#caranthir imagine

[doodle-pops]

When You Take Care Of Them

Headcanon: Curufin, Caranthir, Fingon, Galdor, Rog

Request: How about hcs for reader spoiling our elves? 🥰 (with caranthir, fingon, galdor, rog and curufin) like they‘ve been going through a stressful time and reader decides to set aside a day to just focus on them and help them get some relaxation (be it a spa day, picnic in a secluded spot or just a cozy day inside playing games/reading) do they happily go along with whatever you‘ve planned? Keep insisting it‘s not necessary until reader has to be like „just shut up and let me take care of you“? – @spirit-of-felagund

A/N: I don’t why, but telling the characters to “shut up,” or “be quiet” has brought me joy while writing about them being pampered and babied.

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Curufin

The forge had been his prison for days. Tools strewn across every surface, half-forged blades cooling in haphazard piles, and Curufin, shoulders tense and brow furrowed, barely looked up when you entered. His hands were stained with soot, knuckles white from gripping a hammer too tightly, and his hair which usually meticulously combed, was pushed back in wild disarray. The scent of molten metal clung to him like a second skin.

“You need to stop,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorframe.

Curufin didn’t even glance at you. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.” The clang of steel against the anvil punctuated his words, but you weren’t having it. Days had passed since he’d stepped out of the forge, and you could see it—how exhaustion sat heavily on him, how his movements, once fluid, were edged with frustration.

You strode forward, snatching the hammer from his hand mid-swing prompting him ro finally looked up with narrowed eyes.

“I said I’m fine,” he punctuated with a huff.

“And I said you’re not.”

The heat between you could have melted the iron on his workbench. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flickered to your hand on the hammer, then back to your face, but when you didn’t move, he let out a sharp breath.

“You’re difficult.”

“And you’re stubborn.”

Curufin wiped his hands on a cloth, tossing it aside with more force than necessary. “What exactly do you have planned?”

“A day off.”

He arched a brow.

“You’re going to stop working,” you said, tilting your head towards the doorway, “and let me take care of you for once.”

Curufin let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t need—”

“You do.”

His smirk faded as you stepped closer, eyes locked onto his. “You’re exhausted, Curufin. I see it. Just let me do this.”

He hesitated, but something in your voice, in the gentle insistence behind your words, made him relent. “Fine.”

Tugging at his wrist and pulling him out the forge, past the main hall, until the tranquillity of the library enveloped both of you. Large windows stretched to the ceiling, letting in streams of light that warmed the space. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and cedarwood, a stark contrast to the forge’s acrid tang.

There Curufin crossed his arms, on the verge of rolling his eyes. “This is your grand plan? Reading?”

“Yes.” You shoved a book into his chest, almost sending him backwards.

He stared at it, then back at you. “You dragged me away from forging for this?”

“I could tie you to a chair if that’d help you relax more.”

For a moment, his lips twitched, and for the first time in days, a faint glimmer of amusement softened his sharp features. “Tempting.”

“Then sit down and I’ll read.”

Reluctantly, he slumped into the armchair near the fire and waited for you to sit beside him, flipping the book open. Your melodic voice stretched between you as you read, the only sound the crackle of flames interrupting. However, very slowly did his posture melted, the tension bleeding from his frame with every turn of the page until he felt his eyes growing heavier.

When your eyes flickered up, you noticed him curled beside the chair leg with his head slumped and mouth opened as soft snores escaped. Shaking your head at his stubbornness, you shut the book and placed it on your lap, peacefully watching your husband catch some sleep.

Caranthir

Caranthir had been brooding by the lakeside when you found him with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the water as if it had somehow personally offended him. His hair, tangled from the wind, brushed against his shoulders, and his cloak barely clung to one side. He barely acknowledged your approach, only the faintest flicker of his gaze greeting you.

“You’ve been out here all day,” you said, settling beside him on the grass.

He grunted.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are.”

He fell silent while his eyes remained fixated on the water. Gently you leaned over and nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Come with me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Moryo.” Your voice sharpened, and his eyes finally met yours, dark and unreadable. “You’re not fine. You need to stop shutting yourself away.”

A frown marred his face but didn’t argue, which for Caranthir was as close to surrender as you were going to get. So, quietly you led him away from the lake, through the woods until the scent of earth and pine surrounded you. The trees thinned as you reached a small clearing where a blanket had been laid out, baskets resting at the edge.

When he saw the sight, he raised a brow. “You planned a picnic?”

“You need fresh air and food that isn’t hastily thrown together at midnight.”

Once again he grunted, but this time it was less irritable. With a heavy sigh, he dropped onto the blanket, stretching his legs in front of him while you unpacked the basket, laying out bread, fruit, and cold cuts of meat. In silence, his eyes lingering on your hands as you handed him a plate.

“You’re not eating?” he asked, chewing thoughtfully.

You shook your head. “I wanted to make sure you actually ate first.”

His gaze softened, though his expression remained neutral. “You’re too persistent.”

“You’re too difficult.” Your remark earned you a low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he reached for another piece of bread. The sunlight filtering through the trees warmed his skin, and for the first time in days, his features relaxed.

When you leaned back against the grass, Caranthir glanced at you sideways. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you refuse to take care of yourself.”

He hummed quietly, eyes drifting to the treetops above. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. Every so often did his hand brushed against yours absentmindedly as he reached for another piece of fruit, and he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, after the last of the food had been eaten. “For not letting me wallow.”

