steam rising from the warm water and curling into the cool air like a promise of relaxation.

As you reached the edge of the spring, the world around you felt distant, as though the ancient trees themselves were holding back the weight of the world. The soft sound of water trickling over rocks, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the calming presence of nature’s embrace all seemed to quiet the noise of Gil-galad’s endless thoughts. The serenity of the place spoke to you both, but it was him who needed it most. Turning to face him, you caught his gaze. His eyes, usually so full of purpose, now held the quiet depths of someone burdened by more than they could share. The light in them, though still strong, flickered with the fatigue of a king who had given everything and more. For a long moment, he stared past you, his mind clearly still occupied with the concerns of his kingdom, but you knew the moment he truly saw you. The bond between you—unspoken but deeply felt—pulled him back from the weight of his responsibilities.

Without a word, you stepped closer to him, your hand reaching out to take his. The simple touch seemed to anchor him to the present. For just a moment, his rigid posture softened, and his breath evened out. His fingers curled around yours, not as a king who would give commands, but as a person who trusted and allowed themselves to be led. You guided him forward, gently urging him toward the spring, the warmth of the water just a few steps away. He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the path you had taken, as though he could still hear the calls of duty tugging at him from a distant place. But with a soft squeeze of your hand, you drew him in once more, grounding him in the present. His footsteps slowed, and he followed without protest, allowing himself to be led into the heart of this rare, sacred space. The moment was his—a brief but much-needed reprieve from his kingdom, his crown, and the relentless weight of his title.

You both reached the spring’s edge, where the cool air kissed your skin, but the rising steam from the waters promised warmth and relief. The moment you stepped closer to the edge, the soft hissing of the steam mingled with the distant sounds of nature, as though the very world was in harmony with the stillness you sought to offer him. You turned to him once again, meeting his eyes. There was a quiet understanding there, one that passed between you both—silent, yet profound. In the space of a heartbeat, the last of his resistance faded. He had already been lost in thoughts of his people, the battles, the challenges, but now, with your presence beside him, he allowed himself to let go, to be present in the here and now. Without a word, you gently took his hand, your fingers warm against the coolness of his skin, and led him to the edge of the hot spring. His eyes followed your movements, calm now, but still carrying the echoes of the king within them. He had carried the burden for so long, but now, here, in this quiet sanctuary, he could finally lay it down.

You slowly helped him out of his heavy garments, your fingers moving with practiced care, every touch light and tender. You were mindful of his quiet dignity, knowing how accustomed he was to bearing his royal burden with stoic grace. Each movement was deliberate, showing him that this moment was his, one to be fully embraced without the weight of titles or expectations. His posture remained rigid at first, a clear sign that even in this place of tranquility, the king still held himself with the bearing of someone who had ruled for centuries.

As you gently eased the fabric from his shoulders, you could feel the subtle tension in his body, the lines of weariness etched deep beneath the surface. His chest, broad and powerful, showed the marks of both leadership and age. The skin that had seen countless battles and carried the weight of a kingdom was firm and still, but the long hours of responsibility had left their imprint—faint lines of stress around his neck, a slight tightness in his jaw, and the ever-present furrow in his brow. His muscles, though still firm with the strength of a king, bore the subtle fatigue of years spent holding a kingdom’s fate on his shoulders.

The final layers of his tunic were carefully removed, and as the fabric fell away, so did the stiff walls he had built to protect himself. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breathing slow as if adjusting to the gentler rhythm of this moment. His body, lean and sculpted by years of both leadership and war, now seemed almost foreign to him in its vulnerability. The solid muscles in his back—broad and marked by the passage of time—were now softened by the warmth of the air around you, though the faint lines of strain still lingered in his shoulders and spine. His skin, kissed by the light of ancient years, bore the subtle signs of a life that had seen both glory and sacrifice. Beneath his broad chest, his abdomen, while taut, carried a certain elegance—the lines of strength and endurance blending into a physique that had withstood centuries of challenges.

