#No Elrond race of men is not falling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthlybeam · 2 months ago

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If your requests are open, I was wondering how Elrond, Thranduil, and Cirdan would react to the reader saving their life. Like, the reader takes an arrow for them or something. No pressure!

I truly enjoy writing this below, and I’d be happy to create more if you’d like! Feel free to ask or leave a comment below what character, and I’ll do my best to help.

Character you can pick from that I write for: lindir, haldir, feren, meludir, Galion, elros, elladan, elrohir, Legolas, celeborn, erestor, glrofindel, Gil-galad, Celebrimbor (he a new one I have add) ✨🫶❤️

how would the elves react to this?

↓

Thranduil, Elrond, Círdan Versions are below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 Thranduil Caught in a Spider’s Trap and Falling into a Pit While Thranduil and the reader/you are engaged in battle against a group of hostile giant spider in the depths of Mirkwood and reader/you save him

The darkness of Mirkwood had always been an ever-present threat, but tonight it felt even more suffocating. The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, almost nauseating tang of decay. The battle raged around Thranduil and you—swarming spiders, venomous and vile, scuttled across the floor of the forest like dark shadows, their eyes glinting in the moonlight. The vicious creatures had long plagued the ancient woods, their hunger insatiable, their venom deadly. Thranduil’s blade flashed in the dim light as he fought off one of the monstrous arachnids, his movements graceful and deliberate, as always. His skill with a sword was unmatched, every strike a precise decision. Yet, for all his agility and battle-hardened experience, he was not immune to the dangers of the forest. Beneath his feet, the ground suddenly shifted.

The earth trembled, the roots of the ancient trees groaning under the weight of the battle and the forces of nature. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in alarm as the ground crumbled beneath him. He had little time to react before his booted feet were swallowed by the shifting soil, and he found himself falling. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he plunged downward, the pit opening beneath him like a maw, pulling him further into its depths. The trees above him seemed distant as he plummeted, the foliage that once protected the woodland king now closing in, smothering the light and muffling the sounds of battle above. But it wasn’t just the pit that threatened him. Thranduil’s sharp elven senses picked up the faintest rustling, the quiet skittering sound of something moving in the shadows. He barely had time to react as he twisted mid-fall, catching sight of the massive spider—a hulking creature with glistening, venomous fangs and limbs long enough to span a dozen men. It leapt from a nearby tree with frightening speed, its webbing trailing behind it like a death sentence.

Before he could draw his blade or think of a way out, the spider’s web shot forward, its strands wrapping around his body, gluing him halfway down in the pit. His movements were slowed, his legs pinned, and the sticky threads clung to him like chains. His once-immaculate silver armor was now tangled in the webbing, and Thranduil, struggling against the sticky strands, felt the cold grasp of helplessness for a brief moment. The spiders began to circle, their multi-eyed gaze trained on their prey. Thranduil’s breathing quickened as his thoughts turned to escape. His mind raced with calculations, his thoughts sharp as ever despite the danger. He knew he needed to act swiftly if he were to survive this—he needed to cut through the webbing, but his sword was too far out of reach. The pit was deep, the air thick with the smell of the forest and the acrid scent of spider venom. It was then, as the spiders closed in, that a sudden, unexpected force swept through the pit—you. In a flash, you appeared at the edge of the pit, your form illuminated by the faint glow of the moon above. You leapt into the pit without hesitation, your feet landing soundlessly in the shifting soil as you avoided the webs and debris that littered the area. There was no fear in your movements, no hesitation. You had seen the danger, and in a heartbeat, you had made your decision. Thranduil’s sharp gaze followed your every movement, his mind struggling to reconcile the vulnerability he felt with the awe he couldn’t help but feel for your bravery.

Without wasting a moment, you sprinted toward him, your hands steady as you carefully sliced through the thick webbing with a blade or a sharp object of your own. The spiders hissed and clicked their mandibles, closing in around you both, their large bodies casting ominous shadows across the pit. The tension was palpable—the spiders were relentless, sensing the weakness of their prey, and yet, despite their terrifying size, you didn’t flinch. With a swift motion, you freed Thranduil from the sticky grasp of the webs. His body collapsed forward, his limbs unsteady, but you were there to catch him. The webbing still clung to parts of him, but now it was only a minor hindrance. The king’s eyes met yours as he stood, his chest heaving with effort, his breath shallow, but alive. There was a flicker of disbelief in his gaze as he processed what had just happened. His regal poise had faltered in the face of danger, but the moment he saw you fight off the approaching spiders, his admiration for you grew tenfold. You had protected him, not with hesitation or doubt, but with decisiveness, your every action driven by an unwavering will to keep him safe.

Thranduil moved, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword, the glint of his blade reflecting in the dim light. His stance was shaky, but his resolve was firm. The spiders were not to be underestimated, but he could see the way you handled yourself. You were a force of nature in your own right. As the spiders charged, you stood side by side with him, your weapons raised in defense. Thranduil’s mind quickly shifted back to the task at hand. The pit, the danger—it was all secondary now. Your loyalty to him, your willingness to fight by his side, it made all the difference. His voice, hoarse but steady, broke the tension. “You have my gratitude,” he said, his voice low yet filled with an undeniable warmth. There was no formality in his words, no barriers to his sincerity. It was rare for Thranduil to show such vulnerability, but in that moment, he was truly grateful. He moved with you, fighting back the arachnids with precision and strength. The battle was fierce, but together, you were unstoppable. And as the last of the spiders was slain and the pit began to quiet, the king’s gaze softened toward you once more. He was still breathing heavily, his armor now torn and stained, but his respect for you—his appreciation—was clear in the quiet gaze he held upon you.

“Thank you,” he said again, softer this time, his voice laced with gratitude. “I would not have survived this without you.” And in the depths of Mirkwood, surrounded by the echoing silence of the forest, it was clear that something had shifted. Thranduil had always been a king of stone, his heart a fortress built from centuries of loss and sorrow. But with you by his side, something in him softened, and for the first time in many years, he allowed himself to feel a flicker of connection—something real and enduring, something that went beyond the duty of a king and the loyalty of his subjects. It was something he had not expected. But in the pit, with you fighting by his side, he knew—you were his ally, his protector, and perhaps, in time, something more.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ Avalanche/Rockslide While traveling in the mountains near Rivendell, Elrond is caught in a sudden rockslide. The reader shoves him out of the way or shields him with their body, taking the impact themselves.

The mountain path was narrow, winding precariously along the steep slopes that framed Rivendell in its protective embrace. The air was crisp and sharp with the scent of pine and stone, the faintest hint of snow carried on the wind from the higher peaks. Elrond moved ahead with an ease that belied the dangers of the terrain, his every step deliberate and precise. His deep blue-gray cloak swayed gently as he walked, the fine embroidery of Rivendell’s craftsmanship catching the occasional glint of sunlight filtering through the clouds. This trail was familiar to him—one he had traveled many times in search of solitude or to meet travelers approaching from the wilds. He had always admired the way the mountains framed the valley, the ridges standing like silent sentinels over his home. But today, there was a strange tension in the air, an unspoken unease that made him glance up toward the looming cliffs above. The skies had darkened slightly, the rumble of distant thunder echoing faintly through the peaks.

“Elrond,” you called from behind, your voice carrying over the whisper of the wind. “Do you think we should move faster? This weather… it feels strange.” He paused, turning to look at you. His dark hair framed his face, and for a moment, the concern in his sharp gaze was evident. He studied the rocks above and then the path ahead, his instincts honed by centuries of experience. “The mountains are prone to shifts,” he said, his voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of caution. “We will tread carefully, but there is no need to rush. Fear clouds the mind and invites missteps.” His words were meant to reassure, and as always, his composure gave you a sense of security. But just as you were about to reply, a low, ominous rumble rolled through the mountains. It started softly, a vibration you felt in the soles of your boots, before growing into a deep, resounding groan that seemed to echo all around you. The very earth beneath you shuddered.

“Elrond—” you started, your voice edged with alarm, but he had already turned sharply, his eyes darting upward. The cliffs above you began to shift, a cascade of loose stones tumbling down the slope. Then came the unmistakable sound of cracking rock, loud and jarring. A section of the mountainside gave way, and in an instant, boulders and debris began to hurtle downward, crashing against the slopes with terrifying speed. The ground quaked beneath your feet as the rockslide roared to life. “Elrond, move!” you shouted, your body already reacting before you had time to think. Elrond’s eyes snapped to you, wide with alarm—but he hesitated, looking back toward the path, clearly calculating the best way to evade the deadly rush of stone. That moment of hesitation was enough to make your decision for you. Without a second thought, you lunged toward him, shoving him hard toward the edge of the path, where the rocks seemed less likely to strike.

The force of your push sent him stumbling out of harm’s way, but it left you exposed. The world seemed to blur as the avalanche of rock and debris thundered down. You felt the sharp, jarring impact of stone against your back and shoulders, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs. Pain exploded through you as a heavy boulder clipped your side, sending you sprawling to the ground. Dust and grit filled the air, making it hard to breathe, hard to see. Through the chaos, you vaguely registered Elrond’s voice, sharp and commanding, cutting through the din. “No!” It wasn’t the composed tone you were used to—it was raw, laced with a fear you had never heard from him before.You tried to push yourself up, but the weight of the rocks pressing against you made it nearly impossible. Your limbs felt heavy, your vision swimming as the world began to quiet, the deafening roar of the rockslide fading into an eerie stillness. The pain was overwhelming, but even through the haze, you could feel someone pulling at the stones, hands firm yet careful as they worked to free you.

“Elrond…” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “I am here,” he said, his tone steady but trembling at the edges. “Do not move.” His hands, so skilled and steady, worked with a precision born of centuries of healing as he cleared the debris from your body. The weight was gradually lifted, but the damage had already been done. You could see the flicker of anguish in his eyes as he assessed your injuries, his composure cracking ever so slightly. “You should have let me take the fall,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he crouched beside you. His hands moved over you with practiced care, pressing gently against your ribs, checking for fractures. “This is my fault—I should have seen the signs. I should have—” His voice broke, but he forced himself to focus, his hands glowing faintly with Elvish healing light as he worked to stabilize you. “You’re… too important to lose,” you whispered, your voice weak but firm despite the pain. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

Elrond’s movements stilled for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. The look in his eyes was devastating—an ocean of guilt, gratitude, and something deeper, something he would never allow himself to say aloud. “And what of you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You would trade your life for mine so easily?” You managed a faint, lopsided smile. “Not easily. But it was worth it.” His jaw tightened, and he returned to his work, his hands moving with renewed urgency. “You will not leave me,” he said, the words quiet but filled with an unshakable resolve. “Not like this. I will not allow it.”

You felt the warmth of his healing light spreading through you, dulling the sharp edges of the pain. Still, you could see the strain on his face, the way his usually steady hands trembled slightly as he poured his energy into saving you. It wasn’t just the physical wounds he was trying to heal—there was something breaking inside him, something he couldn’t hide. As the pain began to subside, you reached up weakly, your fingers brushing against his hand. “Elrond,” you murmured. “It’s not your fault.” He looked at you, his expression fierce and unguarded. “Perhaps not,” he said, his voice low and heavy. “But it is my responsibility to protect you—and I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” you replied, your voice barely audible. “You saved me.” He shook his head, his composure faltering further as he cupped your hand in his own. “And you saved me. At too great a cost.” The silence between you was filled with the distant sound of falling stones and the soft rush of wind through the mountains. As Elrond worked tirelessly to tend to your wounds, his touch gentle and his brow furrowed in concentration, you realized that the walls he had so carefully built around himself had cracked—if only for a moment. And in that moment, the weight of his heart was laid bare.

🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

𓇼 Tides of Sacrifice While sailing across a storm-ravaged sea, Círdan, the ancient mariner, is thrown overboard by a violent wave. The reader/you rushes to save him, braving the treacherous waters and risking their own life to pull him back from the brink of death.

The wind roared like a living beast, tearing at the sails and lashing the ship with relentless fury. The sea, dark and churning, rose in great swells that battered the hull as if determined to drag the vessel into its depths. Amid the chaos, Círdan moved across the deck with the sure-footed grace of one who had spent long ages upon the seas, his grey hair whipping wildly in the storm’s fury. Yet even the oldest mariner can be caught off guard when the sea is angry. A sudden, violent lurch of the ship sent crates tumbling, ropes snapping like serpents. Círdan reached for the rail to steady himself, but the slick wood betrayed him. His footing gave way beneath him. For the first time in countless years, his balance failed. Time seemed to slow as his ancient form fell, his outstretched hand just grazing the railing before he vanished overboard into the merciless sea.

The sound of the splash was swallowed almost instantly by the howling storm, yet it echoed in your ears, sharp as a blade. For a moment, panic seized the deck. The crew shouted his name, their voices carried away by the wind, but no sign of him rose from the waves. The great Círdan—ancient, wise, and revered—had been claimed by the raging sea. Without thought, without hesitation, you flung yourself over the side. The shock of the icy water hit you like a thousand knives, stealing your breath and smothering the sounds of the storm. The sea was alive, pulling and twisting around you, trying to drag you into its embrace. Salt stung your eyes as you dove deeper, the world a murky whirl of gray and black, but you forced yourself to focus. Somewhere below, Círdan was sinking into the deep.

At last, through the gloom, you caught a glimpse of him. His silver hair floated around his face like a halo, his limbs weighed down by the heavy robes he wore. He was still conscious, though weakened, his movements sluggish as the current tugged at him. Gritting your teeth, you kicked hard, fighting the pull of the waves until your fingers closed around his arm. He turned his head toward you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something deeper—a silent plea not for himself, but for you. The sea is no place for mortals, and he knew this better than anyone. Yet you did not let go. Bracing yourself against the cold and your screaming lungs, you pulled him upward, stroke by stroke, until at last the surface shattered around you both, and you gasped for air.

The storm raged on, but the ship was there, its lights faint beacons through the downpour. Voices called out as ropes were lowered, hands reaching to haul you back aboard. Círdan, though shivering and pale, was heavier than you imagined, but you held on, your arms trembling as the crew helped drag him to safety. Once both of you were sprawled on the deck, the world seemed to steady itself. The sea still roared, the wind still screamed, but the focus of all eyes was on Círdan and you. You coughed, water spilling from your lungs as you lay gasping, too tired to move. Beside you, Círdan slowly sat up, his movements deliberate, as though the weight of what had just occurred pressed upon him more than the storm or the cold ever could.

His ancient face, lined by centuries of wisdom and sorrow, turned toward you. His grey eyes, deep as the sea itself, met yours, holding you there as if trying to fathom the heart that had risked itself for him. “Why?” he asked softly, his voice carrying through the wind, clear as a bell despite its gentleness. The question was not a rebuke but a quiet wonder, spoken by one who rarely found himself surprised. “Why would you risk your life… for one such as I?”

He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, though not from the cold. His grip found yours, steadying both of you, anchoring the moment between you. Around you, the crew murmured, relieved and awed, but Círdan’s focus never wavered. For a long moment, he simply gazed at you, his expression one of quiet reverence—an emotion so rarely seen from one as composed as he. “Long have I walked this world. Long have I guided others across treacherous waters. But never… never did I imagine one would turn back for me.” His voice caught, and his brow furrowed as though the weight of your action bore down upon him.

You could see it then—the great depths of Círdan’s heart. He had seen empires rise and fall, kin sail West never to return, and endless battles won and lost. Yet now, in this fleeting moment, he looked at you with something like awe, as though he had glimpsed something precious, a light no shadow could touch. “You gave much,” he murmured, his voice steadying as he gathered himself. “More than I deserved, I think, but still you gave it. And for that, I am in your debt.” Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet, and though his body trembled from the cold, his bearing held the dignity of the lord he was. He extended a hand to you, pulling you up beside him.

“Acts of courage such as yours shine brighter than the Silmarils,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I have lived through many storms, and I have seen the strength of many hearts. But yours, today, burns brightest of all.” His hand, steady and warm despite the chill, rested briefly on your shoulder. “Know this,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of an oath. “Whatever path lies before you, you shall not walk it alone. Should you ever call upon me, I will come. For you have given me a gift beyond measure—a life returned, when I had thought all debts long paid.”

Círdan turned then, his face lifted to the dark sky, the rain pouring over him. “The sea has taken much from me,” he murmured, almost to himself, “but it will not take my gratitude. Not now, not ever.” And in that moment, despite the cold, despite the storm, a strange warmth settled within you—a knowledge that even in the vastness of this world, even in its ancient, unyielding tides, your act of courage had changed something. For you had saved not just a life, but a legend. And Círdan would never forget.

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eri-pl · 3 months ago

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A crack origin for Hobbits

Warnings: high levels of crack, Elf-Dwarf relationship, mentions of Sauron.

So my husband asked me how strictly canon is "Hobbits are just Men, but short" and we talked and yes, Hobbits do have some Dwarflike traits but also some Elflike traits��

OK. so, Eregion.