“I’d do it again,” you replied with a small smile.

His lips twitched, and he let out a breath he’d been holding far too long. As the wind rustled the leaves overhead, he let himself lean back beside you, the tension slowly ebbing away.

Fingon

The living room was warm with the soft glow of the fireplace, the light dancing lazily along the stone walls. Fingon sat slouched in the armchair near the hearth, his hair undone, cascading over his shoulders like a black waterfall. He was still clad in his usual attire—worn leather bracers on his forearms, the edges of his tunic slightly frayed from overuse. His sword belt lay discarded at the door, a rare sight.

You had to practically wrestle it off him, insisting there was no need for weapons today. He’d tried to argue, but one sharp glare had silenced him. Fingon might have been a prince, but in your home, he wasn’t above being told off. His eyes followed you now, tracking every movement as you placed a steaming mug of mulled wine on the low table in front of him. “Drink it,” you said, voice brooking no room for protest.

He arched a brow but obeyed, fingers wrapping around the mug. The warmth seemed to sink into him slowly, and he exhaled.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth quirked at that, the ghost of a grin flickering across his lips.

You perched yourself on the arm of his chair, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. His shoulders tensed slightly under your touch. Fingon had carried too much weight on them lately, and the knots beneath your fingertips told the story well enough.

“Lean forward.”

He hesitated. “I can handle a few aches, it’s not—”

“I wasn’t asking, Fingon.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, with a soft sigh, he leaned forward, letting you press your hands into the hard lines of his back.

“You know,” he murmured after a while, eyes half-lidded as you worked over the muscles near his neck, “for someone so small, you have no sense of fear. Ordering me about like one of your servants.”

“I’d treat your servants better than you treat yourself.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re tense. So, be quiet and let me help.”

His head lolled slightly forward, hair slipping over his shoulders, and you worked quietly. His breathing slowed, and his shoulders gradually eased under your touch. The fire crackled softly beside you both, filling the room with the scent of burning cedarwood.

After a while, Fingon’s voice broke the quiet. “I can’t remember the last time I sat still like this.”

“That’s the problem.”

He glanced up at you, eyes catching the firelight, gold flickering in the dark. For a moment, there was something softer there—vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. You resisted the urge to kiss him, instead kneading your thumbs deeper between his shoulder blades.

“You take care of everyone else, but who takes care of you?”

His gaze held yours for a breath longer before he dropped his eyes to the flames.

“I have you, don’t I?”

You paused, fingers stilling against his back. He didn’t look at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Galdor

The storm outside had rolled in thick and heavy, drenching the streets of Gondolin with rain that pattered relentlessly against the windows. There in the armchair by the hearth, Galdor sat, his brows furrowed in that quiet, ever-present tension he never seemed to shed. His broad shoulders carried the weight of command long after he left the barracks, and it wasn’t difficult to see how it gnawed at him, day by day.

You watched him for a while, standing quietly in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed your presence yet, too caught up in whatever report he’d been scribbling at the small writing desk beside him. The flickering firelight danced across his strong profile, softening the stern set of his jaw.

“Galdor,” you said, stepping forward, “that’s enough for today.”

He didn’t even glance up. “I’m nearly done—just a little longer.”

Crossing the room, you planted yourself in front of him, blocking his view of the desk entirely. His eyes finally lifted, meeting yours with mild confusion. “You’re done,” you said firmly as you crossed your arms. “Come on.”

His lips quirked faintly at your tone. “You know, I outrank you.”

“And I outrank those reports,” you countered, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to his feet. He didn’t resist, though his gaze flickered towards the half-finished parchment.

“It’ll wait.”

You didn’t give him a chance to argue, guiding him away from the desk and towards the large, plush settee you’d piled with blankets and cushions earlier. The hearth crackled invitingly nearby, warmth radiating through the room. A tray sat ready on the low table—steaming mugs of spiced wine and small plates of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit.

He raised a brow. “What’s all this?”

“A distraction,” you said, gently pushing him to sit. He sank into the cushions with a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders loosening, though his eyes still lingered on the tray.

“You didn’t need to—”

“Galdor,” you cut in sharply, your patience thinning, “just shut up and relax.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before a rare laugh escaped him—low and rumbling, a sound you didn’t hear often enough. “Understood.”

Sinking down beside him, you passed him a mug of wine, and for a time, silence settled between you, broken only by the crackling fire and the rhythmic tapping of rain against the glass. His large hand brushed against yours when he reached for a piece of bread, but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the words barely audible over the fire. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked back to the flames, his shoulders finally easing into the comfort you’d laid out for him.

Rog

The forge was quiet, an unusual state for it. Tools lay untouched, the great anvil cold and unlit. Rog stood near the window, arms folded across his chest, gazing out over the city below. His frame filled the space effortlessly, broad shoulders tense even as he tried to appear at ease.

“Turn around,” you called from behind him.

He grunted but didn’t move. “I don’t see why you’re fussing over this.”

“Because if I don’t, you’ll work yourself to the bone. Now, sit down and stop being stubborn.”

There was a long pause before he finally turned, arching a thick brow at the set-up behind you. A wide basin of hot water sat beside a cushioned bench, steam curling lazily into the air. Oils and herbs rested on a tray nearby, their rich scents filling the space.

“You’re planning to drown me?”

“If you keep resisting, maybe.”