You guided him toward the water, and as his bare feet touched the stones beneath, his stiff posture began to ease. The cool, crisp air clung to his skin, but the soft sound of the steam rising from the hot spring drew him in, calling to the part of him that was starved for peace. The faint scent of lavender from the surrounding trees reached his senses, pulling him deeper into the present. Gil-galad’s body, a reflection of strength and grace, melted into the warmth of the spring with a quiet sigh of relief. The warmth washed over him, beginning at his ankles and creeping upward, until it enveloped his body completely. His long, sinewy legs, toned from centuries of training, felt the gentle caress of the hot water, and the tension in his limbs began to slowly unwind.

As he sank deeper into the spring, you could see his muscles—tense from the years of ruling—begin to relax. His shoulders, once set in a firm, almost stubborn line, softened beneath the water’s embrace. His back, which had often been held in the unyielding posture of a king, curved more naturally now, no longer holding the invisible weight of leadership. His chest, still broad and regal, expanded more freely, no longer constricted by the burdens of the throne. His abdomen, usually held with the quiet strength of a leader, now softened beneath the water’s warmth, the tension slowly dissolving from his body. For the first time in a long while, there was no weight upon his chest. No crown, no mantle of responsibility pressing down on him. His face, usually so composed, now held a quiet vulnerability as his body surrendered to the peaceful stillness of the moment. His usually keen, sharp eyes, full of the wisdom and weariness of a ruler, were now half-closed, lost in the soothing embrace of the water. His usually rigid posture had melted away, leaving behind the quiet grace of a man who had long known what it meant to bear the weight of the world.

In this rare instance, he allowed himself to rest—no longer the ruler, but simply a man in need of care and respite. You could see it in his expression, a softness that he rarely showed anyone: the king was no longer present, only Gil-galad, and for this moment, he was free. The tension that had defined him for so long seemed to dissipate, leaving only the tranquil figure of the Elf who had given so much of himself to his people. His muscles, once taut from the constant strain of leadership, now floated in the warmth, releasing the years of unspoken fatigue. It was in this rare, quiet vulnerability that you saw the true Gil-galad: not the king, but the Elf who had, for so long, carried the weight of a world on his shoulders, and now, finally, allowed himself to rest.

Sitting beside him, you reached for the tea you had carefully prepared, its calming herbs gently releasing their floral scent into the air. The steam rose softly, mingling with the mist that hovered above the water. You held the delicate cup in your hands, its warmth a small comfort in the coolness of the surrounding air, and offered it to him. Gil-galad’s gaze shifted to the tea, his eyes momentarily distant as though he was still tethered to the weight of his duties, but he took it from you with quiet gratitude. His fingers brushed against yours as he accepted the cup, the brief touch sending a gentle spark of connection between the two of you. As he brought the cup to his lips, his movements slow, deliberate, the warmth of the tea seemed to melt some of the tension that had coiled around him for so long. He sipped, his gaze shifting downward as if allowing himself this simple indulgence for the first time in ages. The liquid was soothing, its warmth traveling down into his chest, and you noticed the way his breath deepened, slow and steady. His chest, which had so often risen with the weight of the world, now seemed lighter, his usually shallow breaths filling his lungs in a way that spoke of relief.

You studied him carefully, watching how the tension in his features softened, how his regal composure began to unravel, revealing something more vulnerable. His face, usually a mask of quiet command, held a softness now—the hard lines of stress and fatigue slowly giving way to a more relaxed expression. Even the ancient wisdom in his eyes, which had always seemed so burdened, appeared different. It was as though the world had momentarily faded away, and he was simply present, here, in this moment with you. He took another sip, the warm liquid soothing him further. His hands, once so steady and firm in the face of endless responsibility, were now relaxed, his grip on the cup loose, as if the weight of the kingdom had finally eased, even if just for a moment. There was a silence between you two, comfortable and unhurried, filled only by the gentle sounds of the water and the rustling of leaves in the trees.