I could go with Celebrimbor, but Maglor is funnier. And he is the only Elf in the Silm said to be married but not any details about it. And Silm was redacted later, I can very well see Maglor marrying someone really inaproppriate in SA and Elrond noting it down as "Maglor was wed."

So, Maglor is taking a break from beach hermiting and visiting his nephew (I don't care the book says "he never came again among the elves" — Elrond wrote the book and I imagine they were on speaking terms and more close than resentful. also, he never officially did, but I imagine it wasn't a big secret in Eregion that he's Maglor. Yes, it freaked the jewelsmiths out.)

And Celebrimbor gets a mysterious visitor and Maglor doesn't like him (and when Maglor agrees with Galadriel, it is something), and Sauron is quite terrified that his plan will go into pieces. So he decides to get rid of Maglor, Maglor's credibility and some of the meddling Dwarves.

Now, in the Legendarium love potions etc don't exist, so I would assume more like "Sauron made them get lost in some mines and confused them with magics, and Maglor falling in love with the Dwarf was a side-effect". Anyway, Maglor falls in love with a Dwarven lady, and she with him (other Dwarves are fine, maybe even survive too). And it's Sauron's fault.

Anyway they marry, and even after their minds clear, they are still in love, because they did build ahealthy-ish relationship in the meantime (let Maglor have some happiness), and, well, they have kids. Who are weird and small and less hairy than Dwarves.

Depending on your preference, it may end with Maglor running away to the beach (especially after learning what happenned to Celebrimbor), or with his wife dying peacefully of old age in his arms or whatever. Or less peacefully but at least they both fight in the war against Sauron.

Anyway the kids are there, and they have marry some Dwarves and their kids are still very similar to the strange mix, and don't look like normal Dwarves, so after a few generations they are their own tribe and leave.

And yes: they are the hobbits.

Cons of this theory:

More tragedy for Maglor and other Elves would laugh at him

Elf-Dwarf relationships.

Hobbits are descendants of a doomed kinslayer (but does that matter?)

Where do Hobbits even go for afterlife??? (New Zealand)

Pros:

More tragedy for Maglor and now we know why he doesn't want to return

Hobbits have an explanation. Also, Hobbits being musical, hard to corrupt, and having a knack for finding treasure has an explanation

Sauron's evil schemming is an important factor in the emergence of the race which later will lead to his downfall. And that's just too good. I almost can ignore the Elf-Dwarf thing for this.

It gives Námo a headache? (I like him, but I also like to make him confused and that's hard XD )

#silm crack #hobbits #maglor #maglor was wed #eregion #sauron #[no not to sauron! sauron was the matchmaker...]#his overscheming as usually bites him #XD #poor jewelsmiths #“are you sure he's just visiting...?”#it's not like they have a silmaril but... you never know #i'm not sure how this works with the timeline but whatever it's crack

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lordgrimwing · 3 months ago

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How Elrond Saw Celebrian

(and fell madly in love)

Elrond sat securely on the bough of a great tree, nestled comfortably in its leaves. He held a fresh raspberry in his hands, juice spread across his sticky face. Yes, he held a single raspberry and it took both his hands to do it, for he was very small. So small, in fact, that on particularly unfortunate days, a strong gust of wind could pick him up and carry him away, leaving him stranded far from the lovely trees and mushrooms he and the other tiny fae critters called home. Blown far away, he spent hours—days even!—bumbling his way through the forest, up and down all the little swells and falls in the rich loam, stopping to bounce on the new mushrooms, until he eventually found his way home. It was a lot of work, being tiny.

Elrond, of course, did not see himself as small. The fae were perfectly sized; the rest of the world, particularly the speaking races that made such hubbub and noise, was just very large. Those big folk weren’t considerate when they came traipsing through the forest with their horses and wagons and pounding feet, so the fae kept their distance and hid at the first sound of them, ducking under mushrooms or inside trees, and muttering and grumbling about how ‘didn’t that just ruin a perfectly wonderful afternoon’ and ‘now all the berries will be gone’.

Most of them did, anyway. He wasn’t quite sure why everyone insisted on griping. He only hid because that’s what everyone else did—and wouldn’t it be so strange if he was the only one out and about? He’d never met one of the big folk himself, but he figured they couldn’t be much worse than that one mouse who climbed into his freshly made mushroom home and insisted on raising a whole litter of babies there with him. The baby mice were quite cute and he’d hold one on his lap until they got too big and ate the mushroom. Even if they were just like those mice, he fancied he’d like to meet one someday, maybe talk to them if he felt very brave.

But there was always time later for ‘someday’, so when the cry came up that big folk were approaching, he joined the mad dash for the closest shelter. Stuffing the raspberry into his mouth, he tumbled from the bough. He bounced off two of the orange mushrooms growing in a spiral around the tree before landing on the ground.

He landed a little harder than he expected. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to estimate things like that and everyone else made it look so easy. Juice dribbled from between his lips, his mouth too full to close and the impact causing most of the fruit’s drupelets to burst. Shaking off the fall, he ran for the nearest unoccupied bell-shaped mushroom cap. His arms pumped furiously as he crossed the distance and he giggled a little with excitement.

He dove under cover. He had just enough time to twist around and peek under the frilly cap, the spore gills tickling his hair, before the big folk came into view. He caught his breath, choking down the berry so he wouldn’t be distracted by the sweet juice as he watched.

Huge horses came first, their hooves thudding into the ground so hard it made his teeth chatter and his head shake as they cleared hundreds of his own steps in just a single, elegant stride. Elves accompanied the horses, some riding and most walking by them, easily keeping pace.

He gasped quietly in excitement, gripping the mushroom with his sticky hands. They stood so unbelievably tall, always graceful despite their height, with long hair pale like artemisia or dark as the inside of a rabbit’s den or bright as solidago in summer. Their voices rang clear and deep, though not nearly so deep as the men or dwarves he’d seen. He thought, if he were brave enough, he might like to sit out on a log or a sun-warmed stone and listen to such voices for hours on end. Of all the big folk, he loved seeing elves the most.

He watched them draw near, the ground vibrating as they came nearer and nearer, closer than they’d ever come before. This was too exciting, and he gave a little dance where he hid.

Two horses passed and on them rode two elf-ladies. One had light hair held back from her face by a band of woven metal. Her eyes twinkled with light, like sunlight in the thousand droplets of dew on the spider’s web in the morning. She rode with a straight back, her head high, and she had an air of awe and might to her, unlike any creature he’d ever seen. A green stone glittered on her chest. When her gaze moved slightly in his direction, he trembled with fear, clutching the mushroom cap tighter and wishing he’d tucked himself away somewhere stronger, like the old woodpecker nest he’d found the other day.

Elrond might have looked away then, thinking tiny and invisible thoughts in hopes that she would not notice him, had he not seen her companion.

She did not ride so tall upon her horse, her back and shoulders loose and relaxed as though sitting atop the massive animal was as natural to her as breathing. Her hair tumbled down her back like running water, yet pale as ice crystals on the sides of the streams in winter. Her face reflected the soft light filtering down through the green leaves of the trees, and her smile glowed brightest of all. The sight of her made him forget his terror of the first.

“My mind is made up, mother. You shall not change it,” she said, and oh how her voice made the birds’ calls and the insects’ songs hollow and tuneless in comparison. Her voice alone might command his heart to beat and his lungs to fill with air. He flopped to the ground, falling out from under the mushroom’s cover, careless of if any elves took note of him, wishing only to see her more clearly, to be slightly closer to her as she passed.

“Your father is awaiting our arrival in Lórien. He will be deeply grieved at your absence after so many years apart,” the Great Lady murmured, her voice deep and rich like heavy loam at the start of a thunderstorm. “He misses you greatly.”

His Lady’s face fell, her mouth curving down and her eyes hooding. It made him ache, filled him with such grief that he desired to cry out for her but still dared not bring open attention upon himself. She breathed deeply and looked up again. “I know, and he will be welcomed in Imladris whenever he wishes to see me—all will be welcomed in Imladris,” she said with conviction that could make the very earth bow to her will and reshape itself to her need.

Her mother’s lips thinned and she said more to her, but he could not hear for they passed on and other elves took their place, murmuring in conversation loud enough to block the only voice he wanted to hear again. His Lady had gone away from his sight and the twisting of life was such that he might never hear her again.

Elrond collapsed against the ground, his face falling into the moist soil. He cared not now what the others might think of him revealing himself when he ought to have stayed safely hidden. He cared not if the elves took note of him and carried him away as a treasure like the storytellers said they might, nor even if some other of the big folk came along and spied him and trod on him or poked at him with pointy sticks. His entire life felt now shaded as by a malicious tree. Whither he went and whence he came, all he did now would be dampened and dulled by Her absence. Even the residue of the berry on his tongue tasted of decay and felt of stream silt. He lay there for some unknown time—what meant time now but the eternity stretching on without Her?

“Elrond,” someone said as they poked at his side, exasperated. “They’re gone. You can stop playing dead.”

He lifted his tear-streaked face to look at the speaker, soil sticking to his wet skin. “Are you sure?” He asked, lower lip trembling and brows wrinkled together. Perhaps the elves would turn and come back. Perhaps the Great Lady forgot something she needed and she would turn the whole company around to retrieve it and he would see his Lady again.

The other crouched, reaching forward to wipe the dirt off his face. “Yes, Elrond,” she sighed. “It’s safe.”

He sat up slowly, sniffling and wiping his nose across his forearm, succeeding only in adding more soil to his face and smearing the snot from his weeping. “Okay.”

She shook her head, her poofy hair possessing the gall to bounce happily. She looked at him, eye-to-eye—how he desired now only to gaze up, up, up at the eyes of his Lady—then looked down at her hands and said, “If you get this scared about the big folk, you can always hide with me.”

He sniffled again and murmured a listless ‘okay’ before crawling back under the mushroom to hide from the static meaninglessness of the muted world around him.

#had some interest in this #enjoy #elrond #celebrian #galardiel #tiny elrond au #tiny elrond #the silmarillion #lotr #grimwing writes #might have posted this before but i couldn't find it

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 2 years ago

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Discovering Elrond is your soulmate would involve...

Elrond x reader. This fic is dedicated to the amazing @montyc.

*****

💑 It is said that soulmates are a gift from Eru, bestowed upon the first Elves who awoke at Cuiviénen so that they might find their match and immediately start populating Middle-Earth. From then on, almost every Elf has one, meant to pair each of them with their intended mate, the one they will -or at least should- be with forever.

💑 An Elf is already paired with their soulmate when they are born, but they can only discover their bond through physical contact. When this happens, a glyph appears on both of their bodies -the same, on the same place on their skin, different from that of every other couple on Arda- which allows them to recognize each other. It can be a handshake, a hug, a kiss, but also an accidental contact or even a slap or a fist to the stomach; the moment the two bodies even just brush against each other, the glyphs materialize... even though it may take a while for an Elf to notice, which can in turn make it more difficult to find its mate, especially if it appeared on a private part of the body.

💑 Soulmates have long been a subject of study for Elves. It is known that glyphs can only appear if the two soulmates' skin touch - not through clothes, or bandages, to say nothing of armor- that they turn black on the skin of an Elf whose soulmate has died, that in rare cases they can bring together three partners instead of two and that the only way to make them disappear is for the carrier to kill their soulmate... but no one has ever known, or written, whether Half-Elves have them or not.

💑 Elrond was first told about soulmates by Maglor -who still had not found his, and secretly suspected he simply did not have one- and Maedhros -whose glyph matched Fingon's- after he had already been parted from his parents, and because of this he never had the opportunity to ask them about it. Elros never had one, but he had chosen to be counted among the Edain and had married a mortal woman, which probably meant he would not have had one in the first place since soulmates are a prerogative of Elves alone.

💑 Even though he is fully immortal, Elrond has started to suspect the same fate of his brother awaits him, since technically he was not born an Elf but instead chose to be counted among them. Most Elves meet their match early in life, not rarely even before reaching adulthood and seldom, conversely, after their second or third century of existence - a threshold he has long left behind him.

💑 That does not necessarily mean anything, let alone that he is doomed to a loveless existence, and to remain alone and unhappy for the rest of his days. Not all pairs of soulmates find happiness -some die, or are otherwise separated from their partners, or are simply too different in spirit or character to make a good match, despite having been paired by Eru Himself- which means, consequently, that is also possible to find love without having one.

💑 Maybe somewhere there is an Elf destined to never carrry a glyph, because their intended partner is Elrond, a Half-Elf - which will make it infinitely more challenging for them to find each other, but still; maybe one day he will fall in love with one of the race of Men, like his brother did, and have a happy, loving, fulfilling relationship... doomed to end soon, since his partner will die and he will not. Or maybe he will find love, just not romantic love, and he will live the rest of his life surrounded by friends, finding fulfillment in his duties at court and other interests, and while he will never marry, or raise a family, that does not mean he will never feel happy, and at peace...

💑 Years pass. Decades pass. And then, just when his already meager hopes have started fading altogether and the mere sight of a couple walking arm in arm fills his heart with melancholic solitude, he meets you. Actually, the two of you already know each other; you are one of the many warriors at the service of the King, and you could not help meeting Elrond, who is his herald. You are not exactly friends, more good acquaintances, but you have a good opinion of each other: you never treated him differently because of his Half-Elven nature, and you admire his intelligence, kindness, even in the face of his detractors, and readiness to help whoever needs it, while he appreciates your bravery, already tested in many battles, and loyalty to the King, as well as the fact that you are one of the few warriors at court who never gets involved in brawls and is capable of, and even inclined to, solve their problems with words and not with their sword.

💑 He once during a ball invited you to dance, since you were the only lady left sitting (!) and you declined, since you were not his responsability, and the two of you then spent two hours happily chatting, sitting side by side. In an occasion you helped him carry a heavy heap of books he needed to write a speech for the King; a few weeks later he found your favourite dagger where you had lost it in the gardens, and brought it back to you. You think he is very handsome, especially when he smiles. He thinks you are lovely, especially when you wear that cape that makes the colour of your eyes stand out.

💑 You think well and like each other - at a distance, well enough to exchange a nod and a smile when your paths cross and to greet each other and make small talk during social occasions. But would you have ever expected to find out Elrond is your soulmate, or he, you? No, not even in a million years. Ad yet, this is exactly what happens.

💑 An ally of the kingdom has asked for help in the face of an invading army, and Gil-Galad has answered calling for a thousand soldiers to lead to war. You were, obviously, one of the first to volunteer, but you were surprised to learn Elrond would also join the expedition, not taking care of the wounded even though you knew he is a capable healer, but taking part in the fight together with the other warriors.

💑 "I am our lord's herald after all; it is my duty to be by his side, in war as well as in peace." he points out one day when you meet in the armory and you see him choosing a blade to bring to the front; he smiles "Are you surprised? I may not be as experienced a warrior as you are, but I have been trained, and I like to think I have some skills with a blade." You apologize for having underestimated him, and admit you have no reason to think he cannot fight only because the only talents of his you were aware of are of a more peaceful nature.

💑 "Maybe we will see each other on the battlefield, (name)?" "I doubt; I will be part of the third company, which means I will be fighting from the rear." you admit ruefully; this is due to strategic decisions, not to your battle talent or lack thereof, and you do not doubt you will see as much of the battle as any other soldier, but it would have been more honourable for a warrior to fight from, and be part of, the forefront, where the King himself will be leading the troops "But I wish you good luck, Elrond, truly; may we both survive unscathed, or otherwise may we nurse our wounds side by side." This is a common wish warriors exchange before battle; Elrond seems touched, and smiles to you -he has a very beautiful smile, you cannot helo but notice- before returning the sentiment.

💑 In the end, you do meet on the battlefield, even though at first you do not realize. As usual, the complex and attentive disposal of the troops planned by the King has dissolved into chaos, and warriors of different companies, including the riders forced to dismount after their horses had been killed, fight side by side, awkwardly attempting to follow some kind of strategy but reducing themselves to simply go on, stay alive, and kill as many foes as they can; including you. Three warriors wearing the colors of the enemy seem to spring out every time you best one, you have no idea where the comrades of your troop are -dead? Wounded and unconscious? Or simply pushed to the other side of the battlefield?- and moreover a strong wind has begun to blow, rising a veritable dust storm and making it even harder to distinguish who is in front of you, apart from the colour of their armor...

💑 It is then that you see him. Elrond has just vanquished two enemies, but he paid an heavy price for it; kneeling on the ground, propped on his blood-stained sword and his arm also shedding scarlet drops, he fights to breathe, aware that still and genuflect as he is he offers an easy target to any enemy, but he cannot help it, he just needs a moment... A moment to rest...