Rog sighed but stepped over, towering over you as usual. He lowered himself onto the bench, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. You knelt by the basin, pulling off his boots without ceremony. His feet slipped into the hot water, and he grunted softly, head tipping back against the wall.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered.

“So I’ve been told.”

You took his arm next, rolling up his sleeve. Scars crisscrossed his skin, stories you’d heard in fragments over the years. His hands—rough, calloused things—were surprisingly gentle as you rubbed warm oil into his forearms, kneading the tension from the muscles there. The sensation was enough to make his eyes shut and his breathing slowed.

“You should’ve been a healer,” he murmured after a while.

“Too much responsibility. I’d rather handle one stubborn blacksmith at a time.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but his shoulders eased under your touch. You worked in silence, pressing your fingers into the tense lines of his forearm, feeling the knots slowly release.

After a while, Rog shifted, cracking one eye open. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because someone needs to,” you replied simply, meeting his gaze.

He studied you for a moment, then closed his eyes again, leaning into your touch. “You’re too good to me,” he exhaled.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

His lips quirked. “I just don’t want you to think I expect this. I can handle myself.”

You tightened your grip slightly, enough to make him wince. “No one said you couldn’t. But you don’t have to, not today.”

For a long while, there was nothing but the soft crackle of the nearby fire and the faint lap of water against the basin’s edge.

Rog’s voice broke the quiet eventually. “Thank you.”

You glanced up at him. His eyes were soft now, warm in a way they rarely were. “Don’t make it a habit,” you teased.

He chuckled, low and rumbling. “Too late for that.”

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[lovefairymina]

"They say all your brothers are beautiful, Carnistir, but you are the most beautiful of them all, neber forget that!" you said and gave Caranthir a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Grabbing your hand before you could run off, he tugged you into his chest and encircled his arms around your waist. Peering down at you, he hooked his finger under your chin and pecked your forehead. “You are far too kind, melda. You are a rare gem in my life.”

[eunoiaastralwings]

Caranthir accidentally losing his anger on You

featuring caranthir x reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

warnings mental health, emotions, anger issues, angry Caranthir, crying reader and Cara

a/n i have not updated or worked on requests in a long time. not too well - at the moment, so i worked on some feels. I have read and written so many fics and headcanons on Cara being able to keep his cool with his lover/spouse - but what is he could not? What is he accidentally loses his anger on you too? - I mean emotions are still emotions and sometimes the spiral out of control. . . so. . .there is my feels. . .

Caranthir seemed to already be in a bad mood today. Usually - your teasing or affection would melt it away - but today it was suddenly different as you leaned in and teased him.

“Someone looks grumpy too.”

You were going to give him a quick peck on his lips - but suddenly he moved away with an unimpressed face, muttering something under his breath taking a swing of his wine.

His gaze turned away from you.

You can see there’s something on his mind and there’s definitely something wrong.

“Do not, Y/N. . .” 

He suddenly snaps at you in an irritated tone. 

His whole body tenses up - his dark eyes turning down to his glass in an effort to avoid looking at you.

Saying you were surprised in his actions and words was a far fetch, usually your lover wasn’t like this. Usually, he craved your attention - as it brought him peace and quiet, a loving embrace - during his times like these.

You frowned at his behavior looking a little worried.

“Cara. . .what's wrong?” 

You said - placing your small lithe hand on his.

His hands were so big compared to yours.

“It’s nothing.” 

Caranthir replies curtly - his sharp dark eyebrows raised in a confused look. He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks.

“It’s nothing serious - don’t worry” 

He also quickly adds - almost as a reflex to your worried look. 

He sighs silently and takes another sip out of his glass as he leans back and stares up at the ceiling -  avoiding any eye contact with you, his lover.

“Caranthir. . . melda, I definitely know there's something wrong. . .” 

You frowned - your voice in a worried tone.

"Talk to me, Cara. . ." 

You said softly - scooting closer to him on the couch.

“I said! - there’s nothing wrong!”

Caranthir suddenly shouts. 

He turns around and glares at you - his dark eyes he inherited from his grandmother, the great seamstress Míriel Þerindë, filled with anger as he grits his teeth. 

He stands up and turns towards her.

“I shall give you one chance, beloved. Drop it now.”

Caranthir says sternly as he steps closer to you - his fists clenched and his back slightly arched. 

His expression is dark -  his whole presence intimidating and frightening. You‘ve never seen him like this before.

You flinched back - your eyes wide at his sudden angry outburst.

Your breath hitched your throat for a second - scared of his current behavior.

He stares at you with angry eyes, his expression stern and threatening as he waits for you to drop it. 

His nostrils flare.

His fists still clenched and his muscles tensed. 

It seems he’s on the edge of losing his control. 

You can see his eyes are filled with nothing but rage - and the urge to fight, although you can’t see anything triggering that change of his behavior. 

Whatever it is, he clearly doesn’t want you to talk about it - at least not now. . .perhaps he was trying to protect you from it. . .whatever it may be - but currently he needs to protect you from his anger.

You felt her eyes prick with tears - and you slowly blinked away, as you looked away. Your eyes are just on your hands on your lap now.

“Good.”

Caranthir grunts as you stop asking. 

His eyes remain dark and threatening as he watches you silently - his breathing slowly and heavily with anger. 

Caranthir is still standing close to you and you notice he clenches his fists harder - causing his knuckles to turn white.

 He doesn’t look away from you and his face is still hard -  the look in his eyes filled with anger.

