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lordgrimwing · 22 days 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 · 1 year 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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catz4ever · 2 years ago

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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

--------

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.

#lee pace #king thranduil #amongst starlight #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil oropherion #king of carven wood and stone #king of mirkwood

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elgaladwen · 1 year ago

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Elgaladwen

Father name: Silmëhareth / Elgaladwen

Mother name: Lúrëalassë / Gwaewlass

Epesse: Dailalph (Given by Gallorith)

(Prefers to go by the Sindarin version of her name)

Stats:

Born in SA 3401; Begetting, December 19

Birthplace: Imladris

Race: Noldor

Occupation: Healer (formerly one of many in Elrond's house), Herbalist

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Married to Gallorith of Lothlórien (played by @sewer-princess)

Looks:

Deep black wavy hair, currently falls to her chest, but it has been both longer and shorter over the years

Very pale skin, except for her pink cheeks

Takes pains to keep her skin unblemished, so she has had no visible scars, up until recent RP, in which she now has fresh fingernail gouges down both her cheeks, which are scabbing over

Pale green eyes

Tends to wear ornate gowns and jewelry, unless more practical clothing is needed. She sometimes wears cosmetics such as kohl eyeliner, or a berry stain upon her lips

Artwork: Here, by @loremastering, here by @angbands-last-hero, here with Gallorith by @nozomi-mats, and here and here by myself. (nudity warning on the last one)

Smell:

Lavender, sage, amber, myrrh

Sound:

Voice is on the deeper side of feminine, rich, smooth

Tends to speak slowly and deliberately, rather than hastily, even when excited or angered

Speaks many languages fluently, though her dialect may differ from what is common in some areas

Playlist here

General:

Generally good at hiding her emotions behind polite masks, though she lets her true feelings show more often when among friends

Is not a pacifist like her husband, and has no qualms with hurting those who have hurt people she loves, though she prefers mending, healing, and talking more than fighting

Holds grudges, but hides it well

Eats no meat, and hasn't most of her life. Prefers not to harm animals, but will for survival

Was raised to exude courtly decorum, and still tends to act in such a way in public

Favorite color is crimson, though she also enjoys deep blue, and any colors that are found in her beloved's garden

Lived in Imladris all her life, until moving to Lothlórien to be with Gallorith

Has traveled much, and still does on occasion, but now with Gallorith

Her parents were very proud Noldor elves, despite her grandparents probably being involved in the first kinslaying

They tried to arrange many marriages for her, always with others they considered of good lineage, but she refused them all and said she would never marry

She isn't particularly proud of her heritage herself, though it is more out of indifference than shame

She did end up marrying Gallorith, a Silvan elf, whom her parents would have likely found unsuitable- Or perhaps they'd have just been happy she was finally settling down. Either way, they sailed many years before she met him

She loves Gallorith more than all else in the world, and was surprised to feel such a way, always having thought tales of love and romance were greatly exaggerated

Has no family she's met left in Middle-earth, but does have distant cousins she doesn't know

Can read and write more languages than she can speak

Enjoys making dyes, perfumes, and other frivolous things, when not crafting tinctures and potions for healing

Heals using both the innate power that many of her people have, which seems like magic to many men, and by using practical methods, often combining the two to urge a patient's body to respond faster to herbs or medicine

Has studied anatomy extensively, mostly in elves, but a little in humans too

Enjoys learning and reading in general, so she knows much of history and general knowledge as presented in books, but healing, herbalism, and to a lesser extent, languages, are her main areas of study

Has trained with sword and staff, mainly to be able to defend herself should she be a battlefield medic, she is good with neither, though, and has little control over elements she is not directly using for healing

Generally lived a sheltered, happy life, up until recent events

Relationships with other characters can be seen here.

Background, history, and RP can be seen here.