💑 That moment is almost too much, since an enemy soldier approaches and raises a sword against him; Elrond instinctively does the same to defend himself, already aware that it is too late, but another soldier intervenes, vanquishing the enemy in a few elegant blows. That soldier is you, who were nearby, saw a comrade about to be attacked and intervened to defend him.

💑 You cannot see his face, because of the helm he is wearing; he cannot see yours, because of the dust and the blood caking it. But he knows you are smiling, with your dirty armour and torn cape, as you offer him your hand, and take his and help him raise. "Brave heart, friend." you encourage him "This is not the day we are going to die."

💑 A moment later you lose him; and then the battle is won, and there are wounded to treat -Lindon's, your allies', and your enemies equally- and it is a whole day and a night later that you are back home, and you are free to disrobe and take a bath, and it is then that you notice something on your hip, under a tiny mole you had since you were born, close but untouched by an old battle wound. It is a glyph, small but clear against the colour of your skin.

💑 You have met your soulmate.

💑 You are sure the person responsible for it is the Elf whose life you saved and who you helped on his feet during the battle; the glyph was not there when you left for the battlefield, and while you might have touched other soldiers on that very day -passing the weapons along, helping the wounded on the back of their horses... not to mention the enemy warrior who, lost their weapon but determined to best you, attempted to throttle you with their bare hands- he is the only one you remember whose skin actually pressed against yours, without the barrier of clothes or armor... and more than anything else, you feel it. You are sure of it, just like you are sure of your name, with that simple, instinctive and chaste touch you awoke a bond that had laid dormant ever since the two of you were born, waiting.

💑 You still cannot believe it; you have never felt so excited, and at the same time more nervous and uncertain than now. Love and relationships, let alone marriage, are of little interest for many warriors, more attached to their weapons than to a spouse -"Do you know why a dagger is better than a wife? They can both procure me lunch, but my dagger does not expect a gift on its nameday." is a particularly popular, albeit tasteless, saying- but it has always been different for you, ever since you were a child and you listened to the story of the first encounter of your parents, whose first physical contact happened when your mother, a healer, gave the kiss of life to your father, who had accidentally fallen in a lake and almost drown. You never thought that devoting your life to arms meant renouncing love and family, and in the privacy of your heart you had always hoped you would one day meet your other half, the partner Eru had created for you...

💑 And finally it has happened!... even though you have no idea who he is, you reflect as you lie in the tub full of hot water, brushing your fingers against the glyph on your hip and wishing it were instead a name, perfectly readable, in the runes you have been taught when you were a child. You are sure the Elf you met during the battle is a male and, given the fact he wore the same armour as you, a subject of Lindon and not of the kingdom Gil-Galad had gone to the aid of, but beyond that, you know absolutely nothing about him! He might reside at court like you, or -more probably, since you know all the warriors who serve on the King's personal guard and are almost sure you must have touched each of them at some point- conversely he might live in one of the many villages in Lindon whose soldiers answered the call, some of which lie many days ride from the palace. He could be anywhere, and you have no way to find out who he is unless you begin scouring the whole kindom and asking to meet every single soldier who was there!

💑 Is this really it?, you wonder as you cross swords in the courtyard with the other warriors or enjoy a goblet of wine at the balcony of your room, admiring the sunset; you have met your soulmate, and then you have lost him, less than a minute later, and now you are doomed to spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been had you had the chance to talk or to realize sooner what had happened? What sort of cruel joke is this? Is he also thinking about you? Has he realized his soulmate is the warrior who helped him during the battle? Is he happy about it? Is he also looking for you, even though you are almost sure in the state you were then, not even your mother could have recognized you? Or maybe he is happy, even relieved, because he is satisfied with his life as it already is, and has no interest in meeting you and discovering whether you are actually made for each other?

💑 Maybe he already has a partner. It is rare, but not unheard of, and it is known of people who found love and happiness after they lost their soulmate, whatever the reason, or even who rejected the bond to be with someone they had already met or simply because they were not happy with the person they were meant to be with. Having a soulmate does not authomatically translate to marital bliss, and not finding yours does not mean you have lost your only chance at love and happiness, but still...

💑 Still, it saddens you, and even if you do not expect to fall desperately in love as soon as you are face to face, nor to have him kneel and ask for your hand just after exchanging names, you wish you could meet him, even just once, or at least know his name...

💑 In those days you spend so deep in your thoughts you barely notice what is happening around you, you meet Elrond - once, in the library, where you have gone to fetch a book for your mother. As usual, you exchange greetings, and a smile; you are happy to see he survived the battle unscathed or almost, and he is kind enough to help you find the book you are looking for, since he knows the library like the palm of his hand. You do not reflect on the fact that since he was also on the battlefield that day and you do not remember ever touching him before, he could very well be the person you are looking for; and yet, he is.

💑 Just like you did, Elrond discovered his glyph after the battle; he had finished taking care of the wounded, he took off his tunic to bandage his arm... and then he noticed the glyph, peeking above the waistband of his trousers. Just like you, he realized the physical contact had to have happened during the battle, and the culprit was doubtlessly the warrior who had saved him during the few minutes he had spent alone, having gotten separated from the King. Just like you, he has absolutely no idea who that person is -he does not even know whether they are a male or a female, since he appreciates the company of both genders- and, as a consequence, how to find them.

💑 He should feel disheartened, even hopeless, but instead his heart is so full of excitation and enthusiasm, he can barely stay still; so what if he has to search through the whole kingdom to look for the partner Eru has chosen for him? So what if he knows absolutely nothing about them, including whether they are interested in a courtship... or already in one, or even married? He will find his soulmate, and ask for a possibility to turn that bond that had been chosen for them in a committed, voluntary relationship. And whatever happens from then on, he knows already he will not regret it.

💑 He is in luck, because he has to reflect on the best course of action only for a few days before the perfect idea hits him. Gil-Galad has decided to host a festival to celebrate the recent victory, and all the warriors who took part in the battle will be invited. Even though he is already so busy with his duties, and the task could easily be entrusted to the courts' scribes, Elrond volunteers to oversee the writing and the sending of the invitations, which he does, having them signed with his name... and with the glyph at the top of each sheet of parchment, as if it were a monogram. Soulmates glyphs are very diverse, with so many existing across all elvendom, and no one will realize what it actually is, except the soldier who carries its match on their body, and who will know that the person who drew it is Elrond! Then it will be up to the other person to act, revealing themselves or choosing not to, but still, he reflects as he sits at one of the desks in the library to begin copy the same short message over and over again, it is better than doing nothing and hope for a miracle.

💑 The next day, you are back at the library, returning the book your mother finished reading; you are in a horrible mood, since one of your dearest friends has just announced their engagement to their soulmate, who they easily found since their glyph had appeared on the back of their left hand. You are happy for your friend, but seeing them so happy and fulfilled with their soulmate has made you feel even more alone and frustrated, dejected in your desire to find your partner. You will have a few days of leave in a month, but they will not be enough to visit every village and town in the kingdom, not even a whole year would be; is your search really hopeless, doomed to fail even before you actually undertake it?

💑 You return the book to one of the librarians, and on your way out you pass next to the desk of one of the scribes, busy copying the invitations for the festival; they are an acquaintance of yours, so you stop to chat for a brief moment... and your eye is caught by the sheets of parchment on the desk - specifically, by the intricate symbol at the top of each of them.

💑 "(name)? Is something the matter?" the scribe asks, seeing you go pale in the face. You force yourself to nod and "What is this?" you ask, taking one of the sheets and pointing to the symbol; you cannot be mistaken, it is exactly the glyph that you are by now used to carry on your skin, proof of a bond you are intimately sure you will never have the chance to experience "Did you draw it? Did you... see it somewhere?" The scribe explains that they and their colleagues were specifically told to copy that symbol on each of the invitations for the festival, even though they have no idea what it means; it is probably just a seal that their overseer uses in his personal correspondence.

💑 He. "And... your overseer is...?", you ask, your heart in your throat. "It is Elrond, the King's herald. He offered to oversee the writing of the invitations himself; he insisted on signing each of them, and asked us to add that symbol on the top of each sheet, and made sure we could copy it properly. I really do not know why; he is the least self-important person I know. He was here until five minutes ago, but I think he was called to the gardens by the King... (name), wait! Where are you going? Give it back, please, I need to make eighty more copies already..."

💑 You barely listen to them as you run out of the library as if you had a balrog on your tail, clutching a copy of the invitation, with the glyph on top and Elrond's signature at the bottom, your heart beating so fast in your chest it hurts.

💑 Elrond. You felt discouraged thinking your soulmate might live at the other side of the kingdom, and instead, his rooms are less than thirty fathoms from yours! It is true that he is not formally part of the kingdom's army, but how could you not even consider him as you mentally listed all the male Elves you knew who had taken part in the battle but you had never touched until then? You spoke to him two days before leaving for the front!

💑 You keep calling yourself an idiot until you finally reach the gardens, where the King likes to spend some time when the weather is good. Sure enough, you soon spot Elrond, talking to Gil-Galad as the two unhurriedly walk next to a line of beautiful rose brushes, the fruit -or rather the flower?- of the efforts of the palace's gardeners. You wait anxiously for a while, hoping the King will soon dismiss his herald and at the same time fearing the moment you will be face to face with him. You have no need to talk to him to make sure of what you already know for sure in your heart; Elrond had the scribes add the glyph to each of the invitations together with his signature to let every single warrior in the kingdom, including his soulmate, know he was looking for them. A clever stratagem, but superfluous all the same, and there is no need to send those invitations, because you are there already, you are his soulmate, and he is yours, and the thought to face him, even though you have known each other for decades, makes your legs tremble...

💑 What will he think when he discovers you are his soulmate? Will he be happy, surprised, or disappointed? Will he think you are too different in character and personality to get along as more than acquaintances? Whatever it is going to be, you will find out now, because Elrond has been dismissed by the King, and is now walking away to return to the palace... which brings him face to face with you, silently standing next to a bench.

💑 "Good afternoon, (name), how are you?" he pleasantly greets you, but the friendly smile on his face quickly disappears as he realizes how upset you look... and then he sees you wordlessly unfold the sheet of parchment in your hands. He stops when he is a step away from you; for a whole minute neither of you utters a word.

💑 "It is you." "Yes. It is me." you needlessly confirm, and the emotion filling your heart is finally close to overflow. You are not magically falling in love with him in the space of a second, like some swear happens to couples who become aware of their bond or meet for the first time, but you look at Elrond, and maybe you are just letting yourself get carried away, but you feel as if you were finally able to breathe after having held your breath for so long, or if you finally met someone you had missed without even knowing of their existence. You feel ready to cry, but you are happy; half of you wants to run away, as far and fast as you can, and the other wants to experience that moment to the fullest, like a goblet of fine wine... or a kiss.

💑 In the end you do cry, which is something you have always hated to do in front of other people, but Elrond does not seem inclined to judge you, especially because he seems as moved as you are; spontaneously, without any embarrassment, you embrace each other, Elrond's arms holding you by the waist as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. You both weep, and hold each other, experiencing that moment which is overwhelming in its sweetness, joyous and terryfing at the same time.

💑 "I must first of all thank you for saving my life." Elrond says in the end; he quietly proposed to talk as you walked in the gardens, an offer you happily accepted "Were it not for you, I would not be here now." "Which makes me even happier to have been there when you needed me; there is no need for thanks." you sincerely answer "So... we are soulmates. Is it... strange, for you?"

💑 Elrond admits it was unexpected, but not because, he quickly adds, he finds the idea of the two of you together absurd; he is... flattered, actually, and happy. He thinks you are beautiful, and there are so many things he likes about you... and he hopes you are not disappointed either, finding out he is your match. "Absolutely not; I think you are very handsome, and I have always thought highly of you." you quickly reassure him; normally you would not have been able to compliment someone so brazenly without blushing furiously, but Elrond is different... you feel at ease next to him, as if you were old friends and not just good acquaintances. It is nice; it is beautiful, and he is as well, with his sweet smile and his luminous and expressive eyes "I was just... afraid. And I still am, to be honest. Elrond... you are an herald, I am a warrior; I have dedicated my life to martial arts and the defense of my kingdom, while you are a cultured Elf, a diplomat, a scholar. Do you think we can... get along, even though we are as different as day and night?"

💑 It is painful to express your fear, especially while you are enjoying Elrond's company more than you have ever done, but you want him to know, because you feel -and what an unpleasant sensation it is!- that if you discover you have too little in common to work as a couple after you have spent time together and you had the opportunity to develop an affection to him, it will break your heart; it that is destined to happen, it is best to break things immediately.

💑 Elrond does not dismiss your fears, nor does he tries to reassure you as if you were a child, which you appreciate; he reflects for a while as you walk, alone for the first time in your lives as the sun bathes the garden in the golden light of the midmorning. "No one can foresee what the future holds for us, especially when feelings are concerned; it does not matter how carefully we make plans, I doubt it might help us avoid future complications or disagreements." he softly points out in the end "And being similar in temperament, occupation or interests does not necessarily ensure harmony. If anything, I wager I would find it incredibly boring to live side by side with someone who thinks, feels and acts exactly as I do; we would have nothing to learn from each other, and it would be equal to spend time by ourselves."

💑 "I think the same." "Ah, not a good start." Elrond states, making you laugh. "But you are right. I do not want to think we have so little in common we cannot even find something to talk about or to do together, and that does not mean we could not fall... develop feelings from each other, does it? My parents have different opinions and tastes about many things, but they learnt to love that about each other, and to make their differences balance them out. I just... I never though I would be able to do the same, and not for lack of will; or that I would find someone ready to do it for me."

💑 Elrond keeps silent for a moment; then he stops, and he turns, and he gently offers you his hand to take, and when you do you feel your eyes filling with tears again, but the feeling is much clearer and more definite than the one that wracked your heart a few minutes ago: a sweet, comforting joy, the certainty to be safe, and that whatever danger or problem you will meet, you will not have to face it alone.

💑 "I am sorry, maybe I am being too... too forward." you stammer, intimidated by his gaze, so deep, piercing and wise; you have never cowed in fear on the battlefield, but being close to Elrond makes you feel... small, vulnerable, as if your emotions were as visible as the words on the pages of a book. You must admit, it is quite pleasant "And we should get to know each other before discussing about the future..." "No." Elrond quickly stops you; he moves to face you once more, and he takes your hand in both of his; you can feel the warmth and the generous, comforting light emanating from his person, and this is when you start loving him, even though just platonically - for now "(name), I... I do not know what will happen in the future, but one thing I am sure of: you are brave, loyal, generous... Any Elf, any creature in Arda would be blessed to earn your love, and if that Elf ended up being... me... well, I do not think I would ever want for anything else."

💑 "I do not deserve all of this, Elrond." you answer in a whisper; you are forced to, because the emotion has choked your voice, and there is so little you know about him, but suddenly you know that whatever you may discover in the future, the good and even the bad, will be marvelous "I... I do not know if I will ever fall in love with you, this is not something you can force..."

💑 He reassures you, saying that since fortunately no law forces two soulmates to marry or even to begin courting, you can do things in your own time, learn to know each other and unhurriedly decide whether to part and never speak again, remain friends... or else. You can begin by spending some time together... maybe with a ride, that night? And then dinner? You think it is a splendid idea, and happily agree, and a beautiful, relieved smile appears on Elrond's mouth.

💑 You need both to return to your duties, but just as you are about to say goodbye to each other, Elrond's expression turns serious. "I know it goes against everything we just agreed, but there is something important you must know, even before we decide if we can be friends." he explains, so serious it scares you; what terrible secret is he about to reveal? "I am a Half-Elf. I am immortal, as you are, but that means that if I ever have children, they will also have to make a choice, and..."

💑 "I understand. And... I am fine with it." you reassure him; the idea to see your children pass away, even now that their very existance is only a remote possibility, is a terrible prospect, but you do not want to let fear decide for you "We agreed to do things in our own time, so... I think I should also leave my children the freedom to live their life as they want, whatever the consequences. Do you wish for children, Elrond?" "I think I do. Some day." he answers, and you both smile, as you unknowingly try to imagine what a child born from the two of you would look like. It would be nice, you think, if they inherited Elrond's smile, and his warm eyes. You feel happy, and hopeful, and excited, and all thanks to the handsome, kind Elf in front of you. "Then... until tonight, Elrond."

💑 "Until tonight, (name)." he answers; he takes your hand once more, and when his lips brush against the back, you feel a jolt of warmth spread through your body. Your gaze meets Elrond's, his smile revealing how aware he is of the effect he has on you "I look forward to it."

TAGGING @starlady66 and @elvenenby .

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elrond #Elrond Peredhel #Herald Elrond #Elrond x reader #Robert Aramayo #Bellona's stuff #100 notes

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southfarthing · 2 years ago

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I've been having thoughts on the similarities between Elrond and Faramir for a while, and I finally tried to write my thoughts in some very vaguely coherent manner!!! I wrote this for an instagram post with the prompt 'kings', so I touch on that too - didn't want to take it out. but yeah enjoy!