You wanted to ask again - but you kept yourself quiet and didn't say or ask anything. You did feel like crying though. . .

You felt like crying so bad - so you got up off the couch and turned to walk away from him.

Caranthir’s dark eyes don’t leave you as you stand  up and turn around - his face still hard and angry as he watches you leave. 

He remains completely still as he looks at you leaving, gritting his teeth before he finally moves again.

Caranthir is angry at himself for losing his control so badly. 

He hates himself for making you feel bad. 

He takes a deep breath - calming himself down and tries to control himself as he moves towards his desk to get a new glass of wine. 

He slowly sits down and takes another sip - as he thinks about what just happened.

You were in your chambers.

You had closed the door behind you - before you climbed into bed and just cried silently.

Caranthir was taking another sip out of his wine - his mind occupied with guilt and anger towards himself. 

He can’t believe he treated you like that. 

He’s disgusted at himself and he doesn’t even notice the time passing. 

After a while though - he realizes that it’s getting late and he finishes the rest of his bottle, before getting up and walking to your bedroom to find his lover there, silent and crying.

Caranthir’s heart sinks as he sees you crying in your bed - his guilt taking over him as he sits down on the bed next to you.

You heard Caranthir come in. 

Your face was buried in your pillow. 

You tried to stop your silent cries altogether. You felt the side of the bed dip as he sat down. 

You didn't say a word to him. 

You didn't feel like talking either -  so you just stayed completely still.

He sighs as he sits there in silence next to you in your bed. 

His guilt eats him alive as he watches you -  feeling horrible about what he did. 

Caranthir takes a deep breath as his eyes focus on you - his gaze full of worry and concern.

“Meldanya? Are you alright?”

Caranthir asks - wiping his fingers through your hair to comfort you.

His voice now softer, a complete contrast to how he was earlier. He sounded caring and loving - the Caranthir you knew.

You didn't respond. 

When he ran his fingers softly through your hair you did tense a little and just hid your face deeper into her pillow and gently fitting the pillow cover.

Caranthir sighs as he sees you tense up. 

His expression softens even more as he tenderly takes your shoulder and gently turns you around to face him -  looking down at you with soft dark eyes. 

“Talk to me, melda. . .please. . .” 

- he pleads quietly. 

His voice is full of concern, making sure you know youcan talk to him about anything. 

Caranthir moves his fingers slowly and gently through your hair - his breath in your ear quiet and warm. 

He stares at you with his calming dark eyes - trying to reassure you everything is fine.

Your eyes were still teary and cheeks still strained with dried tears. 

You looked into his eyes for a second before you turned your head away, ready to turn yourself away from him again too.

“Melda. . .mecin. . .” (please).

Caranthir pleaded with you - his voice desperate. 

He prevented you from turning around.

Caranthir placed his head on your forehead lovingly - trying to hold you close.

It was only when something wet landed on your cheek, did you realize your beloved elf was crying.

Your heart broke seeing the pained and guilted expression on his face - with his eyes shut.

“Nanye nairea. . .” (I’m sorry).

He whispered, pained.

You sighed - ready to break with a fresh round of tears seeing him look so pained and guilt ridden.

You gently placed a hand on his cheek - stroking his cheek softly and wiping away anymore stray tears from your lover’s face.

Caratnhir suddenly relaxes under your touch.

 His expression slowly softens as he takes a deep breath.

A shaky exhale left his lungs as he tried not to cry. 

He closes his eyes for a second - taking another shaky breath and he opens them again, looking down at you with his normal soft dark eyes.

The eyes that looked like the dark sky of the night showing stars.

“I‘m here. . .”

 He mumbles - like a promise. 

His expression is calm and he seems relieved - but also sad.

There’s  guilt written all over Carathir’s face as he stares back at you.

“Áva. . .- ávatyara ni, mecin?” (Forgive me, please).

 Caranthir asks slowly - his voice still softer than before. 

His brows are raised with concern - his expression comforting yet worried. 

He leans his head into your hand as you hold him - his whole body slowly relaxing. 

Caranthir doesn’t look threatening at all anymore like he was earlier - but he does look exhausted. 

It’s only now really showing that he’s really exhausted.

You sighed - wrapping your arms around his shoulders and he quietly cried into your neck - his body shaking.

“Melda. . .I’m here, Cara. . .” 

You whispered - shushing him gently and caressing his hair and back as you comforted your troubled lover.

Once Caranthir pulls away from your neck - you rest his forehead atop of your forehead and slowly closes your eyes again, caressing his cheeks.

He stares into your beautiful eyes - his heart melting at the sight of you. At the sight and the feeling of your foreheads touching - he can’t help but let out a soft and content sigh as he closes his eyes as well, taking a deep breath. 

Your caresses are pleasing and calming - the way you hold your face against his is also calming - and this is exactly what he needed. 

It feels so peaceful in that moment - it feels almost like the moment is freezing, like it‘s so still. . . all he can hear is your soft breaths against each other.

In that soft moment you chose to tenderly press your lips against his lips too.

Your lips touching are soft and gentle - almost like a kiss from heaven. 

His breath catches in his throat as your lips touch his lips.

Caranthir’s heart melting once again.

He takes a deep breath and kisses you back - soft and caring, your lips pressing softly against each other. 

It‘s so peaceful and beautiful, it‘s so perfect. . .the softness of your lips against each other - the warmth of their breath against each other, the smell of your hair. . .

Caranthir can‘t explain how much he loves you. . .