#Finally I am posting another character bio!#the ones after this should be less crazy since I have my two mains out of the way #the LOTRO version of this character has been deleted and remade a million times #though I obviously use this name all over the place and it's my default when creating a character #Thanks to @sewer-princess and all our RP this version is now the best most real one and is as she is meant to be!#Now I can start spamming you with all the fics right?#lotro #lotro oc #lotro rp #elgaladwen #lotro bio

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 2 years ago

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To Love a Ranger Chapter 3- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: Issa volunteers herself to join the Fellowship of the Ring, and Aragorn shuts it down the moment that they're alone.

Word Count: 2k

When Issa woke up the next morning Aragorn was already gone. Though sad she didn’t get to spend the morning with him before their duties, she forced herself to get up. She had to attend Lord Elrond’s council in less than ten minutes. So, she hurried to get dressed and began making her way to the court quickly.

“I was wondering when I would see you again, mellon nin (my friend),” she heard a familiarly soft voice behind her, making her stop mid step and smile.

“Legolas,” she greeted, trying to keep her excitement down and remain civil as they rested a hand on each other’s shoulder in greeting. It immediately went out the window, however, as the Elf pulled her into a hug afterwards, making her laugh.

She and Legolas met almost forty years ago through Aragorn and they became fast friends (despite the age difference). He and Aragorn had met when Legolas sought him out personally at the behest of his father thirty years prior (though none of them knew why). To put it simply all three of them were good friends, close as could be.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” Issa muttered happily. Legolas pulled back to look at her with a smile.

“You haven’t aged a day,” he said, which made her roll her eyes jokingly. “No really! If it weren’t for your hair growing out I would think that you were stuck in time.”

“Oh please, save the false compliments. We both know that my hair growing out is not the only thing that shows my age,” she laughed, his arm wrapping around her comfortably and they talked about his journey as she led him to the court in which Elrond’s council would be held. There was a group of seats situated in a half circle facing a small plinth, most of which were filled with Elves, Dwarves, Men, Gandalf and Frodo. Issa led Legolas to Aragorn, who was already sitting down. The Man stood to greet his friend then all three of them sat down as the last of the guests trailed in and took their seats. Once everyone was ready Lord Elrond, who sat on the other side of the plinth and the half circle, stood up.

“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, no one can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom,” he paused and looked at Frodo, who sat beside Gandalf. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.” The boy stood silently, walked over to the stone plinth in the middle of the circle and placed the Ring on it as carefully as he could. Issa’s eyes closed and her breath hitched as the Ring suddenly began whispering to her, and she knew what she was looking at. It was the Ring of Sauron - the One Ring. She understood why Elrond called upon the peoples of Middle Earth now. She felt Aragorn reach over and take her hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the Men across from her covered his mouth in shock.

“So it’s true,” he muttered, shocked. Several people turned their heads to him as he stood up and continued.

“In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark,” he paused, then began walking towards the Ring. “In the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, your doom is near at hand. Isildur’s Bane is found.” He glanced at Elrond, who shot Gandalf a concerned look, before reaching for the Ring, as if he was in some sort of trance. “Isildur’s Bane…”

“Boromir!” Lord Elrond reprimanded, jumping to his feet. The sky suddenly darkened, and Gandalf began speaking in Black Speech. The Dwarf that sat across from Issa shouted in surprise at the sight as the Man, Boromir, jumped back. Elrond held his head in pain, and Legolas grimaced as he closed his eyes. Finally, the clouds cleared away and the sun reappeared in the sky, which made the Princess sigh in relief. She watched as Elrond grew angry at Gandalf for speaking such a language, but the Wizard merely brushed it off.

“The Ring is altogether evil,” Gandalf concluded as he retook his seat. Boromir, however, refuted it by saying that it was a gift and that his land, Gondor, should be given the weapon to use it against the enemy.

“You cannot wield it,” Aragorn spoke from beside her, standing up. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” Boromir scoffed.

“And what would a mere ranger know of this matter?” He asked scathingly as he stepped closer to Aragorn.

“This is no mere Ranger,” Legolas snapped as he stood abruptly. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

“Aragorn, this...is Isildur’s heir,” he muttered.

“And heir to the throne,” the Elf added.