Elrond

Elrond and Elros are the last descendants of the Kings of the Noldor and the Sindar (two of the three groups of elves), as well as of several lords of men. But while Elros chooses to be a man and becomes the first King of Númenor, Elrond chooses to remain an elf, and does not claim kingship.

It is said that ‘The hands of the king are the hands of a healer’: Aragorn, when he enters Minas Tirith to heal Faramir, Eowyn and Merry, says, ‘Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race, and has the greater power.’

While Turgon builds Gondolin as a hidden fortress that locks good in, Elrond builds the Last Homely House as a welcoming haven that keeps evil out. While Thingol’s kingdom falls apart because of his greed and his feud with dwarves, Elrond gladly lets them stay in Rivendell and does not lay claim on Glamdring, the sword that belonged to Turgon his ancestor.

Faramir

Faramir is the rightful Steward of Gondor after the deaths of his father and brother. At this point, the return of the King is a distant dream for the reality of most Gondorians: Faramir is the hope of Gondor.

Here was one with an air of high nobility such as Aragorn at times revealed, less high perhaps, yet also less incalculable and remote: one of the Kings of Men born into a later time, but touched with the wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race. He knew now why Beregond spoke his name with love. He was a captain that men would follow, that he would follow, even under the shadow of the black wings. - Pippin's first impression of Faramir when all of Minas Tirith is cheering as Faramir returns to the city <3

Faramir & Elrond

Both:

Have lost a brother who was more the tereotypical king/warrior-type, while they themselves are more the scholar-type.

Are less eager yet longer serving and successful leaders of their people.

Fight and lead armies, but don’t thirst for battle.

Elrond has foresight; Faramir sees the prophetic dream that should have sent him to Rivendell instead of Boromir (and seems to be the higher powers’ first choice, as he sees it numerous times before Boromir does).

Elrond establishes Rivendell as a place of refuge and healing; Faramir hopes to have a garden in Ithilien after the war.

Elrond serves as Gil-galad's herald; Faramir serves as steward to Aragorn's kingdom.

Both have been said to have a wise, wizardly air:

He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves and as kind as summer.

‘Ah well, sir,’ said Sam, ‘you said my master had an Elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of – well, Gandalf, of wizards.’

to conclude:

no brain but i just think elrond and faramir should be best friends. and gandalf can hang out with them too. they should sit in the minas tirith archives and elrond can tell stories of numenor and faramir can listen with tears in his eyes yeah you get it <3

also I drew elrond's colour-coded family tree FROM SCRATCH for literally no reason so adding it under the cut because damn that took a while

#?????????????????????????? no thought only blorbo #faramir #elrond #lotr #silmarillion #mp

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raointean · 2 years ago

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@all-of-arda-is-autistic

I didn't use any particular prompt for this one, but it's mostly about nice sensory input and water.

Fun fact! While scientists (to the best of my knowledge) still don't know what CAUSES autism, they generally agree that there's a genetic component. So, if you are autistic, your child has a higher chance of being autistic too!

"Nana, Nana!" Elwing attempted to bat away the tiny things pushing her towards wakefulness, but they persisted. She had been having a wonderful dream about floating on the ocean, blissfully alone.

"Nana!" At last, she awoke enough to recognize the voice of her tiny son… and his frantic tone. She shot up from her cot and immediately had to grab onto its sides so as not to be thrown to the floor. Rain drummed on the wooden roof and the whole house was... swaying? Oh. Sirion must have flooded again. It seemed that her dream had not been entirely fabricated after all.

The water had clearly already risen beyond the two foot allowance the chains that attached her house to the ground gave. Water was welling up through the floorboards. Her cot was still well above the water level, as was Elrond’s cradle, but Elros's pallet was soaked through. That was probably what had woken him, she determined.

Elwing cursed herself for falling asleep. She had known it was going to storm, but Elrond had been so fussy of late. Elrond, it seemed must have sensed the storm and decided to sleep for once, leaving Elwing unable to stay awake.

Still half asleep, she pointed Elros towards the ladder on the wall. "Go. Up." she grunted.

Elros scurried to do as he was told and Elwing rolled out of bed. She winced as her bare feet met the freezing water. Was she going to have to replace the floorboards again? She hoped not.

She made her way to Elrond’s cradle. He was sleeping peacefully and Elwing was loath to wake him, but wake him she must. She lifted him from the cradle and he started fussing immediately but curiously, he stopped after only a few moments. It was likely due to the storm, Elwing reasoned. That child loved rain and waves more than anything in the world.

She held him close as Elros climbed into the rafters, grateful that he was aging so much faster than his brother. She didn't know why they aged so strangely; she and Eärendil had aged at a pace between men and elves. Her children, however, had seemingly picked a race and mimicked them. They were both four years old and Elros was walking, talking, and beginning to learn his letters. Elrond, on the other hand, was still learning to stand.

At last, Elros reached the rafters and began lowering a bucket. It was wide enough for Elrond to lie down in, but tall enough so he could not flip it over or fall out during the night. When it reached the ground, floating on the now ankle-deep water, she placed her son into it. Grabbing the other end of the rope, Elwing pulled it up, up, up, until it swung just below the rafters. Above her, Elrond squealed in delight.

As soon as he was big enough, she needed to introduce that boy to a swing. She smiled to herself as she tied off the rope, envisioning it. Elros would push him, of course, and Elrond would fill the entire town with his giggles. She wondered if he would hold on to the ropes too tightly, or if he would flap his hands as she herself often did when she became excited.

The water began lapping at her nightdress and she shook herself out of her thoughts. Yes, the floorboards would certainly need to be replaced. Elwing sighed and hauled herself up to the rafters where Elros was crouching over the bucket, playing with his brother.

She scooped him up and laid down in the hammock she had hung after the first time it stormed. Elros squirmed in her arms for a while, but the adrenaline began to wear off and he dropped into a deep sleep.

Elwing began to feel more and more tired herself. The rocking of the waves, the rush of the wind, the drum of the rain, the darkness of the house; all wrapped her in a sweet cocoon of peaceful bliss. It didn't take her long to drop off to sleep.

#all-of-arda-is-autistic #elwing #elrond #elros #havens of sirion #storm tides #flood #peredhel aging is weird #autism spectrum disorder #sensory input (the good kind)

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evelynstarshine · 2 years ago

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the one hesitancy I have about Aragorn being drawn as dark skinned is, Numenoreans are EXPLICITLY colonisers, the text criticises them for their turning from trade and friendship into conquest and colonialism. After Gondor is established, they fall into a CIVIL WAR OVER RACE PURITY, with the good guys being the Rohirrim who are still white. Their king succumbing to the corruption of the ring causes the whole problem in the first place! The Numenoreans are not good people, Aragorn is good people not because of birth but because he does the work, spends decades doing good work to fulfill a prophecy because Elrond said he had to become a truely good person to do that, and won't let him get married until he does. Aragorn being black, on the surface, Cool! He looks cool in the MtG art. But like, the implications? The fallen race of men who despite being given Utopia still fell to greed and hate who set up colonies, loved war and declared war on actual literal heaven, and who even when only the good survived, their descendants still set up a caste system that lead to the slow decline of their kingdom and eventual civil war with the bad guys being blood purists and the good guys the lets marry into Rohirrim

just, kinda doesn't work? especially when it clearly means nothing given Sam, who is cannonically brown in the books, is white in the cards anyway but the character with the implications and ancestral guilt, he gets to be black? idk

#MtG #lotr #lotr mtg

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verya-gweinagar · 5 days ago

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The Endless Ache

CHAPTER FIVE: THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF ALL THINGS

Chapter Rating: SFW

Boromir, conflicted on his decision, walked slowly to the five that stood together now. His mind guided his feet toward them, toward the journey and away from all he knew, but his heart held him back, crying for his legs to cease moving.

“You carry the fates of us all, little one.” He used a term he used for his children, unintentionally of course, but it seemed fitting for this young innocent Hobbit agreeing to this treacherous task. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

Master List | Chapter Six

Boromir set off on the long journey to Rivendell, some hundred days' ride ahead of him. He passed through mountains, camped under evergreen canopies, and drank from streams and rivers along the way. Each night he’d fiddle with the wooden sword from his son and gaze at the tiny doll from Giluen, its shell button eyes glimmering in the firelight.

His mind would trail off to visions of his Sedryneth, her belly growing while he was away. He missed them as he usually did when sent on conquests with his men, though this time his heart ached for his family a bit more.

At last, Boromir crossed the bridge of the Bruinen River into the Elven realm of Rivendell. He felt as though his eyes were deceiving him as he took in the sight before him. Glittering water falls, golden trees, elegant architecture with winding details and ornate shapes. He had never been to an Elven realm before, he had always imagined what they may look like, hearing the noblemen his father held business with discussing things as such when he was a boy. But he never imagined they would be this magnificent.

His horse trotted through the gateway, Boromir’s eyes seldom looking down and foreword, far too busy taking in the glorious sight around him, the trees shining in the sun as it hit them, the wind singing through their branches. This was a realm thriving with magic and sorcery.

He was greeted by a tall thin Elf with long sleek hair. Boromir handed the reins off to him, his slender hands taking the worn leather strips from him as he removed his things. Another Elf welcomed him and led him to where he would be staying while on this errand.

The room was grand, not in size but in design. The headboard of the bed was an intricately carved Elven maiden, her arms extended as if casting protection over the sleeper, a silk cloth was draped around her smooth limbs. The bed looked as if it were a cloud, luxurious sheets and pillows calling to Boromir’s tired body, aching from sleeping on nothing but his bedroll on the solid earth for over a hundred days. But he couldn’t rest now, he had to meet this Lord Elrond, the one who called this errand of his father.

He washed his travels off of himself and changed into fresher clothing before leaving his extravagant room. The halls lead to winding stairs, voices murmured below as Boromir descended. Before him were a few men, Dwarves, and three striking Elves with blonde tresses, quite the contrast to those in Rivendell, all separated by race and speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Boromir, having recognized some of the men, walked to them anticipating to join their conversation when an Elf — one he could only assume was Lord Elrond — entered the room they had gathered in. “My friends, it is with great pleasure to welcome you to Rivendell, though the circumstances of our meeting may not be of the same regard. Please, enjoy a feast on my behalf. The finest of the realm has been prepared for the occasion. Enjoy yourselves, rest, for tomorrow comes great stress as we join in Council.” He gestured with open arms as he welcomed the weary travelers, Men, Elves, and Dwarves alike, his golden robes draped to the ground and wavered in the breeze. Without much hesitation, the Dwarvish company took their leave to the dining hall, grumbling and muttering to themselves in their mother tongue. The Men followed shortly behind, as did Boromir, though undetected by the others, and the Elves followed gracefully, speaking in Sindarin and laughing to themselves about something one had said.

The hall was splendid, golden by the light of the fires and setting sun shining through the trees. The table was full of fragrant foods, fruits and vegetables on glamorous platters, cheeses sliced neatly and splayed beautifully, roasts steaming and garnished.

The Dwarves hadn’t waited for the others to grab their plates before they began filling theirs with the Elvish feast. This again made the Elves laugh to themselves, another elegant statement was made amongst them, signaling to Boromir they must have been speaking of the Dwarves previously when he overheard them snickering.

Boromir ate, making small talk here and there with the other men, and attempting to find a place on the side of their good graces, but his attempts were seemingly unsuccessful. Instead of indulging in more failed conversations, he decided to indulge in the drinking of Elven wine, savoring the flavorful drink as he knew not the next time he would be fortunate enough to enjoy it after he returns home from this errand.

When the night shaded the realm, Boromir retired to his room, though restless as he lay there in the plush bed. The silence made him unsettled. At home, he would hear his children speaking in their room, he’d listen to his wife’s breathing beside him, or press an ear to her stomach and hear their unborn child’s movements. On his journey he listened to the wind, the river currents, croaking frogs and chirping insects lulled him to sleep.

He decided to explore Elrond’s palace then, tire himself out by walking through the grounds. Besides, he promised his children he would come home with grand stories of their da’s time with the Elves. No better time to gather tidbits while walking around.

He moved quietly through the halls, his stride illuminated by lights on each pillar he passed. Boromir entered what appeared to be a library of sorts, or a museum, with carefully curated items of Elven historical and cultural importance on display. It was dimly lit by the moon as its rays cascaded through the open roof. He climbed the stairs, reaching a loft-like area overlooking the ground floor of the museum. The walls were decorated with elaborate scenes of events throughout Middle Earth’s history, events the Elves were present for. Some depicted a figure that resembled that of Lord Elrond, and Boromir understood that though he may look to be only a few years his senior, Elrond was ancient. He landed on a mural, darker and heroic, depicting a man in ancient Gondorian armor and a shining sword in his hand, raising it defensively at his foe before him, Sauron.

Boromir stood in contemplation, his eyes gliding over the image, Sauron’s blackened helmet striking a chill through his body as he looked onto it. It is then he sensed he was not alone, as if someone were watching him. He turned and found a figure seated not far from him, reading an Elvish text. He moved forward to get a better look at who it was spying on him. He furrowed his brows when he gathered the race of his spy, so sure prior who he was seeing but his eyes had deceived him. “You are no Elf.” He spoke almost accusedly. The man nodded at him and paused before answering. “The men of the South are welcome here.” “Who are you?” Boromir pried, curious as he had no recollection of this man. Unlike the other men invited to this Council, his father had no dealings with this one. “I am a friend to Gandalf the Grey.” The man answered him steadily, unnerved by his pressing. Boromir eased a bit, satisfied with the response and nodded. “Then we are here on common purpose…friend.”

The man looked to Boromir cautiously, seeming a bit curious of him now. Boromir could sense the unease. Awkwardly he moved toward a display nearby. It was a beautiful display, a stone figure of an Elven warrior held a shield with a blue silken cloth draped upon it. “The shards of Narsil.” Boromir spoke quietly, but loud enough for the man in his company to hear. Not thinking twice, he reached for the shattered hilt and gripped it in his hands, examining the weight before running his finger along the jagged blade. “The blade that cut the ring from Sauron’s hand.” His finger reached the pointed edge, cutting his skin slightly. “Still sharp…” He whispered now, almost to himself, and looked to his left, embarrassed to see the man still watching him from where he sat. His eyes looked furiously at Boromir as he wielded the broken blade. Boromir swallowed harshly, blinking away the uncomfortable air between the two men. “But no more than a broken heirloom.” He spoke with a slightly harsher tone now and dropped the blade onto the shield before turning away, only for it to clatter to the floor.

He stopped for a moment, contemplating if he should turn back and pick the blade up and return it to its place, but decided that he would retain whatever honor he had left after his disrespectful display and continued on his way. He wanted to get as much distance between himself and that man as he could. Their entire encounter had filled him with unease, more than just regret from his unintended disrespect and embarrassment. There was something more, something between them that swelled within him.

While he made his way down the stairs, he heard an Elf maiden’s voice speaking to the man in Sindarin, and to Boromir’s surprise the man replied in her language, this only added to the mysterious quality of this individual in Boromir’s eyes.

As Boromir furthered himself away from the blade and the man in the shadows, he caught a figure off in the distance. A woman. Or was she an Elf maiden like the one that joined the man in the museum as he left? From a distance, it was hard to determine the point of her ear and fairness in her face to say if she were. But Boromir decided she were, as she seemed to radiate a glow, as if she were the moon itself. She walked with grace in her steps, gliding along the earth as she moved about the flourishing garden area.

For a moment he had forgotten about his unnerving encounter in the museum as he watched this Elf maiden glide through the gardens. Her gowns flowing behind her as the cool breeze brushed past Boromir’s skin, the jewels in her hair glittered in the moonlight. The lore does not lie, for the race of Elves truly are of the fairest in all Middle Earth.

To avoid appearing as though he were a voyeur on this Elf maiden’s evening, worried perhaps he had stumbled upon something that was sacred or private in nature, Boromir took his leave to his quarters for the evening, leaving his moment in the museum behind him.

***

Boromir woke the next day, not well rested in the slightest, and made his way through the halls of Elrond, heading for the place the Council shall take place. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease deep in the pit of his stomach. The murmuring of the other guests at the Council unsettled him, every time the subject of the meeting arose, when the Ring was mentioned, a chill washed over him and every hair upon his body stood stiffly, tingling his nerves until the sensation passed.

Everyone in attendance whispered to their kind, eyes shifting from the other races in judgment and mistrust. Boromir stood with the other men, huddled in groups as they spoke of the greed of the Dwarves and the pretentiousness of the Elves. “Surely they do not intend to give them the Ring.” “We would be better off with it in the hands of the little folk that live in burrows!” “One thing is for certain, the fate of Middle Earth lies in the hands of Men. It shall come to us. Elrond sees this, he must see this.” The older men spoke with determination while Boromir listened, nodding his head in agreement as his gaze shifted about, landing on the only man not in his company. The man from the night before.