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi M! Hope I manage to slide this request in on time, may I request Caranthir x reader [AFAB] (if you're writing for the elves) with the bondage prompt for kinktober? Looking forward to lots of spice for kinktober ;)

"The vow"

Pairing: Caranthir x Fem. Reader (human/second person POV) | Location: Forests of Thargelion

Themes: Smut (Lemon/graphic)

Warnings: Brief mention of injuries | Explicit language | Bondage (hands and arms) | Kissing | Sex in a tent | Dirty talk | Rough sex | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Summary: Caranthir makes a vow to his significant other, something which is quite rare for him.

Word count: 1.1K words

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume. 

The strips were freshly woven wool. They were strong and yet soft at the same time. 

They had been wound around your wrists and arms, keeping them in place. It was how Caranthir liked it—having you bound, your body completely open to his whim and pleasure. 

Tonight, there was no exception. The tent rustled softly against the wind that swept through the camp, fallen leaves lifting and swirling around the dying embers of a great pit fire. Inside, it was still warm. A brazier was lit, its dim, flickering light throwing shadows all over Caranthir's ruddy skin.

"You must remain silent, my love," Caranthir commanded in a hushed tone. You had moaned, deep and long and throaty. He was certain the sound carried beyond the tent. "Or the others will hear."

He then reconsidered his command. Why did it matter if the sounds of shared pleasures drifted beyond the boundaries of the tent you had come to share with him? The two of you were bound to each other. Not just in flesh, but in spirit as well. The others knew. His brothers knew. They did not necessarily approve of this cleaving to one another before sacred vows had been exchanged, but they knew. 

Another moan parted your lips. "You ask for the impossible, my love, and you know it."

Caranthir laughed. "Then I should find another way to silence you."

"I thought you already had a way to silence me."

"Oho! Is that the way of it? Very well. I will make use of that little trick of mine some other time. Am I hurting you?"

He was not. Caranthir had been exceedingly gentle as always. It amazed you how an elf as fiery-tempered as the one who sired him could be so gentle at the same time. 

"You are not, my love." Skin slapped against skin when his thighs struck yours, unleashing sparks that turned to flame, setting you ablaze from within. "But I am not certain if I could... Oh, my stars!"

He pulled on the bindings around your wrists and thrust deep, finding the secret place that gave you nothing but the most indescribable bliss. Caranthir had a good grip on your hip and your hands. His legs rested over yours. It stopped you from squirming too much. You enjoyed it, submitting to his will. You turned your head to the side, a little away from your pillow. It was all the better then. 

"Good." Caranthir stopped. He leaned down ever so briefly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "And when Rána is at its brightest, I will make good on my vow. I will take you to wife, with my kin and our followers as witnesses. I will not be like that fool, Aegnor. I will not give you up, as he did Andreth. I love you, and you are mine."

"And I cannot wait for that day," you reply without even a moment's reflection. Reflection was not needed. Not now. Not after everything the two of you had endured together. "I love you, Morifinwë."

His eyes slowly filled with tears. They were welcome tears, a sign of his joy. A hand callused by years of fighting and sword use skimmed over your belly. It made you shiver. He pulled out of you, turned you onto your back, and entered you again. Caranthir moved, slowly and gently this time, his hand resting on your cheek. He repeated a pledge he once made when the two of you lay beneath an inky black sky, with nothing but the stars as witnesses. 

"Flesh of two, joined as one. Bound in spirit. Bound in body. Bound beneath the light of the stars. Bound for all days, till the end of all days. Perhaps, if the great ones are willing, even beyond that."

You repeated his words, your breath nothing more than quickening gasps. It was as if you had been running. Caranthir panted. He whispered sweet obscenities in your ear—the kind one should not expect to hear from an elf of such high birth. 

“I enjoy nothing more than looking into your eyes while I fuck you.”

“I cannot get enough of how eager you are to submit to me like this, letting me use that glorious body of yours however I see fit.”

“I know I urged you to be quiet before, but now I yearn to hear you cry out my name when I take you over the cliff.”

He leaned down and kissed you. His skin smelled of the cold, clean air and the fields he loved to ride in. His name came so easily to you. Morifinwë. Morifinwë. Morifinwë. It was like a song for his ears alone. He was now ceaseless, his mouth parting in a strangled cry. It triggered something hot and sweet—a gathering that spread just beneath your skin. His name left your lips again, now ragged, desperate, and hungry. Caranthir sated it, making you soar, taking you higher and higher until you cried out, loudly and without shame. Then he let himself go with a low groan, his entire body quivering violently before it slowly went still. He shuddered, his spend spilling freely after one last, powerful thrust. 

The world beyond the tent was still quiet, save for the sudden, sharp gasps of chilling wind. Caranthir took a deep, steadying breath and drew back, then laid you down on the pelts that served as a feather bed. He undid your bindings. The painful, abrupt rush of blood made you yelp. He rubbed your arms to soothe you.

"Do these still hurt?" He asked. 

Your gaze skimmed over the ugly scars that served as a visible reminder of the nightmarish orc raid that nearly claimed your life. 

"Not anymore." Your sigh of relief rose from the tips of your toes when Caranthir ran his hands down trembling limbs, taking great care not to be too rough or fast. It made you feel so pampered. "I just cannot bear to look at them."

It was one Caranthir loathed above all—how he could not take the scars away. "I do not love you any less for it," he returned, dipping his head to kiss a scar that cut across your shoulder. "But I will see what else I can do."