“Havo dad, Legolas (Sit down, Legolas),” Aragorn instructed in a calm voice, prompting Legolas to sit down (albeit begrudgingly).

“Gondor has no King,” Boromi said, turning to the Elf. “Gondor needs no King.” He sat down after speaking, staring at Aragorn disdainfully. Issa’s grip on Aragorn’s hand tightened a bit as she willed herself not to say anything. She didn’t take kindly to her fiance being talked to and looked at in such a way, but she knew that she’d be disappointing Aragorn if she said something about it. The Man seemed to understand that because he offered her hand a gentle and grateful squeeze in response as Gandalf spoke up.

“Aragorn is right,” he stated. “We cannot use it.” Lord Elrond nodded and stood up once again.

“You only have one choice. The Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” The still unnamed Dwarf questioned as he got up and grabbed his axe. Everyone watched as he brought the axe down on the Ring. A loud gasp escaped the girl’s lips as an invisible force that protected the Ring knocked the Dwarf back and sent a small shockwave through the rest of the group. Issa was knocked back in her seat, nearly giving her whiplash in the process. There were several exclamations of surprise as everyone attempted to gather her bearings. Issa’s eyes met Aragorn’s as he stared at her concernedly.

“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly. The girl merely nodded before turning back to the plinth. Her eyes widened and she became scared when she noticed the Ring still sitting in the middle of it, still intact.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess,” Lord Elrond spoke gravely. “The Ring Was made in the fires of Mount Doom, only there it can be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you...must do it.” There was silence as everyone processed what he said. Boromir shook his head before placing his hand against his temple.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its back gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep and the Great Eye is ever watchful. ‘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,” he shook his head with a soft sigh. “It is folly.”

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas questioned as he stood once again. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it,” Gimli grumbled brashly.

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir shot back, also standing up. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” Issa frowned at him as Gimli shot up.

“I will be dead before I see the ring in the hands of an Elf!” He exclaimed, which prompted the other Elves to stand in Legolas’ defense. “Never trust an Elf!” A massive argument ensued for most of the attendants. Issa was no better, jumping up and starting an argument with Boromir about how it was foolish to attempt to take the Ring for himself, with him stating that he’d be much better off with it compared to any of them. She only stopped when she heard a quiet voice speak out.

“I will take it,” the Hobbit, Frodo, said. “I will take it!” His repetition is what finally caught the other’s attention. Everyone stopped and turned to face him in surprise.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor, though I do not know the way,” he concluded.

“I will help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear,” Gandalf responded kindly, walking over to stand beside the Hobbit. Aragorn, who hadn’t participated in the arguments, stood.

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will,” he spoke, also walking up to Frodo and kneeling before him. Gandalf and Elrond grinned at him.

“You have my bow,” Legolas continued as he approached the small group.

“And my axe,” Gimli added, repeating the Elf’s actions.

“And my sword,” Issa said softly, walking over to him. Everyone looked surprised by her addition to the group. No one more than Aragorn, though. She ignored the look he gave her and instead offered Frodo a small smile, which he returned gratefully. Once she was standing beside Gimli, everyone’s attention turned to Boromir as he made his way over to the group.

“You carry the fate of all of us, little one,” he said matter-of-factly as he did the same. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.” They were then surprised by none other than Samwise shouting as he ran out from behind the bushes.

“Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me,” he said, moving to stand beside Frodo with his arms crossed. Elrond didn’t seem surprised to see him.

“No, indeed it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.” Issa was further surprised when both Merry and Pippin ran in from seemingly nowhere.

“Wait! We’re coming too!” Merry called as they reached them.

“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission...quest...thing…” Pippin trailed off awkwardly.

“Well that rules you out Pip,” Merry teased. That admittedly made the girl smile. Hobbits were rather funny creatures. Lord Elrond stared at the group for a moment, then a small smile appeared on his face.

“Ten companions, so be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring,” he spoke with finality.