Finally, you spoke softly, your voice laced with understanding. “You carry much,” you said, watching him closely. “But for now, the world outside doesn’t need you. Only this moment.” Gil-galad’s gaze shifted to meet yours, his eyes searching, as if he had been searching for something in the quietude. He was silent for a moment, taking in your words, the calm and the peace surrounding him. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke, the weight of centuries carrying every syllable, yet there was a gentleness to it now that had not been there before. “I have forgotten what it feels like,” he said, his voice rough but sincere. “To simply… be. The burdens I carry never leave, and yet, in this moment, it feels… lighter. For the first time in a long while, I find myself able to breathe.”

His gaze softened as he turned his eyes back to the steaming water, a deep exhale escaping his lips. “I am grateful,” he murmured, as though the words were a secret he had only now found the courage to speak. His fingers tightened around the cup, but in a way that was gentle, contemplative. “Grateful for this peace, for you.” The quiet weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, it seemed as if time itself had stopped, allowing you both to exist solely in this shared moment of respite. His trust in you had always been deep, but now, in this sacred space, it felt as though he had allowed himself to trust not just in you, but in the healing power of stillness. Gil-galad leaned back against the smooth, timeworn stones of the spring, letting the warm water wrap around him like a comforting embrace. The heat was soothing, like a balm to his weary body. His eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. It was the kind of sound that only came from someone who had been holding their breath for too long, a sound of release and surrender. It was a brief, vulnerable moment, as though he was allowing himself to be just human again, without the weight of leadership pressing down on him.

You sensed the depth of his weariness, the layers of invisible burdens that had been etched into his form. Leaning closer, you positioned yourself behind him, your hands moving with tenderness and care. You began massaging his shoulders, where the knots of tension had formed over years of relentless duty and sacrifice. His skin, once cold and tight with stress, began to warm under your touch as you worked your fingers into the tight muscles, kneading the stress and exhaustion out with each slow, deliberate motion. The rhythm of your hands was gentle, but insistent, meant to coax the muscles into releasing their grip, to show him that, just for now, he could relax.

Despite the quiet stillness that often defined Gil-galad, you could feel the way his body responded beneath your hands. His posture remained regal, composed, but the tension that had clung to his form began to dissipate, each breath growing deeper, each movement of your fingers slowly peeling away the layers of strain. His shoulders, which had borne the weight of a kingdom, softened, allowing the warmth of the water and the calm of the moment to seep into him. His usual stoic silence lingered, but beneath it, you sensed a quiet surrender. His body, so accustomed to carrying the burdens of countless lives, was finally finding respite.

He was silent for a long time, eyes closed, his breath steadying. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft and fragile, barely above a whisper, a fragile admission that had clearly cost him. “I don’t know how to stop. Even now… even here…” His words trailed off, the weight of responsibility and the years of constant vigilance surfacing once again, as though they were a part of his very soul. His brow furrowed slightly, and the quiet vulnerability in his words struck a chord deep within you. Pausing your movements, your hands remained lightly resting on his shoulders, offering him a brief moment of stillness. You could feel the invisible burden that weighed heavily on him, and you knew that no words could simply erase that responsibility. But you could offer him peace, if only for a fleeting moment. “You don’t need to stop, Gil-galad,” you said, your voice soft but firm with conviction, grounding him in this space. “But you deserve rest. The world can wait, for just this moment.”