"It does not matter," you reply. Caranthir had done so much for you already. It was another aspect of him that surprised you—the lengths he was willing to go to make sure you were well and happy. "You having done all that you could already is enough for me."

Caramthir smiled—really smiled. He stayed awake, content to watch while you curled into him and slept. 

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Ok I really loved your fic: Oialëa. It has to be the best x human stories I’ve seen. I was wondering if it was possible for a part 2? Like maybe it’s the next day after she returned and how things go down with Caranthir’s family?

Oialëa - Caranthir x human!reader Part II

Word count: 5k

Summary: The day after her return, Y/N and Carnistir find themselves dealing with the aftermath.

Tags: Angst, fluff.

Author's note: Whoops, this turned out much longer than anticipated. I've had this in my drafts for quite some time, but writers block really made it difficult to finish it😮‍💨 I'm contemplating on adding a final part about their encounter with Fëanor, would y'all be interested in that? You can find part one here.

-

Y/N had always been afraid of the dark.

Darkness, which was so relentless, unpredictable and downright terrifiying. Darkness, which had left her helpless and had threatened her life countless times. Darkness, which almost succeded in taking away every last ounce of strength and perseverance left in her body, had it not been for the silver band on her right index finger. The band that served as a constant reminder to hold on. To return to him. 

And it was this very band that had made her remember how there could be comfort in darkness, that it was not just this frightening sphere of nothingness, swallowing people whole and luring them into a dimension filled with their deepest, most haunting fears and secrets, stripping them of their ability to think rationally and having them become nothing but a hollow, paralyzed shell of who they once were. There was comfort in darkness. That was what Y/N had realized upon her anxious eyes falling on her ring. There had to be. 

Darkness, which manifested itself in his raven hair, his freckles, the bags underneath his bright eyes after a long day’s work. Darkness, in the intensity of his gaze, in the softness of his tunic. 

Darkness, in his body shielding her from the sunlight that was beginning to stream through the windows in their bedchamber on this quiet morning.

She awoke, hidden away in his chest, wrapped in his welcoming arms and scent. In the warmth of his darkness, which was casted all around her like a protective spell.

He was awake. She felt it in the way his breaths were timed, the way his hold on her loosened just the slightest bit upon her return to the waking world. Blinking, she tried to make sense of her surroundings. She was safe. With him. 

Was she? 

The breath that she drew made him stir and she felt his eyes on her in an instant. They remained quiet, perceiving the break of day, perceiving each other. His fingers finding their way into her messy hair brought her into consciousness at once, and she found herself focusing in on the way he twirled a strand inbetween them, and the slight tension on her scalp emerging from this delicate movement. 

She was here. With him. 

He had been with her, watching her sleep all night. Watching over her like a hawk, never once leaving her side. While she knew that the Eldar did not necessarily sleep like the Edain did, his commitment to be with her for hours on end, with nothing to do except holding her suddenly hit a nerve. She could not find a plausible explanation, seeing as he would lay with her every night and that this was no extraordinary situation, but she felt tears pooling in her eyes. And when she lifted her head to meet his gaze, the pure love emitting from his grey orbs made it wash over her like the enormous waves crashing against the western shore.

She was safe. 

Love was swiftly replaced by concern upon the arrival of her tears, and Carnistir’s eyes scanned her still puffy face, frantically searching for any indicator of pain or discomfort. 

"Melmenya, what is it?" He asked, softly. 

They sat up, white silk blankets pooling around them like the ocean reflecting Telperion’s light on a warm summer night. His hand rose to touch her cheek, gently tracing the lines on her skin which her pillow had lovingly left as a souvenir of a good night’s rest. 

Y/N was quiet. Quiet as the tears streaming down her face, quiet as Carnistir, patiently waiting for her to gather herself as not to pry and overwhelm her even more. The moment his hand had come into contact with her cheek, she had nuzzled into him and proceeded to wrap her hands around his wrist.

He was here. 

A single sob left her dry mouth, followed by three words that pulled at the raven haired prince’s heartstrings. 

"You’re really here." 

His lips descended upon her forehead with urgence. "Where else would I be?" 

They remained like this for quite some time, him caressing her face and whispering sweet nothings to her until Y/N had somewhat composed herself to move and sit by the bedside instead, burying her toes into the carpet to her feet, sipping on the glass of water her One had brought her in the meantime to soothe her throat. 

Carnistir was watching her intently, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her, drinking in every movement she made. It seemed surreal to him, this vision that he had grown so accustomed to being nothing but a figment of his desperate imagination trying to hold on to the memory of her, now existing in his presence again as if nothing had happened. As if she had never left. As if he had never danced so close to the edge a mere night ago. 

When she got up to dress herself was when he noticed some changes in her behavior. Where she would usually take her time choosing her clothing for the day, rambling on about her plans for the day and looking at herself in the mirror until every detail about her attire fit to her liking, something about her seemed different. She moved swiftly, like her time would run out if she didn’t. Her steps, now silent and almost careful, shoulders tense. That was when he felt his heart sink. He was well aware of the effects this unspeakable quest had to have had on her cheerful nature, but to witness them now in the tiniest, most inconspicuous actions she took struck him like a blow. Her body was still in survival mode, he could tell. Ready to attack, ready to fight or flee the scene at even the slightest noise. While he had experienced this state of being numerous times before, seeing his betrothed, a person once so carefree, so unknowing, and even naive display its signs scared him. 