The meeting ended soon after that. Lord Elrond offered all guests to stay for the night as the Fellowship prepared to leave in three days' time (allowing them time to pack supplies and such( before he and Gandalf walked off to discuss something. Aragorn was the next one out, and Issa became concerned when he didn’t even spare her a glance. She and Legolas shared a confused look before he gestured for her to go after him (and hopefully find out what was wrong).

“Aragorn, is everything okay?” She asked upon catching up to him. The Man didn’t answer at first, but instead waited until they arrived at an empty corridor before suddenly turning to her. Issa would have run into him if she hadn’t caught herself.

“You are not coming on this quest,” he said simply. It took the girl aback as she hadn’t been expecting it. At first she thought he was just messing with her, so she laughed.

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m coming with you,” she said, her smile fading when Aragorn shook his head.

“No, you are not,” he repeated. “It is too dangerous for you, and I will not chance something happening to you. This decision is final.” With that he gingerly moved past her and walked away, leaving her to watch after him in shock and hurt.

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagine #aragorn #aragorn imagine #aragorn x oc

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somelotrnerd · 7 months ago

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The History of Númenor

It is the greatest of all the realms of Men. A shining beacon in the world of Arda. The island kingdom that would show the heights the race of Men could achieve, but also the depths to which they could fall.

Island Kingdom of Númenor

Map of Eriador (East of Misty Mountains)

Map of Southern Middle-earth

Númenor's position in relation to Aman and Middle-earth

Arda being made from flat to round

At the end of the First Age, with the lands of Beleriand destroyed by the War of Wrath, the map of Arda is forever changed. While most of the change would be a loss of land, there is an exception – an island southwest of the mainland of Middle-earth. This island is a gift of the Valar to the Edain – the Men of the First Age who fought with the Host of Valinor against Morgoth. These Men are led by Elros, the brother of Elrond, who chose to be counted among mortal Men. They sail from the coast of Middle-earth, following the Star of Eärendil, Elros’s father, arriving at the island in year 32 of the Second Age (SA). This island comes to be known as Númenor, and Elros is its first king, leading his people for the next 410 years, before dying at the age of 500 in 442 SA. The Númenóreans would come to be known as the mightiest of Men in both their nobility and their physical stature, believed to have a typical height of around 7 feet tall.

Over their early centuries, they develop a close friendship with the Eldar of Tol Eressëa, who bear many gifts to the island – giving the Númenóreans birds, plants, lore, skills, and most notably the White Tree of Nimloth – the ancestor of the White Tree of Gondor. First in a long line of kings, Elros takes on the royal name of Tar-Minyatur, a Quenya title meaning “High First-Lord.” Throughout history, taking a Quenya title would be a tradition of the kings and queens of Númenor.

The Númenóreans would become excellent shipbuilders and mariners. The only restriction on their seafaring was the Ban of the Valar – which decreed that they should not sail west so far that their own coast could not be seen. Due to the Ban, they choose instead to explore the world to the east, coming to the shores of Middle-earth in 600 SA. They sail to the realm of Lindon and establish a close friendship with High King Gil-galad and the Elves of his realm.

The Númenóreans also come to meet the Men of Middle-earth, who have long lived under a shadow. They discover that while their languages are different, they share a common origin, and have many common words. Starting from simple conversations, they become friends, and the Númenóreans teach their new allies things such as agriculture and the working of iron. These Men of Middle-earth come to revere these tall sea-kings, even thinking of them as gods in the times between the Númenórean voyages to their shores.

In 750 SA, Prince Aldarion starts the Guild of Venturers – a group of mariners that would accompany him on his voyages to Middle-earth and participate in the building of greater and greater ships. Aldarion not only sails to Lindon, but also establishes the haven of Vinyalondë where the Gwathló River meets the sea. Due to an order of his father, Tar-Meneldur, Aldarion is no longer permitted to fell trees in Númenor to build his ships, leading the mariner to take trees from the areas of Minhiriath and Enedwaith. This development would come to fuel animosity between the native Men and the Númenóreans. These Middle-Men would eventually begin to attack and ambush the Númenóreans when they could, leading the Númenóreans to drive deeper into the mainland, expelling their attackers from their forest homes. This animosity would endure throughout the centuries, to the very conflicts in the War of the Ring – as their descendents, the Dunlendings, would align with Saruman.