He conversed with a tall fellow, draped in grey robes and long scraggly greying hair, with what appeared to be a child standing behind him, hidden by the bulk of the elder’s billowing cloth.

“Men, Elves, Dwarven kind, free folk of Middle Earth, my friends. Welcome. Let us begin, we have much to discuss and little time to act upon.” Elrond entered and addressed the gathering, directing them to take their seats, forming a circle around a stone pedestal in the center. Boromir sat and stared intently at the stone, searching for this infamous Ring. Would it be there? Sitting in the free air? It’s evil steaming off into the pure air of Rivendell?

While he searched, Boromir’s eyes caught the small figure that sat across the way. It was the child he spotted from before, behind the old man, but this was no child. It was one of the little folk, a Hobbit. What was a Hobbit doing amongst this Council? What business had they with such a task as this?

Elrond stood from his elegant throne, his umber robes shining like bronze in the sunlight as he spoke to the assembly of folk. “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fail.” Again, eyes shifted uneasily from one individual to another in the circle. Each questioning the morality of the Man or Dwarf or Elf beside them, questioning their loyalty to the fate of Middle Earth. Boromir’s eyes moved from the pedestal to Elrond every now and then, his face tense as the Elf lord spoke.

“Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom.” Elrond raised his voice to emphasize the direness of the situation. “Bring forth the Ring.” Boromir looked to the other members of the circle, expecting an Elf to shift in his seat and present the ring, or perhaps the old man in the tattered robes. When neither moved from where they sat, Boromir followed Elrond’s gaze, landing his own on the most unlikely suspect. The Hobbit, no taller than his little Giluen, slid from his chair and walked cautiously to the center of the circle, and placed the golden ring upon it. The assembly murmured at the sight, some gasped, and Boromir adjusted in his seat, sitting forward slightly as if being pulled toward it, his eyes fixed upon its shine. “So it is true…” He whispers, bringing his hand to his lips. The man he encountered prior looked to him, watching Boromir with caution.

He sat for a moment, staring at the golden circle presented to the gathering. His ears rang ever so slightly, his vision tunneling as he locked his eyes upon the Ring. His mind filled with endless possibilities had he been given this Ring, the things he could accomplish with its power, the things his father could accomplish with it. The tides of Minas Tirith would change for the better. Life for all those on Middle Earth, for his family, would flourish more so than ever before. No longer would he be needed as a pawn on Denethor’s board, no more would he be sent to fight in senseless battle after senseless battle. Boromir made up his mind and contemplated his next steps, to move too abruptly or show haste may unnerve the others in the circle. To speak too eagerly would raise alarm. He rose slowly and began to speak, addressing the others calmly and firmly as not to seem too excited by all of this.

“In a dream, I saw the eastern sky go dark, but in the West…a pale light lingered.” He moved closer to the stone in the center, the eyes of all were focused on him as he spoke. “A voice was crying, ‘your doom is near at hand. Isildur’s Bane is found.’” Boromir inched closer now, Elrond and the older fellow shared a concerned look as he did so. He reached for the Ring, the ringing in his ears growing stronger, almost deafening as he closed the space between his fingertips and the golden thing. “Isildur’s Bane…” He whispered to himself and nearly brushed the metal as Elrond rose and called his name.

The old man began speaking in horrid tongues, standing now and supporting himself against his staff. The Elves winced in pain as if the very sound of the words coming from the elder’s mouth were daggers to their mind. The sky darkened and the earth shook, leaves fell like drops of rain. The men around him gripped their seats, the Dwarves braced themselves and reached for their weapons. Boromir felt a force pushing him away from the stone now, backing him to his seat as he looked at the scene unfolding before him, bewildered.

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris.” Elrond spoke with anger now toward the old man, who stood against his staff for support as if he were exhausted from the sheer evil that escaped his lips. “I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor, may it be heard from every corner of the West! The ring is altogether evil.”

Boromir, still bewitched by the power the Ring holds in its tiny vessel, shook his head and tried to plead with the assembly to see it from his view. “Ah, it is a gift, a gift to the foes of Mordor.” He rose, and all eyes looked on at him again, this time with more caution as before, watching to see if he would reach for the Ring once more.

“Why not use this Ring?” He looked around, to the other men in the Council, hoping to see them agreeing with what was being said. “Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people, are your lands kept safe.” He brought a fist to his chest, emphasizing the loss his city has felt, a price to pay for the safety of their people. A few men shifted where they sat, the man from the night before glared unamused at Boromir, his plea seeming to upset him slightly.

“Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him.” He asked, hope coating his voice as he looked to Elrond. “You cannot wield it, none of us can. The Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” The man spoke against Boromir’s plea. Boromir turned to face him once more, disgust in his face as he addressed him. “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” “This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” An Elf stood now behind Boromir and spoke in defense of the man, providing a name for this mysterious figure from the night before, and suddenly Boromir made sense of who he was.

“Aragorn?” Boromir questioned, slightly amazed as he made the connections in his mind. “This is Isildur’s heir?” “And heir to the throne of Gondor.” “Havo dad, Legolas.” The man — Aragorn, spoke to the Elf in his native tongue, settling things before they became more hairy than any of those in attendance of the Council would like. Boromir turned to the Elf now, his youthful face illuminated by the sun. “Gondor has no king.” He spoke with venom and began walking to his place, staring intently at Aragorn now. “Gondor needs no king.”

The Council continued, the old man agreeing with what Aragorn had said, that no one could wield it. Elrond informed the gathering that the Ring must be destroyed, that this is the only way to fully conquer its evil and end its plight for the ruin of Middle Earth. “Then what are we waiting for?” A gruff voice came from the right of Boromir, a stout hairy Dwarf marched to the stone and bore his axe, bringing its blade down onto the Ring, only for it to shatter into pieces and throw the Dwarf from his feet. “The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken into the deep of Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.” Elrond again stood and spoke with intensity, emphasizing the direness of the task at hand. In order to destroy this evil, they all must work as one to compile a plan and bring the work of Sauron to its end.

“One of you must do this.” He looked amongst the assembly of races, as if hoping one with the strongest of wills would volunteer themselves for the task, one that would be willing to accept the errand as well as their inevitable doom. Boromir, now growing irritated with what was being asked of them, rubbed his forehead as if he had an ache from the senselessness being considered. “One does not simply walk into Mordor.” He informed them all, as his lands were across from this realm of evil they speak of. Many times had he ventured through the outskirts of Mordor. Boromir was familiar with the barren landscape, the wasteland it had become, scorched earth and stinking pits of tar, void of any life. He wouldn’t dare cross into it any further than he had to, for he knew what dwelled there, the creatures of the dark, born of evil. “Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful.” He gestured with his hand now, making a point of this fiery sentient thing that floated above the blackened earth of Mordor. “Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.” Boromir shook his head as he finished, the little one sat beside the old man writhed in his chair, unsettled by his words.

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” The Elf that had come to the defense of Aragorn, the one he had called Legolas, stood once more and shouted at Boromir, ever graceful even in anger. “The Ring must be destroyed!” “And I supposed you think you’re the one to do it!” The Dwarf — Gimli, argued with the Elf now. Boromir, having enough of this unrealistic talk of what they must do rather than what they can do, rose again, raising his voice amongst the excitement that was now brewing amongst the Council. “And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” Gimli stood from his seat now as well and continued spitting anger toward Legolas. “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!” This sparked more strife between the other Elves and Dwarves, all of which standing and confronting the other, the Men followed suit and a chorus of shouting erupted within Elrond’s Council space.

Boromir, not willing to waste more breath on trying to convince those in his company to heed his words and listen to his plea, watched as madness began to unfold around him. It was as if the Ring had already begun its corruption, turning the races against each other, more so than they already were it seems. The old man tried to settle the cacophony of voices, standing in the middle with his voice bellowing over the noise. Boromir argued with him, trying to reason with the elder as the two shouted at one another angrily. Then, a small voice seemed to silence them almost all at once.

“I will take it!” The old man had stopped his shouting at Boromir and closed his eyes as he heard the Halfling speak. “I will take it. I will take the Ring to Mordor.” Boromir looked at the Hobbit, for a moment he convinced himself that he were still a child, and that this was a matter of a young boy having far too much pride, speaking out of turn in a place he should not have been welcome in the first place. But he was not. This Hobbit was no boy, and he had every right to be in this Council.

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins,” the old man patted the Hobbit on the shoulder as he continued, “as long as it is yours to bear.” He stood beside him now and looked to Elrond, nodding as if reassuring the Elven lord. “If by my life or death I can protect, I will. You have my sword.” Aragorn stood now, approaching the Halfling and knelt before him, pledging his service to him. “And you have my bow.” Legolas approached him now, followed by Gimli who offered his axe in service as well. Boromir, conflicted on his decision, walked slowly to the five that stood together now. His mind guided his feet toward them, toward the journey and away from all he knew, but his heart held him back, crying for his legs to cease moving.

As soon as he finished his pledge to the Halfling, another had joined them, then two more, appearing from what seemed to Boromir out of thin air or perhaps under the very stones they stood upon. They too joined this company of ragtag fellows, and stood proudly before Elrond. “Nine companions…” He looked them over and nodded to himself. “So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.” “Right! Where are we going?” One of the Halflings asked, giving himself away as the aloof one of the four.

The Council had ended and the nine were briefed by Lord Elrond on what was expected, his warnings and predictions as he had foreseen some trials that would come to them as they embarked on their journey. After some time, the old man whom Boromir had now learned was no mere man, but a wizard named Gandalf the Grey, broke away from the Fellowship to speak with Elrond alone. The rest broke off and went their own ways to prepare themselves, the Hobbits heading to the dining hall followed shortly behind by Gimli, while the two men and Elf readied their supplies and provisions.

***

Another restless evening had Boromir sitting out in the tranquil garden space, lost in contemplation as he fiddled with the tiny wooden sword between his fingers. His mind was off in Minas Tirith, where he was reunited with his wife and children, the way it was meant to be. He promised his father he would come to the Council, speak with Elrond, and bring the Ring back to the city. He had done most of what was asked. But he had gotten himself into a bit of a bind, he swore his service to the Halfling. To break his oath now, to leave the Fellowship, would be shameful. If word had gotten back to Denethor before he returned, that his eldest went back on his word and came back without the ring? This would surely mean exile for Boromir.

Regardless of the lashing he’d receive from his father, Boromir was a man of his word. To go back on it would be unlike him, even if he truly had no desire to go on this quest, to enter the black lands of Mordor and risk never returning to his family. But if this meant he could have a part in saving Middle Earth, making for a safer realm for his family, perhaps it was a necessary task for him to be a part of.

When night became the early hours of dawn, where the sun had barely awakened and the moon still kissed the earth with its light, Boromir gathered his belongings and fetched the pony they had intended on taking along with them as a pack mule, staging himself at the meeting place at the archway as you enter Lord Elrond’s place.

He was soon joined by Legolas, then Aragorn, who seemed to be stricken about more than the quest ahead. Gimli came later as the sun was beginning to rise, and the Hobbits followed behind, picking their teeth after having their fill of Evish fixings for breakfast.

Gandalf gathered them all, addressing the Hobbits separately as he seemed to be their minder through all of this. “Have you gotten everything you need?” He looked to them as they nodded, the chubbier Hobbit tapped his full sack enthusiastically, the pans latched to it jingling together. “Frodo?” Gandalf focused on the Ring bearer, whose face was stricken with worry. “Yes, I believe I do.” His tiny hand reached for the chain around his neck, grasping it protectively. Boromir watched this scene between the Wizard and Hobbits, his eyes landing onto Frodo as he held Sauron’s prize. A pity the burden of the ring should fall to such small shoulders, Boromir thought it was a mistake to do such, but this Ring bearer was blessed by both the Council of Lord Elrond and Gandalf, so who were he to question their choice.

The sun began to climb and stretch to the sky, Elrond had joined the company now, followed by a gathering of Elves to see them off. The Elven lord addressed them once more as they stood at the archway. “The Ring bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who have traveled with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will.” Boromir glanced to the others around him, they all listened to Lord Elrond intently, except for Aragorn, whose eyes wandered off to the group of Elves behind the Elven lord. He examined whom he was sharing a moment with, a beautiful Elf maiden with rouged cheeks, her hair was long dark streaks across her chest. This must have been who joined Aragorn the other night when the men had first met. He looked to her left and was slightly startled when his eyes met those of another Elven maiden, one who was staring directly at him. He furrowed his brows for a moment, a bit unnerved by her striking gaze, but she had no malice in her face. She gazed passively at him before shifting her attention to Lord Elrond again as he continued his address, leaving Boromir curious as to who this Elven maiden was and why she had been looking to him as if they were familiar. Perhaps this was the maiden from the garden, her form did resemble that of the one Broormir had witnessed that night. Perhaps she too recognized him.

“The Fellowship awaits the Ring bearer.” Gandalf spoke once Elrond had finished and Frodo turned, walking to the front of the group and taking position as the leader. As they walked through the archway, the company passed a statue of an Elf, with arms outstretched as if blessing their travels. And so, the Fellowship had begun their quest.

They walked for hours across the plains of Middle Earth, distancing themselves more and more from the tranquil Elven home of Elrond. Boromir took pleasure in the Hobbit’s bickering and singing and joking at the others expense, reminding him of younger versions of himself and Faramir when they both were in the guard as young men. His mind was steady on the quest at hand, only wavering at night or when he was lost in thought, when he pictured his children or his wife. He worried for them, for Faramir. Hoping that in his extended absence his father was not grieving them as much as he could at times.

#lord of the rings #lotr #boromir #boromir/oc #boromir/original character #boromir fanfiction #boromir fanfic #captain of gondor #Spotify

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pertadhel · 20 days ago

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He does not speak of the nature of Men and how as a race, they seem to tend to disturb the peace more than aid to help it. Elrond does not speak ill of Numenor for he sees at every corner, influences of his brother's hand. This is a city and a realm his brother built, the reason he chose to remain mortal and grow. Elrond does not understand plenty, but he can see why he had decided to live and die among the folk and see such civilization born from it. Though, with how she is speaking of them now, he fears Numenor was not the dream it once was. Eyes stare at the painting hanging above the library walls, his brother on one side and him on the other, twins, separated by fate and destiny. Both half-elves given a choice not many are given in those days. Elrond turns and smiles, poised as that of many elves, although he had been told his eyes are kinder and perhaps, he believes they are those of his brother, and what remains of the mortal side he had inside.

"It is does no one well to arrive with hostility. I am not here as a herald of bad news or concern, but simply to continue what Lady Galadriel had started." Continued partnership between the elves and the men of Numenor could rise a new kind of world before their eyes. "I believe my brother might had brought some texts here when he left. I would require those text to build my new home. A sanctuary for elves for we had been viciously attacked, Eregion falling around us."

A deep sorrow on his voice as he recalls the fall of the city, the dust until under his nails and a voice that claims it had been his fault for being weak. But he breathes and pays attention as she speaks in his tongue and a frown appears on the Elf, eyes looking around to see if they are seen or heard. "Is there reason to believe he is doing this at his own volition or perhaps. . .is he being influenced?" Sauron had been here once under a disguise, nothing could stop him from returning and taking down another city in his path.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋. So keen to ignore history, so violent towards those who do not scoff at the past. Margaery was always taught the the past is something worthy of its remembrance and that only by honoring what came before can they bring about a brighter future. A history forgotten is a history repeated. Yet it feels more and more like her fellow Númenóreans have forgotten where they came from and why they live upon their island. It was a gift from the Valar, the very ones whose names are now mocked openly by those who begrudge anything tied to elvenkind. What fools they are. Do they not see it in the buildings around them, in the shapes of the glassworks, the very stones beneath their feet? It is all tied to this past, this former kinship between elf and man, yet they play ignorant to it all for the sake of spite.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ If only it was mere forgetfulness to cause them to behave in such a way. ❞ No, it is something deeper. An unseen hand shifting the tide, a puppeteer who tugs the strings of the people as he sees fit, though perhaps that invisible force has made himself more known as of late. Too many overt moves for Pharazon to disguise from an attentive eye such as hers. ❝ Unfortunately, I've discovered as of late that there are those among us who stoke this unrest on purpose to suit their own political appetites. To have ambition is one thing, but to sabotage one's own people for power's sake . . . I cannot fathom the selfishness required to do so. ❞ How unfortunate it is indeed that the brother of the great King Elros must arrive only to see everything he built turned to this, where the descendants of those who once treated faithfully with the elves would now scorn and shun them. A bright smile shines upon Margaery's face regardless, a nod of courtesy given to acknowledge his respect.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ You humble me with your words, and the grace you have shown my people since your arrival. Rest assured, your brother's dream lives on with many, and the Faithful are not easily silenced. I hold hope that your presence will help change the minds of those who have turned as well. ❞ For the briefest moment, jade eyes wander astray, cast towards the entry to the balcony to make sure there are no eavesdropping courtiers. Assured that her words will not be heard, she steps closer, turning to look over the city below as she whispers in Quenya, ❝ Things are more dire here than they appear. Ar-Pharazôn likes to say that we are entering a new age of prosperity, but he is as a snake amongst a garden, poised to bring ruin while everyone is distracted. ❞

#rosecrowned #━━ ˟ ⊰ interactions / rosecrowned.