Just what had she seen? 

His eyes wandered across her bare back which she had now exposed to him upon changing out of her nightgown and he took note of a number of scars that hadn’t been there when he had last seen her skin. Her precious, downright divine skin which was now tainted with testimonies of the horrors she had endured because of him. Because he had failed to protect her. The weight on his heart grew heavier the longer he stared at her butchered skin, the outline of her ribs now sickeningly prominent as a result of malnourishment. Skin he had sworn to guard with his life, and failed. While it did not change her captivating beauty, he simply could not even begin to imagine how painful those wounds must have been, for he feared he would perish from the torment that was building up inside of him with every passing second. And though he made a mental note to nurse her back to health and make sure she never missed a meal again, his thoughts began to drift out of hand, descending into a sinister spiral. He had failed her. 

"Cara," she called out gently, her angelic voice breaking him out of his mental imprisonment, "Are we going to see the others?" 

He cleared his throat as to rid himself of any audible indicators of weakness before replying: "It is inevitable, I’m afraid."

She let out a breath she had seemed to be holding forever as to ease the tension which was building up inside of her at the thought of a confrontation with his brothers and father. While she knew most of them would not dare overstep any boudaries, it was Curufin she was most weary of. Him and Fëanor, of course. The one who had started it all. 

She had no reason to be worried. She had fulfilled the quest, she had brought home a Silmaril. If anything, they should be thankful. Right?

"We don’t have to," her lover chimed in, sensing her distress. "I would gladly avoid them for as long as I could, if I’m being truthful." The remark earned him a smile. She had tried to bite it back but could not control the corners of her mouth quirking upwards, which she admittedly was not used to anymore. It almost felt silly, seeing as she was in company of her betrothed, the one person who had seen her every state of being, who she was most comfortable around. And yet, smiling in front of him now seemed unnatural. Carnistir had proved to her again and again that there was no reason for her to feel any sort of shame in his presence. That he would be there for her through any hardships she had to face. This just so happened to be one of them, she guessed, feeling a painful twinge in her exhausted heart. 

She looked to her right, where he sat, his shoulder grazing hers, his eyes fixated on her, sparkling with adoration for her smile. An adoration so pure it threatened to bring tears to her eyes once more, had it not been for her mouth beginning to form into a content expression again.

And this time, she let it happen. She let it blossom on her face, warming her cheeks and tinting them just like his rosy ones. 

"Me too," she said quietly, leaning into him, finding herself getting lost in the delicate smile lines forming on his beautiful face. Chuckling, he took her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. 

"How about we take it slow. Would you care to join me for a promenade in the gardens, perhaps? Some fresh air will surely lift our spirits." 

The air seemed to be humming upon her return when they entered the gardens. The flowers stood taller than she remembered, begging her to grace them with her gentle touch, like she always used to before her disappearance. The winds blew in her favor, lovingly tousling her hair as to greet her, and Laurelin cast his most golden rays on her h/c head. It was a heartwarming reunion, and any bystander would have surely thought her to be of elven descent, for they had never before seen Yavanna’s creations show such affections for a child of Men. 

So there they walked, arm in arm, momentarily hidden away from the pressure of the eventual confrontation with his kin. Time seemed to stand still the further they strayed from his estate. How Carnistir wished they could exist like this forever, not having to face the reality of the situation. How he wished he could keep and preserve her happiness from the events that were about to take place. How he wished they could seal themselves in a magical sphere where no worries would ever dare plague her mind. As they walked — her arm securely laid in his, always reminding her that he was right beside her, never to be separated from her again — the path lead them towards the training grounds, from where her ears picked up on the sounds of a sparring match. Next to her, Carnistir froze. She could feel his shoulders tensing up, telling her it was time to face the inevitable. 

They looked straight ahead at none other than Celegorm and Curufin, engrossed in each other’s swordsmanship. Next to them stood Maedhros, Y/N could have recognized his incredibly tall silhouette and wavy copper hair from a thousand miles away. 

Carnistir shot her a concerned look, silently asking her if she wanted to continue her walk — that they could still turn back without his brothers noticing — but something in her heart told Y/N that it was time to step out of the shadows. So they did, and the second his brothers’ eyes fell on his One, Caranthir the Dark felt the flames of the abyss licking at his ankles, igniting a fire inside of him that started to spread throughout his tense body so rapidly, he didn’t notice his grip on her arm tightening to an almost painful degree if it hadn’t been for her hand placing itself on his biceps to keep him calm. 

How dare they look at her. 

He locked in a stare with his eldest brother, whose blue eyes displayed worry and uncertainty more than anything. It was not Maedhros he was weary of, if anything, he almost felt relieved the firstborn prince was here with them. Eru only knew what would happen if Carnistir witnessed one of his vicious brothers make a wrong move and Maedhros weren’t there to stop him. 

"Well, if it isn’t the infamous human," Celegorm spoke, feline eyes taking in Y/N’s silhouette as if she were his prey, and Carnistir’s blood started boiling. His jaw clenched so hard it almost looked painful to Y/N who was keeping a very close eye on him, praying he wouldn’t lose his composure. His hand — so tense it started shaking — resting on his sword, ready to attack at any given moment. 

And he really tried for her sake, but the second his silver haired brother took a step towards her, something inside of him snapped. Moving to stand in front of her, shielding her from whatever it was Celegorm planned to do, the atmosphere shifted, darkness falling on everyone’s face like a heavy veil. Carnistir was livid. 