In 822 SA, Tar-Meneldur receives a warning, and a plea for future help from Gil-galad. The Elf-king warns of a new shadow rising in the east, some dark servant of Morgoth. In response, Tar-Meneldur gives the sceptre to his son, making Tar-Aldarion the sixth king of Númenor – for his experience in Middle-earth would be needed in what is to come. The Númenóreans begin preparing forces and supplies in case of war. In the early 1200s of the Second Age, Númenor makes permanent settlements in Middle-earth. As Sauron nears his eventual invasion of Eriador, he uses the animosity of the Middle-Men toward Númenor for his advantage, sending them on raids against these settlements and disrupting their lumber industry.

Finally, in 1695 SA, long after Aldarion’s time, Tar-Minastir, the 11th king of Númenor, receives word from Gil-galad. Sauron, who by this time has forged the One Ring, has invaded Eriador. The time for Númenor’s aid has finally come. As Sauron continues his devastating march through Eriador, the Númenóreans finally arrive with tremendous force in 1700 SA. The arrival of their fleet turns the tide of the war, and Sauron is decisively defeated in the Battle of the Gwathló in 1701 SA. The Dark Lord retreats to Mordor, vowing vengeance upon Númenor.

It is said that in the very reign of Tar-Minastir, a shadow begins to fall upon Númenor. While the king is a friend of the Eldar and cares greatly for them, he also begrudges them of their immortality. Over the years, this envy also grows in the hearts of the Men of Númenor. In 1800 SA, they begin establishing dominions on the coasts of Middle-earth, and their views toward the Men of those lands change. Rather than being teachers and friends, they seek to set themselves above these Men, making them subjects and requiring tribute.

The reign of Tar-Atanamir, the 13th king, marks a turning of the tide in Númenor. During this time, those that follow the king speak openly against the Valar and the Eldar, though they still honor the Ban of the Valar out of fear. In 2221 SA, under the 14th king, Tar-Ancalimon, the Númenóreans are divided into two parties – the King’s Men, who follow the king and his teachings, and the Faithful – or Elf-friends – who remain true to the Valar and the Eldar. The King’s Men would explore the coasts along the south of Middle-earth, far from the Elves, making trading posts into cruel vice-kingdoms, such as Umbar. Meanwhile, in 2350 SA, the Faithful Númenóreans build the great port city of Pelargir, in what would one day become Gondor.

The pride and cruelty of the kings of Númenor and their men would grow over the coming centuries, hitting a new level in 2899 SA, when the son of King Tar-Ardamin ascends to the throne. This 20th king of Númenor forsakes the Quenya naming of his fathers and instead takes the Adûnaic name Ar-Adûnakhôr – a blasphemous name, meaning “Lord of the West” – a title properly referring to Manwë, the Lord of the Valar. Ar-Adûnakhôr forbids his people from speaking the Elven tongue and begins persecuting the Faithful, leading the Elven ships from Tol Eressëa to come only in secret, and very seldom.

The Faithful would not have hope in their own lands until 3177 SA, when the 24th king would come of their own people. Tar-Palantir, “the Far-sighted,” would be taught in secret by his mother of the friendship of the Elves and, during his reign, some of Númenor’s former glory would be restored. During his rule, the White Tree would be properly tended and he would once again take part in the three annual religious ceremonies of their people. Tar-Palantir’s foresight leads him to conclude that should the White Tree ever perish, the line of the kings of Númenor would also come to an end.

With the King’s Men greater in number and their ways entrenched in the lands, Tar-Palantir’s rule is met with both strife and rebellion. Despite being a just and good ruler, the Valar do not respond to Tar-Palantir’s repentance on behalf of his people. Too great is the hostility of his people toward the Valar, and the insolence of the kings before him.