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why-what-no · 2 years ago

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Like Home

Pairing: Halbrand x Half-Elf!Reader

Warnings: Violence, Prison Cell

Summary: After a lifetime of feeling like an outcast, Galadriel’s dear friend meets another outcast when she follows Galadriel into the open sea. Her and the human man getting close in Numenor, including in a Numenorean prison.

Requested by: @lina-lovebug

Numenor was absolutely stunning, (Y/N) would admit to herself and only herself. Art and functionality working together to create such a city. Everyone a part of it, with a legacy to be proud of. Truly a symbol of the ingenuity of the race of men.

(Y/N) wished she had gotten the chance to visit this island in better circumstance. Plus, it was a shame that everyone looked at her and her dear friend Galadriel like they were the greatest enemy of every human on the island. She wanted to let them know that she was only a half-elf to calm them slightly, but she doubted it would actual change anything.

An elf was an elf to a human. How much elven blood flowed through her veins didn't quite matter as long as her ears were pointed and her youth was forever. Even despite how much of an outcast she sometimes felt. Even with a friendship with Galadriel, as well as Elrond who knew very well how (Y/N) felt.

But someone who didn't make her feel like an outcast was, surprisingly, the sea stranded human that she and Galadriel had met on the ocean when (Y/N) had followed her friend in the escape from the ship to Valinor.

Halbrand wasn't someone she expected to care amount, too cocky and irresponsible. But he was smart, and kind to her. And throughout their very short time together, he never made her feel like she didn't belong. In fact, he always tried to make her smile.

However, he never stopped being irresponsible. Namely when it came to underestimating others, which is exactly what got him into a fight with several Numenoreans. Numenoreans who didn't like the fact that Halbrand tried to steal from him.

For the first time, (Y/N) was frightened by the human man who before had only ever made her laugh. The fury in his eyes as he bashed the man's head into the wall shocked her. Even as (Y/N) shouted to him to stop, it was only when the Numenorean solders arrived that his rage finally retreated.

But when a soldier gripped (Y/N) shoulder, making it clear she would be locked up with Halbrand, that anger returned to the man. "Take your hands off of her." He snarled, stepping forward.

But she stepped in front of Halbrand, blocking him off from causing any more violence. "It's alright." (Y/N) spoke hastily, giving her human friend a look that let him know to calm down. "We won't fight you." She promised the guard, holding out her hands to let the soldiers bind her wrists.

Halbrand could only follow her lead, not wanted the soldiers to use his rashness as an excuse to separate the two of them.

Once in a cell with Halbrand, (Y/N) sat down on the floor, resting her head against the wall. The human man tried to offer her the single cot in the cell, but she refused. Elves were durable, sleeping on the floor, against the wall, wouldn't actually hurt her other than some slight discomfort.

She fell asleep quicker than Halbrand expected, clearly having been more tired from the activities of the last few days than she had let him know.

While Halbrand wasn't exactly a gentleman, he hated the idea of sleeping on a cot while a lady was on the floor. At first debating whether he should lift her onto the cot, but quickly realized how much she would hate him doing that.

So instead, he pushed himself off the cot, resting against the wall beside her. Trying to get some rest like (Y/N) was. But when he finally managed to fall asleep, Halbrand unconsciously slumped sideways against his half-elven friend.

***

When (Y/N) woke up, not too long later, she was surprised at the sight in front of her. Halbrand had slumped over in his sleep, his head resting against her lap. She didn't push him away, only blushing deeply as she softly stroked her hand over his hair.

He woke up at that, realizing what was happening. "Sorry." He muttered uncomfortably, clearly blushing as much as she had been. It was obvious that he was embarrassed.

"No need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong." She paused. "At least in this cell." AS soon as she said that, she regretted it. Wincing as a defeated look crossed Halbrand's face.

"Did I scared you?" He asked softly, his hand passing over his face in exhaustion.

(Y/N) could only nod, her heart hurting at the sad look on Halbrand's face as she did.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. You were protecting yourself." (Y/N) knew that was true, knew that those men would have done similarly violence things to Halbrand if he hadn't defended himself.

"Still." Sighed the man. "I don't want you to be afraid of you. I wouldn't ever hurt you."

"I know."

Moving to face her, the gentle yet strong look in Halbrand's eyes made the warmth in her cheeks feel even stronger. She felt a pull towards him, something she wasn't used to feeling.

"It's true, I want you to be safe." He told her. "I... I care about you." The honesty seemed like it was difficult for him, fighting against his instincts to let her know how he felt about her. Even if he couldn't quite yet let her know the true depths of his feelings.

But, Halbrand knew that (Y/N) understood what he was saying. "I care for you too, Halbrand." She told him, reaching out to take his hand. The warm smile on her face bringing warmth to his lonely heart.

(Y/N) could only hope that the two of them got out of the cell soon, wanting to be able to return to Middle Earth with Halbrand. There was so much that she wanted to see with him, to experience with him. Only having spent a few days with the man, but not being able to imagine returning home without him.

He made her feel more accepted than she had ever felt before. More like home than any place she had been. And unbeknownst to her, Halbrand was thinking the exact same things.

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aguythatlikesstuff · 3 years ago

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Yes, there is a beautiful and bittersweet nature to the idea that after the Breaking of the World, all will reunite and work together in the Second Music. That after millennia of a slow defeat, the waning of magic and the slow decline of dwarves, everyone will at last be together after Morgoth’s ultimate defeat at Turin Turambar’s hands. Fëanor and his sons will be released and redeemed, Míriel will get to be with her son, Finrod will see Beör, Aegnor will see Andreth, Celebrimbor will work with Narvi, Elwing and Eärendil and Elrond will finally get to see Elros and meet all of his descendants, just imagine how large the family gatherings will be. And it is the fact that until then they are kept apart by the fates of their races and choices that makes that implied final union at the end of time so much more impactful and beautiful. It’s one of the reasons I love the deep thematic story structure of Tolkien’s worldbuilding.

HOWEVER-

The fact remains that - and I don’t care how many internal laws of the lore it breaks, I am well aware of them - I want to see little Eldarion meet all of his elf-ancestors. Cuz the fact is that he is descendant of pretty much all of the greatest elves to ever live.

Like, could you imagine almost an Alice In Wonderland-like situation? Little baby Eldarion stumbles upon a figurative rabbit-hole and falls into Valinor and meets this gang of elves with various degrees of crippling issues who can only stare at this random child, but they all decide to ignore the tension between them because as soon as they see the kid Elrond joyously screams that HOLY SHIT THAT’S HIS GRANDSON

None of them with the exception of Elrond have had children for literal thousands of years and are ecstatic to have one that’s descendant of them, even if it is - as Celegorm put it - a “dirt baby”, and they all begin to compete for the child’s attention.

Elwing is overjoyed to meet her great-grandchild, even moreso because of years of nothing but her own imagination and letters and stories from Elrond of her other son’s many descendants, she finally gets to meet a child from Elros’ line. Even after all these generations later, Elwing can see so many little mannerisms from Eldarion that she fondly remembered from when Elros was a small child. Though she cries when she holds the boy for the first time, they are tears of joy immeasurable.

Elrond is much the same, for one of his greatest pains when he left Arwen in Middle-Earth was that he would never get to meet the family she made for herself, but now he has little Eldarion on his laps and recounts him with tales of Arwen and Aragorn in their youth. And though Celebrian can never see Arwen again, meeting Eldarion and knowing just how happy her daughter is helps mend some wounds that not even the bliss of Valinor could have healed.

Out of the elves of Finarfin’s house, Galadriel’s joy is matched only by Finrod’s, who not only is fascinated by and adores human children in general, but is so happy to meet the boy who is descendant of his dear friend Bëor.

Fëanor - even though he never met one - had never thought highly of Men, and the child wasn’t even directly descendant from him, unlike Fingolfin and Finarfin, though he was surprisingly invested in winning the heart of the Eldarion. Probably at first because he sure wasn’t about to let another person prefer one of his brothers over him, but his smiles came to be more genuine.

Maedhros and Maglor feel similarly to Elwing, seeing Elros live on in some small way and not only in their hearts. However, there is still a LOT of shit they have to go through inside themselves, cuz let’s be honest, the relationship between them and the twins wasn’t always as romanticized and fluffy as a lot of people like to make it out, and they feel afraid and unworthy to even approach the child. But in spite of their attempts at subtle distancing, Eldarion finds them and latches on, and the brothers discover they have a hard time saying no to the boy.

There are probably a ton of other interactions that could come from this wildly world breaking scenario that I’m not smart enough to come up with, but this wildly un-canon idea makes me so happy.

All I’m saying is why can’t the House of Finwë just come back to life and get along while taking care of Aragorn and Arwen’s dirt baby?

#silmarillion #lotr #lord of the rings #eldarion #house of finwe #elwing #elros #elrond #finrod #feanor #maedhros #maglor #celebrian #tolkien #dagor dagorath #valinor #i want them to be happy so bad #let me dream

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sonxofxgondor · 1 year ago

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Rivendell was more than the place from which mysteries could be answered. Decorated in gold and emerald, the colors of the leaves, silver waters that cooled the nearby falls. Erected against the foundations of mountain boarders - arches of smooth and ragged rock - modeled by hands that remained inconspicuous. It was a beautiful sight to behold, beloved by even more wonderful creatures, and Boromir did not wish to leave it. Would happily make company with the Elves that he had once thought to be strange and suspicious; welcome them into his own homeland, share in good ale and good times. Had there been no One Ring to concern with, in delighted spirits would the whole of Rivendell been. A celebration between the races of Middle Earth. A grand party, conversation devoted to merriment rather than possible complete destruction. But for how beautiful the kingdom was, Myndolin a no lesser nor abominable feature, proud and dignified Elf that he was, Boromir could not ease the trouble inside of his heart.

Denethor would not be pleased to know that of which proved to be true. From the lips of the Elven master himself, Elrond would not see the Ring passed into the hands of mortal men. Gondor lightened of its golden load. Powers beyond that of what was understood, no more was it a gift than a curse. Boromir could not wield it, nor could anyone of his likeness, there was no other keeper. Sauron alone could claim the Ring's use. Bend it to his very will - rise the seas and crumble the hills - torment the minds of all who dared to oppose him. Better was the Ring destroyed than left to continue on. Thrown into the fires from which it came, melted into nothingness, a memory and legend lost forever. Mordor and all evil vanquished. Peace restored.

Cast into flame, but far from the stewardship of Gondor. Out of reach from either Boromir and Denethor - the people of Gondor, the kingdom of Gondor. Undefended, unprotected, their promises broken and Boromir left uncertain of what to do next.

"My father is a noble man, Sir Myndolin." Confessed Boromir, fingers quick to tuck a loose hair behind his own ear, a nervous habit. "But his rule is failing. He looks to me to make things right, and I would do it, it is just... I do not know how. Our people lose faith. Everyone is tired and frightened. I would see the glory of Gondor returned, but time doesn't seem to be on my side. As the dark forces grow, I lose more and more of it. I can not bear the thought of leaving my people before I have done all that I can for them. I can not leave them to this mess, to this horridness that has stolen their happiness."

Boromir felt tears gather in his eyes, but whatever amount came, he did not shed. Rather hid them behind his truths, the honesty that he felt so comfortable to share with his newest companion. "I can't stand for failure on my part. I must do all that I can to make things right. Not just for my people but for all in Middle Earth. I would gladly die for such a sake. But I know there is still so much left. There is only so much time. And I only ever feel as if I am losing it, like sands slipping between my fingers. Oh, Myndilon, forgive me! My burdens are not meant to be yours, too. I should not have overwhelmed you with them. You certainly have enough to worry about on your own plate. I am sorry, my friend."

"This is not your battle but mine. It's the Fellowship's. And the nine of us shall see it done. Come, please, may I fetch you a glass of wine? A cup of sparkling water? I think I would like to join you in the matter, if you do not mind me being around. Soldiers such as ourselves deserve a moment to enjoy a drink."

There was too much commotion for the old knight, inside the House. Folk from Gondor, Ered Lindon, Greenwood— no, Mirkwood, he had to correct himself— and beyond, all gathered over some business his family would not speak of. Too important, the Lord of the house had said, for the old elf to forget, and speak of it to the wrong person. So Myndilon stood watch from the balcony overlooking the grand waterfall, and the road out of their secluded home. He’d been so absorbed in the scenery that he hadn’t realized to whom he was speaking— not until the younger man asked his question. Silvery brows flicked up as he looked down, a lop-sided, gap-toothed grin spread over his lips, and he chuckled. “Ah-ha! I didn’t think you were my Urnarseldo. My grandson— great-grandson?” He waved a hand, and stepped aside, allowing Boromir to approach the balcony, slapping the railing in invitation.

He was silent, for a moment, staring down at the steward’s son, head tilted like a confused, old mutt, as he contemplated the questions. He shrugged, turning back to the waterfall, eyes falling half-shut. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to assume we are much better. What is one day, after all, in six-thousand years? Or ten-thousand? It’s easy to take it for granted, until you sit and think a while.” He released a heavy sigh, running a hand through his short, shaggy hair. “What a curious question— ‘have I done all I wish to do’? I should think not! I mean—” He stood from his hunched position, and gestured to the falls— “you are young, and think you have everything you need— a liege, a duty— and then you meet their eyes. The love of your life. And now you have even more to do, a new purpose. Time passes, and you’ve got children; well, now you’ve got to stay, care for them, see them grow… then you have grandchildren, and now— Valar preserve me, some nasty business with the dwarves! And your grandson insists you visit this nice young man he’s met— You see? Things are never simply ‘done’ until you’ve dropped dead.” His smile fell as he looked down at the young man, and shook his head.

“You seem to have a good home, certainly, but why trouble yourself with such thoughts? You’re young, you’ve got years ahead of you; unless you’ve got some illness I can’t see.” He gave a short laugh, and shook his head. “And if you worry too much, the hours will grow short, indeed! Now, what is this all about?”

#roquenxnar #Muse \\ Myndilon Sancrevar #Timeline \\ The Fellowship of the Ring

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sabersandsnipers · 3 years ago

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Love Lies

Request: “Stay close. Whatever you do, do not leave my side” with Thranduil

Warnings: Mention of blood

Thranduil’s hand is warm in yours as you step through the gardens together. The smell of lavender fills your nose. You try to take in every detail of this time spent with your love. Being queen meant that every moment spent alone with Thranduil is precious.

And when he stops to kiss you, you try willing time to stop in its tracks so you can savor his touch. His lips are cold and somehow taste sweet. His long fingers place themselves on your waist, gripping lightly.

You’re so lost in his love that it takes you a minute to notice the screams. Shrill, piercing cries sound out from the Mirkwood fortress. You and Thranduil look up to see a guard running toward you.

“My king!” He exclaims. He reaches you, breathless. “Dark elves are trying to take the fortress.”

Your stomach drops. You thought the dark elves had been pushed back to their own territory. Thranduil had been covered in bruises and gashes after that battle. He worked so hard to protect his people.

“Ready all my men,” Thranduil commands. His voice is sure.

“Yes, my lord.” The guard turns on his heel and rushes back.

Thranduil turns to you. He holds your face in his hands, his gaze intense.

“Stay close. Whatever you do, do not leave my side,” he insists.

A rush of blood roars in your ears. Fear grips you tightly. The stories Thranduil told you of the dark elves has brought nightmares to your sleep for years. You bring yourself to nod.

“We need to get out of here,” he says. He starts to the fortress, pulling you with him.

He pulls his sword from its place by his side. He never goes without a weapon within arm’s reach. Guards rush around you, running to their stations. The shouts and screams continue. You have to run to keep up with Thranduil’s long strides. Adrenaline races through you.

You race through the halls, and realize Thranduil is heading to the stables. But your path gets cut off by an intruder. What you can only assume is a dark elf blocks the entrance. His eyes glow a dark red, and he bares his teeth.

Thranduil pushes you behind him, and positions his sword defensively. When the elf charges, he swiftly blocks its attack and slices at its throat. The elf sputters and drops to the floor. Blood splatters on your dress.

“Come on.” Thranduil reaches for your hand, pulling you along.

You let out a sigh relief when you reach the stables. Thranduil’s elk stands ready to go. The creature calls out when he sees you two. The elk knees down as you reach him, and Thranduil lifts you up and onto his back.