There was a long, pregnant silence, during which you could feel the conflict within him, the internal struggle between duty and the undeniable need for respite. You watched his expression carefully, noticing the faint shift in his gaze, the way his brow relaxed just the slightest bit. It was subtle, but unmistakable—a brief release, a crack in the walls he had so carefully constructed around himself. His lips parted slightly, but no words came immediately. Instead, a deep breath escaped him, slow and measured, as though he was weighing your words against the years of constant responsibility. Finally, he spoke again, his voice still soft, but with a note of deep sincerity. “It has always been so,” he murmured, his words tinged with a quiet sadness. “I have known only duty. To stop, even for a moment… feels impossible.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his tone, the weariness that clung to him like a shadow, but you also sensed a subtle shift, a moment of release. His gaze remained distant for a moment longer, but as he let your words settle in, you saw the faintest trace of something resembling relief in his expression. The faintest ghost of a smile, not fully formed but there, a fleeting warmth in his eyes that spoke of something long denied. “You deserve this, Gil-galad,” you added gently, your hands returning to their task, this time with renewed purpose. “You deserve to breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on you.” Gil-galad remained still, his body finally yielding to the gentleness you offered. In that quiet space, surrounded by the warm embrace of the water and the ancient stillness of the forest, he allowed himself, if only for this brief moment, to truly rest. You resumed your massage, your hands moving expertly over his neck, working down his back with deliberate care. Each stroke was slow and steady, aimed at easing away the burdens of countless years. The quiet of the hot spring enveloped you both, with the soft whisper of the wind through the trees and the gentle sound of water lapping at the stones. The world, it seemed, had softened in this hidden corner of Middle-earth, the stresses of life far removed from this peaceful haven.

With each movement of your hands, you could feel Gil-galad’s breathing deepen, slow and steady. His usual tension, the constant readiness that accompanied the crown he wore, began to fade. His hands, which had always been tightly clenched in the grips of responsibility, gradually relaxed at his sides, his fingers uncurling as he allowed himself to soften under your touch. His chest rose and fell with the calm rhythm of the water, and you noticed the smallest shift in his posture—no longer rigid, but comfortable, trusting. The surrounding calm, paired with the soothing care you offered, seemed to break down the last of the walls he had so carefully built around himself. You moved lower, your hands gliding across his back, pressing gently into the areas where stress often took root: his lower back, his shoulders, his arms. Every stroke was designed to relax him further, to release him from the relentless weight he had carried for so long. His body surrendered to your touch, muscles melting beneath your hands, and the stillness of the moment deepened. Time seemed to stretch and bend as the warmth of the spring and your care intertwined.

After a while, Gil-galad’s voice, soft and a little rough from the rare release of his usual restraint, broke the silence. “Thank you… for this.” His words were simple, yet there was a depth to them, an unsaid understanding that went beyond gratitude. There was something deeper, something unspoken in his tone—an acknowledgment of the trust that had begun to grow between you, a quiet recognition that he had allowed himself to let go, if only for a moment. You brushed a stray lock of his hair from his face, your fingers lingering gently on his skin, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like the water itself. “You deserve more than this,” you whispered, your voice tender. “But for now, let this be enough.”

Gil-galad’s eyes fluttered open, slowly meeting yours, and in that moment, you saw something rare in his gaze—vulnerability. It was subtle, like a crack in the mask he had worn for centuries, but it was there. A quiet surrender, a willingness to trust and find solace in your care. In the depths of his eyes, there was a soft understanding, a peace that had eluded him for so long. His lips curved into a small, affectionate smile, and though the weight of his duties would never truly disappear, the tension had eased in this fleeting moment. His hands reached for yours, pulling you closer until your foreheads met, the warmth of his body against yours as the cool air mingled with the steam of the water. For a long, quiet moment, you stayed like that—surrounded by the serenity of the spring, the world outside forgotten.

“You are my peace,” Gil-galad murmured, his voice barely audible over the water’s soft sounds. The words seemed to hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. “My heart.” In that moment, you knew, without question, that this was the kind of comfort Gil-galad had longed for. Not the weight of responsibility or the demands of a kingdom, but the quiet presence of someone who would offer care, not out of obligation, but from love and understanding. His trust in you, unspoken yet undeniable, grew in that instant, as did your own, entwined in the stillness of the hot spring, where nothing else mattered but the peace you had found together.