Chief among those against the king are his brother and nephew, Gimilkhâd and Ar-Pharazôn. When Tar-Palantir dies in 3255 SA, his daughter, Tar-Míriel has the right to the throne and thus should have become the fourth ruling queen of Númenor. However, her cousin Ar-Pharazôn leads a rebellion, takes her unwillingly as his wife, and claims the sceptre for his own, declaring himself Ar-Pharazôn the Golden.

In 3261 SA, Sauron begins to declare himself King of Men and Lord of the Earth, among other titles, and begins boasting of his desire to destroy Númenor. Enraged at this and Sauron’s attacks upon Númenórean settlements in Middle-earth, Ar-Pharazôn sails with a mighty force to challenge the Dark Lord himself. So mighty is the army of Númenor that the servants of Sauron flee before any battle even begins. Realizing the futility of fighting, Sauron instead submits to Ar-Pharazôn and is taken as prisoner back to Númenor in 3262 SA.

In a remarkably short time span, Sauron goes from captive to chief advisor to the king. With his lies and deceit, he poisons the mind of the king and leads the greater part of Númenóreans to the worship of Morgoth.

“For now, having the ears of men, Sauron with many arguments gainsaid all that the Valar had taught; and he bade men think that in the world, in the east and even in the west, there lay yet many seas and many lands for their winning, wherein was wealth uncounted. And still, if they should at the last come to the end of those lands and seas, beyond all lay the Ancient Darkness.

‘And out of the world was made. For Darkness alone is worshipful, and the Lord thereof may yet make other worlds to be gifts to those that serve him, so that the increase of their power shall find no end.’And Ar-Pharazôn said: ‘Who is the Lord of the Darkness?’ Then behind locked doors Sauron spoke to the king, and he lied, saying: ‘It is he whose name is not now spoken; for the Valar have deceived you concerning him, putting forward the name of Eru, a phantom devised in the folly of their hearts, seeking to enchain Men in servitude to themselves. For they are the oracle of this Eru, which speaks only what they will. But he that is their master shall yet prevail, and he will deliver you from this phantom; and his name is Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, and he shall make you stronger than they.’” – The Silmarillion

With the words of Sauron in his ear, Ar-Pharazôn leads his people to become even more warlike and brutal. They hunt the Men of Middle-earth and make them into slaves. He also builds a 500-foot temple on the island for the worship of Melkor. There, they would practice human sacrifice – most often of the Faithful Númenóreans. In another sacrifice to Melkor, Ar-Pharazôn has the White Tree of Nimloth cut down and burned in the temple. Luckily, Isildur – the very same who would later claim the One Ring – saves a seedling from the tree at great personal risk, which allows the ancient line of the trees to live on.

In 3310 SA, Ar-Pharazôn is nearing 200 years old, and the shadow of death begins to loom over him. Playing upon his fear of death, Sauron convinces Ar-Pharazôn that he should make war upon the Valar and take control of the Undying Lands, which he says will allow him to claim immortality by force.

“And he said: ’The Valar have possessed themselves of the land where there is no death; and they lie to you concerning it, hiding it as best they may, because of their avarice, and their fear lest the Kings of Men should wrest from them the deathless realm and rule the world in their stead. And though, doubtless, the gift of life unending is not for all, but only for such as are worthy, being men of might and pride and great lineage, yet against all justice is it done that this gift, which is his due, should be withheld from the King of Kings, Ar-Pharazôn, mightiest of the sons of Earth, to whom Manwë alone can be compared, if even he. But great kings do not brook denials, and take what is their due.’” – The Silmarillion

For the next nine years, the king builds up an armada, known as the Great Armament. In 3319 SA, he boards his flagship and sails toward Aman. Sauron remains behind, delighting in the chaos and darkness he had wrought from within. Ar-Pharazôn lands on the shores of Aman and makes camp at the hill of Túna. At this moment, Ilúvatar opens a massive chasm in the sea, swallowing the fleet of Númenor. Ar-Pharazôn and his host on the land are buried under falling hills and the shape of the world is changed from flat to round, with Aman and Tol Eressëa being made so that no mortal sailor could ever reach the Undying Lands again. Meanwhile, in Númenor, the island is covered by massive waves and sinks into the abyss below, under the sea.