Thranduil hands you the reins. “You need to go. Ride to Rivendell. Lord Elrond will take you in.”

Confusion hits you. “What are you talking about? We’re going together.” His elk shifts beneath you, ready to run.

“I need to stay here and fight,” he explains. “I can’t risk you getting hurt by staying here. I need you to go.” His blue eyes are filled with sadness. He reaches for your hand, gripping it tightly. “I will come get you when this is all over.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I can’t leave you behind.” Your voice cracks.

Thranduil is firm. “You don’t have a choice. I will have my men force you out if I have to.” He reaches up and wipes a tear from your face. “Don’t be afraid, my love.”

Panic and fear root in your chest. You lean down and press your lips against Thranduil’s, praying this won’t be the last you see him. He kisses you fervently, a strong passion seething from him.

He pulls himself away from you and shouts a command in Elvish. The elk takes off running. You gasp and grab the reins, steadying yourself. You ride to the forest, wind whipping at your face. Tears continue to fall. A dark pressure sits within you, weighing you down and making you feel lifeless.

You just left the love of your life behind. A sick feeling within you causes you to wonder if you’ll ever get to savor a moment with him again.

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 2 years ago

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Sick Elrond headcanons

Another list of hcs no one asked for, or wanted. Elrond x reader. I have no idea whether this is any good or not...

And now I have no excuse, I have to go working on the second part of A seal-skin around my shoulders.

*****

🤒 Even though he is fully immortal after choosing to be counted among the Elves, Elrond still suffers from some weaknesses common among the mortal races. He is as strong, fast and resilient as any Elf, wiser -and fairer- than most and doesn't tire easily after working or exercising for many hours, but he does get cold easily and occasionally falls sick.

🤒 Even though Middle Earth's most capable healers are Elves, the concept of illness is almost unknown among them; they also get injured less frequently than Men, since their bones and muscles are stronger.

🤒Half-Elven are a bit in the middle between the two races as far as health problems go. Elwing was the only woman with Elven blood who suffered from menstrual cramps, while Eärendil broke his leg in a riding accident when he was young and, while it healed perfectly, it kept occasionally paining him for the rest of his life. Elros was exceptionally vigorous -for a mortal- until the end of his life and never got sick, but he did find out he was allergic to certain aliments.

🤒 Elrond fell sick for the first time in his life as a child, when he spent a whole afternoon playing in the snow with his brother wearing only a light tunic. He started coughing a few hours later, told his mother he felt hot and funny, and when he woke up the next day, he was feverish. It only lasted for two days and his parents were more distressed at seeing him suffer than seriously worried for his health, but it was a very unpleasant and scary experience for the little Elf.

🤒 As we said, Elrond is sensitive to the cold, which is the reason why the fireplace in his rooms is lit until the beginning of summer, and he prefers wearing heavy capes and coats.

🤒 Even though many Elves at Gil-Galad's court look down on and even make fun of him and his origins, Elrond is not ashamed to be an Half-Elf; he likes the unique prospective on the two races his position affords him, and thinks that belonging to both makes him a more complete individual. Despite this, he is vaguely embarrassed of his -very occasional- bouts of sickness and tries his best not to show any discomfort, especially after he begins courting you.

🤒Being a full-blooded Elf, and having met very few mortals in your life, sickness is mostly an abstract concept for you; once you cut your arm deeply with a knife, which was an extremely painful and unpleasant experience, but that had been the only time in your life you had had to consult an healer.

🤒 Because of this, the first time you hear Elrond sneeze, on a cold winter day -you are having a pleasant walk in the woods, far away enough from the palace to enjoy some time alone- you remain flabbergasted for a moment. "Is everything all right, dearest?"

🤒 "I am all right, thank you; merely an... itching on my nose." he lies, already blaming himself. It must be the coldest day of the winter, and he should have proposed to stay in your rooms enjoying tea, or to listen to you playing your flute, but when you expressed a desire to walk in the woods to admire the snowy landscape, he did not have the heart to refuse. He did wear his warmest cape, and even a scarf, but apparently it was not enough "Do not worry for me, please. So, your friend has asked you to teach the flute to her daughter?"

🤒He enjoys your time together as he always does, but by the time you return home he is shivering, and he is forced to breathe through his mouth. He does his utmost to pretend he is fine because he doesn't want you to worry, but he is relieved when you are forced to leave him for your first flute lesson with your new pupil, and he is free to drink a hot tea as he warms himself in front of the fire.

🤒He had hoped that the chill was just an unpleasant sensation, but the next day he wakes up shivering, with a sore throat and the feeling he has been hit in the face with a brick: he has fallen sick, again. Fortunately, he doesn't have any pressing task to attend to, but he has only two days left to finish writing a speech of the utmost importance for the High King.

🤒 Elrond forces himself out of bed -it is so cold! Why does his room seem to have moved to the middle of the Caradhras?- lights the fire and drags himself to his desk, on whose surface many scrolls and papers are strewn. He forces himself to focus, but it is no use: he can barely sit, let alone write, and all the ideas he had to finish the speech have almost completely disappeared. What did he plan to write about again? There were a couple things he must mention, but he cannot for the life of him concentrate enough to decide how to express them...

🤒Even with the fire crackling next to his desk and a heavy cape on his shoulders, he is so cold! He has skipped breakfast, and last night at dinner he had barely touched his food, but the simple idea of eating makes him nauseous. He has truly and fully gotten sick, he recognizes with a sigh; if only his detractors at court could see him now...

🤒For the rest of the morning Elrond does his best to get at least a bit of work done, hoping that tomorrow he will feel better and be able to correct his mistakes; he alternates between the desk and his bed, resting for a while before returning to the speech, and then he uses a closed book as a base to write on, moving all his scrolls and inkwell on the bed table and sitting with the pillow behind his back. He feels terrible, his head swimming, but he is determined to carry on despite his fever, and then, he promises himself, he will sleep as long as he needs to. He must have a slight fever, that is all, nothing to worry about; he will rest, tomorrow he will feel much better, and no one needs to know what he is going through.

🤒 He is startled when he hears knocking on the door... and then your voice, from the other side. "Elrond, are you there? May I come in?"

🤒Oh, no!, he moans; he has completely forgotten you were supposed to meet for lunch today, as you have done once a week for the three months you have been courting. How could it slip his mind? He loves your lunches together, and he had also rescheduled another engagement so that you could meet today. He must have left you waiting in the banquet hall for at least an hour!

🤒If Elrond felt horrible until a minute ago, it is nothing compared to the shame and the guilt that fill his heart now; what if you decide that you don't want to see him ever again? And even worse, you keep knocking on the door asking to be let in, which means that you are going to see him in this terrible state...

🤒In the end, not wanting to offend you more than he already has, he invites you to enter... and he sees you open your eyes wide when you see him in bed, paler than you thought it was possible for an Elf to look, shaking and looking almost too weak to sit.

🤒"Oh, Eru, Elrond! What is happening to you?!" you cry, and he manages a smile, not wanting to scare you. "I am just sick; you need not worry..."

🤒 Those words fall on deaf ears, because you are immediately concerned. What does it mean, he is sick? Is he hurt? Is his life in danger? You do not care about the risk of being infected, you tell him as you close the room's door behind you and quickly approach; is there anything you can do? Why didn't he tell you he was unwell? Has this happened because you insisted on a walk in the woods yesterday? "Oh, Elrond, I am so sorry... forgive me, it is all my fault..."

🤒You look so scared and remorseful, as if you had put him in a life-threatening situation, and Elrond cannot help laughing - which is incredibly painful, given the state of his throat. "Again, there is no need for alarm, or for apologies." he gently explains as he takes your hand in both of his; he is still so sorry for forgetting you were meant to meet, but seeing you makes him feel better - or at least happy "I should be the one asking for your forgiveness, since I left you having lunch on your own. And please, do not worry; I only have a cold, it will last for a day or two."

🤒 "So... you are not going to pass away?" "Of course not! Believe me, I have already fallen ill a few times in my life; it is unpleasant, and bothersome, but not dangerous, at least for me." he reassures you, and then he sneezes again, as he has done countless times during the day "As you can see, I can work; let me be, I promise we will have our lunch soon."

🤒 He is clearly trying to get rid of you, although not because he doesn't appreciate your company, but you have no intention to leave him alone: your poor beloved is clearly suffering, and even though he will recover in a few days, and you have no experience as a nurse, you will do everything you can to support and help him.

🤒First of all, and despite his protestations, you send for the court's healer, more experienced in assisting soldiers wounded on the battlefield and women in labour, but who is nonetheless capable to prepare a concoction to lower his fever and give Elrond some relief against his sore throat and nausea. "There is no reason to worry. The thing he needs the most is rest, and avoid unnecessary exertion; will you be staying until tonight, (name)?" he asks.

🤒"There is no need, really..." Elrond protests; "Of course I will." you quickly answer, ignoring him, and the healer gives you some simple instructions: keep Elrond in bed, have him drink his medicine every two hours, and send for some light food if he feels he can eat.

🤒You prepare for the task with the same earnestness and dedication of a nurse whose patient is fighting for their life; to know that Elrond's ailment is not serious and he will indeed recover soon is a huge relief, but you are determined to remain by his side until then, even just to keep him company. For two full days you sit next to your beloved's bed, adding another two blankets to his bed and then, when he is overheated, washing his face with a wet cloth to give him some relief. You use an hourglass to calculate the time between a dose of medicine and the other, and prepare his favorite tea; your poor beloved's musical voice is reduced to a pained whisper, given how sore his throat is, his stomach cannot keep even a simple soup or some bread down, and try as he might, he is soon forced to abandon his work on the King's speech, spending most of the time curled up in bed, awake but too weak to do anything.

🤒You feel powerless, wishing you could really do something to comfort him; it is the first time you see someone suffering in a way different from a broken limb or a battle wound, and while you are happy to stay with your beloved for as long as he needs you to, sleeping on a chair next to his bed, your heart breaks for him, and for his suffering.

🤒The truth is, your presence is enough to make Elrond feel better. He has always appreciated your company, even when he was too shy to express his feelings, but now to have you next to him is even more precious. You read and play your flute for him, bring him food and medicine, and sit quietly next to the bed with a book as he rests.

🤒On the other hand, he is embarrassed to be seen under such an unflattering light, and that you have to take care of him as a nurse would do, or a mother with a child; you assure him that you don't mind, and try to offer him as much relief as you can. You also need to help him reach the pot behind the screen in a corner of the room, or to take away the basin after he feels sick. Not only you know Elrond would do the same and then some if you were the one feeling ill, but there is no more natural feeling than taking care of the people you love, and since this is exactly what you feel for him, assisting him is not a burden for you, quite the opposite.

🤒You ask him whether this is the first time he has fallen sick since you met, and he sheepishly admits it is not; he has had a fever, or a cold, and in some cases both things together like now, three or four times in the many years of your friendship. "Do you remember that time I sent you a note telling you I had had to leave on an urgent mission for the King, and only returned five days later? Well... it was a lie; I had gotten sick again, and spent those days in the infirmary; I begged the healer not to tell anyone."

🤒"Why wouldn't you tell me?" you ask, and Elrond smiles - a sad, rueful smile, that makes him look even more vulnerable. "Not everyone at court is as... understanding and sympathetic as you are; the first times the news spread at court that I was ill, instead of well-wishers, I got mocked for my perceived frailty... and I even got accused of not being a full Elf, since maladies are a... prerogative of mortal races. Which is true, obviously, but still..."

🤒"... and you think I would also mock you?" you ask in disbelief; you know there are a number of Elves at court who look down on Elrond and make fun of him for his mortal blood, and you have lost count of the number of times you have intervened to defend him, but this time, even more than outraged, you are incredulous, and hurt "That I would think less of you because you are subject to illness?"

🤒Elrond's silence and ashamed expression are answer enough; he covers his mouth with an hand as he coughs, and then accepts the cup you have just poured his medicine in, since the tiny grains of sand have just finished trickling to the lower chamber of the hourglass. He drinks, winces at the horrible taste, and then looks at you. "I didn't want you to think I was... weak, and feeble, since all it took to overwhelm me was a cold day; it is childish, I know, but we haven't courted long, and... and your previous intended was one of the court's most capable and respected warriors..."

🤒Sitting on the side of the bed with his hand in yours, you reassure Elrond that being sick is not a fault and, even if it were, you would never blame him for something he cannot help. "And if you want to know, my last courtship ended because my intended was more interested in his sword than in me; you would act that way, even though your duties as the King's herald are much more important than his. We may have courted only for a season, but I know you well enough that you could never lose my respect, as well my... my affection."

🤒It is another word you were going to use, and even though you lacked the courage to, now both you and your intended are blushing, and smiling. "I don't want you to think that you have to hide things from me; even those that make you sad, or ashamed; I will always be on your side, Elrond, and taking care of you will never be a burden." you whisper, and he nods, wordlessly, his beautiful dark eyes full of gratitude.

🤒"Is it..." you begin, and then you go on, knowing he won't make fun of you for an admittedly foolish question; on the other hand, he is the only person you can ask, since there are no mortals at court "Is it unpleasant, to be sick?" Elrond looks at you. "Well, do you not remember when you cut your arm with a knife?" Obviously you remember, and you remember how terrible it was, but it is different; you want to understand how it is to have the pain come from inside you, invisible, without loss of blood or broken bones, your body fighting against an invisible enemy trying to overwhelm it. It is scary; but at the same time, fascinating.

🤒Elrond smiles, his earlier embarrassment and shame already forgotten. "You are making it more noble than it actually is; it is... I wouldn't know how to describe it to someone who is unable to experience it. It is like not being myself anymore; as if my body is crying for help. I know not every illness is deadly and I am much more resistant than any Man, but... it is as if I am being touched by Death, without actually experiencing it."

🤒Silence fills the room as you both reflect on those words. You have always known Elrond is an Half-Elf, and far from considering it a flaw or feeling your esteem for him lessened because of it, you simply thought it was one of the many things making him special and unique; still, you never really thought about the implications. Had he made a different choice, had he decided to follow his brother's example and be counted among the Edain, his life would have been very different, and maybe he would have passed away before the two of you had the chance to meet. Why did he choose to be an Elf, instead of a Man? Did he feel there was too much to see, to experience and to learn, in the world, to limitate himself to a few hundred years? Or was he scared of what awaited him after his death...?

🤒You feel this is not the right moment to discuss such a personal and delicate matter, assuming such a moment actually exists, but it nonetheless makes look at your beloved with new eyes... a frailty which is not due to his temperament or lack of will, that runs through his veins, an heritage he still carries inside him despite his choice and the immortality that has already afforded him a much longer lifespan than any lineage of Men. In the depth of your heart, you know you love him already, and you will love him for the rest of your life, for this as well as many other reasons: his existing midway between two realities, belonging to two races and at the same time being different from anyone else, his having lost as well as gained so much because of his choice: the possibility to feel pain, and to be reminded of how fleeting life is, and how precious because of it.

🤒Elrond begins feeling better after two days of bedrest, and another one later he is back to his old self, healthy and full of energy; he insists that it is you he has to thank for it, even though all you did was serve him tea and the medicine the healer had prepared, and keep him entertained. You celebrate together with a lunch in your rooms, and from that day on you do your best to avoid him falling ill again: in winter, you favor spending time inside so that he does not catch cold, and for his anniversary you gift him an heavy cape. You know Elrond is -usually- capable to look after himself and his health and does not deserve, or need, to be treated like a child, but he secretly enjoys you taking care of him.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @elvenenby.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elrond #Elrond Peredhel #Robert Aramayo #Bellona's stuff

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catz4ever · 2 years ago

Text

Thranduil Fanfiction

"Amongst Starlight"

Chapter One: "Arnor"

It's finally here! A few things:

-The main character is NOT Aragorn's mother, she is named after her.

-My elvish translation is a little shaky as this is my first fic using the language.

-Thranduil is officially present in chapter two, so he's coming, I promise. This is just an introductory chapter!

-I welcome all suggestions and discussion, so please feel free to comment below or send me a message! I hope you like it!

*if you would like to be tagged in future updates on this fic please let me know! I tagged a few of you below who already notified me*

*AO3 is giving me some trouble so it's not posted on my account yet but this is the rough copy*

@coopsgirl @tigereyesf @warriormirkwood

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In the Northeastern plains in the forests of Eriador lay the remnants of the ancient Kingdom of Arnor. Since the fall of Numenor, many tribes of its descendents hid themselves in the wilderness. Long had they avoided the orcs who patrolled their lands, living in peace while keeping their people safe. Rumors had emerged of a young prince, the son of one Arathorn, who had survived an orc raid and named the heir of Elendil. His true identity was hidden from many say for those who were close to the late chieftain of the north and the elves who kept him safe. In Rivendell he secretly dwelled under the name Estel and thrived under the care of the house of Elrond. The remaining men were called rangers by many in Middle-Earth and were rarely seen. They lived scattered across the north and concealed by the many woods and hills available to them.

Just east of the old ruins of Fornost lived a small group of Dunedain. They were a simple and humble people but kept mainly to themselves, avoiding contact with outsiders; making their home at the foot of the weather hills as a protective measure. Their chieftain was Talion and he ensured the safety and prosperity of his people. Deep in the woods of his realm is where our story begins.

The sun rose over the horizon in the early hours of the morning, the evening's dew still coating the ground. In the distance, the quick pounding of hooves could be heard as two horses raced through the winding trails of the forest floor, each with a rider on their back. One of the horsemen was a young woman, her auburn curls danced playfully along her back, shining like fire in the rays of the morning sunrise. She was clad in a deep green tunic and matching trousers, with brown boots laced up to her knees. She stood up in her stirrups and whistled, pushing her steed to a faster gallop. Her horse was a beautiful dark grey mare, a hand or so taller than her companion's mount who was only a few feet behind, trying to keep pace with her.

She kept glancing back at him and laughing at the hilarity of her lead. The young man behind her was older but similar in appearance, and taller. He did his best to encourage his horse to shorten the distance between them, but to no avail. As they continued to race through the woods, a white falcon soared above the treeline, following them closely. Around his ankles were a pair of jesses, woven lengths of leather meant to allow his handler to secure him when perched. His pale feathers danced as the breeze in the skyline passed by, and he let out an excited screech as he watched the mounted competition below him. The two riders sped through the valley and they ran into an opening where the river met a beautiful meadow. Once the woman crossed the water to the other bank, she pulled back on the reins, easing her horse into a gentle trot. Moments later, her companion crossed the stream and caught up with them, matching his steed's pace with hers. She glanced over at him and laughed, a proud smirk on her lips.

"It appears I have won, dear cousin. So you must uphold our terms," she teased. He shook his head in disapproval but smiled back at her.

"I'd hardly count this as a fair victory given you had a ridiculous head start," he mocked. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

"It's not my fault that you didn't secure your saddle girth properly," she replied.

"You could have waited…" he said.

"Indeed I could have…but where's the fun in that?" she said back, chuckling along with him, "Or would you rather sort this out with a rematch if sorts?"

"Perhaps a sparring match would settle the scale… You win, I'll give you the information you want. But if I best you, you'll have to clean my saddle and tack for a week," he replied. She gave him a mischievous grin and dismounted, pulling a broadsword from a sheath at her side.

"Very well, but we both know who is more skilled with the blade," she teased and began to circle him, the sharp point of her sword pointed in his direction. He brandished his weapon and twirled it quickly in his hand, finishing his display with his elbow raised to his shoulder, blade at the ready.

"Come then, Gilraen, let's see these superior skills of yours…," he mocked, motioning with his hand to step forward. She tilted her head quickly to catch him off guard, then lunged at him, catching his blade against hers. He parried her blow and held her there, pressing the steel of their weapons together so she could not move. He slowly slid the edge of his blade up hers until it barely touched the cross guard.

"You'll have to do better than that…," he said, smirking at her. She pushed him off and stepped backwards, holding her sword's blade so the flat end was balanced on the back of her other hand. Gilraen was swift and impulsive with her blows, while her cousin favored a more defensive stance. For several minutes they took turns striking and parrying until one of them lost their footing. After blocking one of her swings, the young man tripped over his own feet and pummeled to the ground. His weapon fell from his hand and he lay flat on his back, her foot pressing on his chest. She playfully held her sword up to his neck.

"Surrender…," she ordered, smiling down mischievously at him. He raised his hands in defeat and laughed.

"Alright….I yield…," he replied. She sheathed her sword and offered her hand to help him stand. Brushing himself off, he secured his own weapon back at his side and walked over to his horse. He pulled a small roll of folded parchment from his saddle bag. She ran over and tried grabbing it from his hands.

"Come on then, let me see it!" she pleaded as he dangled it above her head just out of reach. Before their race across the countryside, Eothyn had mentioned that he had received news from outside of their realm regarding a summoning. Where or whom the message had been sent from was not mentioned. The agreement was he would share this information with her if she won.

"Patience…this is an official parcel and I'd hate for it to be ruined," he said, handing it to her. Before opening it, Gilraen noticed a familiar insignia in the wax seal. A bright star in the middle encircled by an intricate pattern of vines twisted beautifully around the border. It was the family crest of the house of Elrond; the message had arrived from Rivendell. Her eyes lit up and she excitedly looked at her cousin.

"This is a summons from Lord Elrond!" she said happily as he nodded in response. Unfolding the paper, she began to read the letter to herself. "Lord Talion, I am pleased to inform you all arrangements have been officialized. I have been on speaking terms with the King and he has agreed to travel to Imladris. We request the presence of you and your family in the valley so we can proceed with our agreement as discussed. In a few days time, I will send one of my sons to accompany you. I hope this letter finds you and your kin well. I look forward to your arrival. Elrond."

She looked quizzically at Eothyn, her eyebrows twisted with confusion. To her surprise, he seemed ashamed of the news and pressed his lips together nervously.

"What is this then? What arrangements is he talking about?....Eothyn?" she asked, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this…but there's something you should know," he replied shyly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The agreement in question is marriage," he explained to her.

"And why aren't you supposed to tell me this?" she demanded.

"You have been chosen by Elrond and my father to partake in this arrangement," he said.

"Me?!" she screamed, "and you agreed with this? You're perfectly fine with me being handed off to some stiff nosed king?!"

"He's not just any King. He is the Elven King, Thranduil," he told her.

"I suppose that makes it all better then," she shot back, raising her arms in disgust.

"At least we have the opportunity to visit Rivendell again. Elrond is a dear friend and I know you've missed the beauty of Imladris more than any of us," he said, trying to calm her anger. He tenderly placed his hand on her shoulder. She gave him a small smile but he could see tears gathering in her eyes.

"Forgive me, I took my anger out on you…this is all so sudden and unexpected," she replied.

"I know…which is why I wanted you to know ahead of time so you weren't caught completely unaware," he told her. She paused for a moment and looked tenderly at him.

"For that, you have my thanks," she said and hugged him tightly. As he held his cousin there, the silence of the morning was broken by the mellow call of a small elven horn. She looked up at him and grinned cheek to cheek.

"They're here!" she shouted happily. Reaching for a small whistle in her pocket, she put it to her lips and let out a pattern of high pitched tones. In the skies above, a white speck began to grow into the shape of the falcon who had been following them. He screeched happily and she held out her arm, protected by a thick bracer made of leather, allowing him to land gracefully. Taking a dried strip of squirrel jerky from her saddle, she gave it to her falcon as a reward. She carefully stroked his back feathers with a sincere fondness.

"Shall we greet our friends from Rivendell, Astar?" she asked the falcon. He bobbed his head and neck quickly and chirped in agreement. Astar perched himself on her shoulder as she mounted her steed. Eothyn readied himself and his horse for the inevitable race home. She glanced over at her cousin with a mischievous grin while he wasn't looking and positioned her horse next to his. Carefully, she undid the buckle of his saddle girth as he was focusing on securing his belt and faced in the opposite direction.

"Race you back?..." she teased while winking at him.

"Only if we both start at the same time, and no cheating," he said back to her sternly.

"I wouldn't dream of it!" she lied. Coaxing Astar back onto her arm, she lifted her arm up, and he took off into the blue sky above. Her cousin placed his foot in one of the stirrups and hoisted himself onto the saddle.

"On my mark then," said Eothyn.

"Don't trust me, do you?" she asked, mockingly.

"Not for a second," he teased back, "three, two,...one!"

And with that, both horses took off as their riders squeezed their sides. Within a few feet of a full gallop however, Eothyn's saddle loosened and snapped off, causing him to fall off of his horse and into the grass of the meadow.

"You cheater!!!," he yelled after her as she galloped ahead.

"Never turn your back on an opponent, cousin!" she yelled back, laughing as she continued down the trail. Minutes later she entered the border of the forest and the small village of theirs came into view. Careful to watch for any children playing in the square, she made her way to the great hall, where her uncle Talion was waiting to greet them. Their guests had arrived just as she did and the villagers whispered with excitement as the elves dismounted. Glancing back behind her, she saw Eothyn leading his horse while carrying his saddle and smiled.

The commander of the company had long dark hair and grey eyes. He was clad in silver silk that draped over a beautiful suit of armor that was both light and sturdy. Indeed this was one of the sons of Lord Elrond, but it was not clear which one he was until the hood of his cloak was removed. There was a small scar on his left cheek that led to his ear. It was a battle wound from orcs when he and his brother rescued their mother from her torment. Before he could even reach Talion to greet him, she ran forward and jumped into his arms, embracing the young elf.

"Elrohir!!!! Mae Govannen, Hîr nìn! (Well-met/welcome, my Lord!)" she exclaimed joyfully. Elrohir lifted her off the ground and laughed happily in response to her greeting.

"Mae Govannen, mellon nìn! Le hannon! (Greetings my friend! I thank you!)" he said back, squeezing her gently and ruffling her hair. Setting her down he turned to Talion, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. Talion did the same to his elven friend and they nodded, smiling happily.

"Elrohir, Mae Govannen, Gi nathlam hí! ( You are welcome here!)", Said Talion, nudging the elf's shoulder.

"Mae Govannen, Le Fael (thank you/you are generous)," said Elrohir.

"Where is Elladan?" asked Gilraen. He smiled in her direction and began untacking his horse.

"My father has sent him to Mirkwood to accompany the King on the long road to Rivendell," he explained, "do not fret, he will be there for the festivities."

"Tolo ar nin (come with me), we have much to discuss before our departure!" Said Talion. Eothyn handed Gilraen his horse's reins and followed his father and their elven guests into the great hall. Before she could ask if she could join, the doors closed behind them. She huffed with frustration and blew into her small whistle to beckon Astar. Within seconds, the small falcon found his way to her arm and landed gracefully. He waddled up to her shoulder and perched on the leather padding, nudging her for a reward. She laughed and reached into her saddle bag for the dried meat and gave it to him. Stroking his wings, she looked back at the closed doors, knowing the conversation was about her future.

"I think it's perfectly indecent to plan a marriage without one's consent," she told him. Her falcon let out a small series of soft screeches which she interpreted as an agreement.

"You're lucky you do not have to worry about such things, Mellon nìn (my friend)," she told him, walking her steed and her cousin's back to the stable.

"I wonder what he's like…this elven king? From the little I have heard about him, he sounds callus and cold," she said, "what I don't understand, is why me? Why did he choose me?"

Astar tilted his head with curiosity as if he was just as stumped as she was. She took the horses into their stalls and secured them before safely putting the saddles back in the tack cellar. Grabbing a wooden bucket, she scooped a large portion of oats and grain and began feeding the horses their breakfast. A choir of hungry and excited whinnies echoed throughout the stable as she began to fill their feeding troughs. When she had finished, she took a broom and swept the alleyway, removing the dirt and stray pieces of hay from the floor.

A couple of hours later, Eothyn walked into the stable and motioned for her to follow him. Before she entered the great hall, Astar leapt off of her shoulder and flew over to a fence post to perch. She entered to find the elves and her uncle gathered around a large table in the center of the room.

"Gilraen. We apologize for the secrecy but we wanted to make sure all was in place before telling you," said Talion, pulling out a chair for her to sit in.

"Tell me what? The news of my apparent betrothal to the elven king?" she asked snidely. Eothyn immediately blushed and looked away from his father.

"How did you…?" he asked, his eyebrows twisted in confusion.

"Eothyn told me already," she shot back.

"Of course he did," he replied angrily, glancing over at his son, "that summons was confidential."

"She was going to find out either way," said her cousin. Talion gave him a cold and piercing side glance.

"That will be enough from you, boy," he said, nodding towards a chair, "sit please and kindly remain silent for the rest of this discussion."

Eothyn did as his father asked him, making a point to slam the chair on the ground before sitting. Gilraen held in her laughter as best as she could, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. Elrohir and the other elves glanced around awkwardly, taking care not to get involved in the conflict. Talion cleared his throat and composed himself before speaking again.

"Many apologies, gentlemen. I believe Lord Feren has an official statement from the elven king to deliver before we begin with the proceedings," said Talion, gesturing to an elf across the table. Gilraen did not recognize him and noticed he was wearing duller tones than the elves who had come from Rivendell. His hair was almost as red as her own, but it was straight and fell over his shoulders with a neat elegance. He seemed nervous and a bit fidgety in the company of his kin, but stood and spoke with authority. He bowed in the direction of Talion and then Gilraen.

"My Lord,....my lady…, indeed I do. If you will allow me to do so, I will read it aloud," he replied, unrolling a sealed scroll. Talion nodded in approval and motioned for him to continue. Before he could begin, Gilraen interrupted the silence with her disapproval.

"If this is an official statement of the king's intent to marry, should he not deliver it himself?" she asked sarcastically. Feren swallowed hard and looked over at her uncle, setting the parchment back on the table.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked with a tone of shock.

"He has chosen me as his wife, has he not?" she replied.

"Gilraen…a great honor has been bestowed upon our house. You will address the king's council with respect," said Talion.

"It's alright, Talion, let her speak,"said Feren,"you have been chosen, my lady yes."

"Does he not want to meet his bride in person? Or is he too busy to bother with pleasantries?" she asked with a scowl on her face.

"Many apologies my lady, but the king thought it best to conduct the personal introductions in Rivendell," said Feren.

"Did he?" she asked, mockingly.

"He wanted to ensure everything was conducted properly under Lord Elrond's guidance," he replied sternly, "now if you please, I would like to get back to reading this so we can continue with all the proceedings."

"Very well…," she said.

She sat there crossing her arms, annoyed and partially embarrassed for the way she had spoken, but nodded in agreement.

"Thranduil Oropherion, King of Mirkwood and Lord of the woodland realm, thanks you for accepting his offer of marriage. By accepting these nuptials, the following will be granted to you and your kin: you will be given the title queen of Mirkwood and thus have free reign of the forest and the surrounding realm of the Elven kingdom. You will leave behind your home in Arnor and take permanent residence in the woodland realm. The remaining kin left behind will be granted an annual sum of gold to insure their security and survival. All Gilraen's living expenses and personal needs will be funded in full. No family dowry is expected for payment, and will not be required for Gilraen's agreement. The king wishes you well and looks forward to meeting you once you arrive in Imladris," said Feren, rolling up the scroll.

"That is quite a generous gesture is it not, Gilraen?" Talion asked, glancing over at his niece. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and shrugged.

"If you say so…," she replied.

"Excellent! I believe we have an accord, Feren," said Talion reaching across the table to shake the elf's hand. Feren happily followed suit, sealing the young woman's fate when their hands met.

"King Thranduil will be pleased. We should leave for Rivendell soon to make arrangements for the marriage," said Feren before sitting down. Elrohir then stood from his seat, and addressed the room.

"My company and I will be happy to lead your family safely to Imladris, Lord Talion," said the young elf.

"We would be most grateful. I will see to it that the lady and my family are packed and ready to leave at first light," Talion replied happily. The company of elves stood along with their leader and bowed reverently at Gilraen and her family. She and the rest of the Dunedain present stood in response and bowed as well.

"Abarad (until tomorrow)," said Elrohir before leaving the hall. Once the elves had left, Talion slammed his fist down on the table, making Eothyn and Gilraen jump.

"What on earth was that for??!!!" he yelled at Gilraen.

"What?!" she said back.

"Your behavior in that council was completely out of line!" he screamed.

"My behavior?! And I suppose planning an arranged marriage behind my back is perfectly acceptable!!" she replied angrily.

"You are of age and it is time for you to step up and accept your duty as a woman in this household," he said sternly to her.

"Oh, Is it also my duty to accept any proposal blindly just because my choices are made for me!?"

"I promised your father I would look after you and ensure your future is taken care of. This is what he would want for you!"

"DON'T YOU DARE ASSUME WHAT MY FATHER WOULD WANT!" she screamed, pushing her chair to the floor," he would allow me to speak for myself and choose my own path!"

"He is NOT here, Gilraen. I am your guardian and you will do as you are told!" yelled Talion. She walked up to her uncle until their noses were nearly touching. Her face was red and tears began to pool in her eyes. Her lips trembled as she spoke, but the fire in her eyes remained.

"He would be ashamed of you…" she said in an aggressive whisper, pain in her voice. Talion could not speak, and lowered his head in silence, her words like an icy dagger in his heart. She began to weep and left the hall, her cheeks soaked with salty streams of tears. When she had slammed the door behind her, Eothyn touched his father's shoulder and smiled.

"Let me talk to her. She just needs time," he said to Talion. His father nodded as he watched his son chase after Gilraen. He shook his head and exhaled with frustration.

"What am I going to do with her, brother? Please give me patience," he spoke to the empty room, as if his deceased sibling was still there.

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