As the catastrophe comes upon her homeland, Tar-Míriel rushes to reach the sacred peak of Meneltarma but is taken by a great wave. Sauron is in the Temple of Melkor as the waves come for the island. His body is destroyed, but his spirit survives. He would return to Mordor in 3320 SA. Unable to ever assume his fair form again, he abandons his previous tactics of secrecy and treachery, and begins to rule through terror and force, much like his master before him.

Precious few Númenóreans survive the destruction of their kingdom. The most famous of which are Elendil and his sons Isildur and Anárion, with their nine ships of the Faithful. Aside from the Faithful, there are other Númenóreans who survived – those who already dwell in the settlements of Middle-earth and are among the King’s Men. These Men continue their loyalty to Sauron and come to be known as the Black Númenóreans. It is one of the Black Númenóreans who would become the Mouth of Sauron.

As for the Faithful, they would bring the seedling of Nimloth, the seven palantíri, and other important artifacts to Middle-earth as they are cast ashore by the tumultuous storm that destroyed their home. They establish the Númenórean realms in exile: Arnor and Gondor – realms that would play vital roles in the remainder of the Second Age, and beyond.

Númenor would from then on be known as Akallabêth or Atalantë – meaning “the Downfallen.” Ever after, the survivors of Númenor would yearn for their lost home. Elendil would gaze into one of the palantíri in an attempt to see the island of his youth, only to see the waters where it had been. In later days after the fall, those who survived Númenor’s destruction come to believe that the sacred mountain of Meneltarma survived the destruction and was raised to be an island of its own. Over time, Elendil’s heirs would once again build great ships in search of the mountain, but they would not find any such land. They would sail west only to discover that the world is now round, and that their great island realm is truly gone forever.

Never again would the kingdoms of Men reach such heights as Númenor, though over the years, among their people, their rules, and their kings, there would be glimpses of the greatness of old. The remnants of Númenor live on in the Dúnedain - the Men of the West - of Gondor and Arnor.

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elamarth-calmagol · 2 years ago

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OC Advent Day 2

Magoleth

Name(s): Father-name is Calaniel, meaning “daughter of light”. Mother-name is Magoleth, meaning “sword woman”. She sometimes uses the name Magol, meaning “sword”.

Appearance: 6’0’’, muscular, tan skin, auburn hair, brown eyes

Age: about 3,000

Heritage: Iathrim

Bio: Magoleth is about seventy years younger than her sister, Laerin. She is much more outgoing and cheerful. She had a lot of friends growing up and was very active. She gravitated towards fighting and learned to use a sword as soon as her parents allowed her to, hence her name. Unlike Laerin, who is somewhat renowned and is friends with Arwen and Elrond, she is a rank-and-file soldier. The difference between their social classes sometimes causes friction. All of Rivendell’s soldiers have alternative jobs as well, and Magoleth learned leatherworking, but she prefers to be on patrol.

Magoleth spends a lot of time away from Rivendell, especially with the Rangers. She has become a mentor to generations of young Dúnedain women and enjoys teaching them woodcraft and fighting. She especially attracts queer women (and AFAB transgender people). This is partly because she is very masculine. Also, when she is traveling with a group of men (the gender, she often chooses to pass as male to avoid awkwardness around Men (the race). She also just enjoys being male every so often. She wouldn’t identify as anything but female, but she could be considered genderqueer or genderfluid.

One of Magoleth’s best friends since childhood was a boy the same age as her named Gladhedir, whom she went on to fall in love with. About twenty years ago, both Magoleth and Gladhedir’s parents left Rivendell, so they had a slightly rushed wedding. They would have preferred to go on being engaged for the foreseeable future, which is common in Rivendell in the Third Age. However, they wanted to get married while their parents were available. They love Middle Earth and hanging out with Men, and they don’t plan to leave until they have no other choice.

Ask permission to use this character!

#lotr #original characters #rivendell #fanfiction #mine #advent calendar #silent rider fic

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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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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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why-what-no · 2 years ago

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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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