Y/N could see the way his shoulders shook underneath his tunic, the grip on his sword tightening so much his knuckles turned white. 

"Don’t even think I will spare you. I am not afraid to commit another kinslaying, brother."

One phrase, infused with so much rage and poison, even Maedhros seemed frightened.

It was normal for them to get into fights like this, for Celegorm and Curufin alike to provoke Carnistir until he inevitably blew up — this time, however, nobody dared to go further. When usually, Celegorm would have that insufferable smirk on his face upon succeeding in angering his brother, his face remained stone cold. He knew this wasn’t an empty threat. He knew what Morifinwë was capable of and though he would rather die than admit it, it scared him. So he took a step back, raising his hands in submission for once. Carnistir’s stare was relentless, the tensions still running higher than ever. 

Behind him, Y/N’s eyes met the ones of Curufin, the one she had hoped to avoid today. And the look he gave her was more than just distasteful. He almost seemed disgusted to see her. How it made her mad. How she could feel her breath becoming shakier and shakier. She had travelled to the ends of Beleriand, fulfilled a quest that had been deemed impossible, achieved more than he ever could — of course he’d feel inferior to her. As he should. She knew she was only working herself up, but she couldn’t stop her anger. Who was he to gaze upon her with such insolence. Who was he to ever think he was better than her. After all the pain she had to endure, all the fighting she had done, all the horrible monsters she had slain to prove herself once and for all — monsters he had never even seen before, she was sure. All the agony she had suffered for this vile, repugnant joke of an ellon to even dare- 

I’ll show him.

Nobody registered what happened next. They were trained fighters, stronger and more skilled than most of the elven population and yet, none of them had expected her to leap forward from behind Carnistir, steal the sword out of his grip and point it at Curufinwë’s neck silently — in the blink of an eye. Her stare suddenly turned blank, it was as if she had completely abandoned all of her principles. Carnistir was shocked, to say the least. Never before had he seen her display such behavior. She had never been one to fight, to actively start one to be exact. If anything, she would always try to solve problems without resorting to violence. Since when was she this skilled in swordsmanship? She had always refused his insistence on teaching her, only learning some self defense techniques did she agree to, as a compromise.

"Let’s settle this, once and for all." 

Her voice was cold, almost completely emotionless and Carnistir’s stomach dropped. Just who was standing in front of him now, challenging his brother to a duel? 

It seemed Maedhros did not see it necessary to step in and prevent the situation from escalating but instead backed away when they locked eyes. Of all of Carnistir’s brothers, Y/N had always thought him to be the most diplomatic and just. It seemed he knew how important this was, as opposed to Celegorm who tried to get inbetween them, only to be blocked by his raven haired brother, who had not once stopped staring at him since their encounter. Curufin let out a scoff, glowering at her with nothing but arrogance and mockery before pulling out his sword to accept her challenge.

"You will regret this, mortal." 

They began a dangerous dance, spinning around on light feet, blades swinging too close to each other’s throats for Carnistir’s liking. He felt his eldest brother’s hand on his shoulder, holding him back. While he knew it was not permissible to intervene in a duel such as this one, his stance told Maedhros otherwise. He was ready to jump in at any given moment. And yet, in the seriousness of this situation, with death looming over her like Morgoth’s shadow, he found himself mesmerized by the figures she would display circling his brother, who seemed to be growing exhausted. Her elegance behind the silver blade captivated him in ways he could have never imagined. The unpredictable coldness in her gaze held his heart in an iron grip. There was a peculiar mélange of emotions swirling around in his grey eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening in front of him. She seemed so far away in this moment, unrecognizable but still so oddly familiar. His brows furrowed at the thought of her having no choice but to fight for her life out there in the dark and he realized that this little dance with his brother was nothing but a fragment of the waltz she had danced with the Black Foe of the World. 

What happened to you?

Maedhros’ grip on his shoulder tightened, as if he had sensed the discomfort rising up next to him. They exchanged a quick glance, concerned blue orbs meeting lost grey ones. 

Y/N’s moves were swift when she finally caught Curufinwë off guard, slicing the back of his knee in one quick motion even he hadn’t anticipated. The sudden yell he let out followed by his hand reaching to touch the wound was all she needed to know the match was hers to win. Contrary to Carnistir’s belief that she would leave his brother be, as this injury was enough for her to prove her superiority, she instead proceeded to twist his hand to rid him of his weapon, earning a surprised look from her opponent. Curufinwë hissed at her abilities, conflicted about whether or not he should believe them. It was absurd, how a mortal like her had managed to harm him. He would not have it. He would show her, make her regret to even breathe the same air as him. Just when he took a step forward, determined to use his bare hands in his rage, her forehead collided with his nose with a force he could have never predicted, sending him tumbling backwards. His hands uncoordinatedly flew in front of his face when he felt a warm, liquid sensation dripping down his mouth and chin. 

The gasps his brothers let out at once were the last thing he heard before the actual force of her blow caught up to him, making his footing grow weaker. So weak, in fact, that he lost his balance and fell, a wave of dizziness washing over him out of nowhere. 

It could not be. He was Curufinwë, son of Fëanor, son of Finwë. 

He was… bleeding.

A sudden weight on his chest momentarily brought him back to reality, where Y/N was standing over him, her foot holding him down like he was an animal begging to be released after having been shot with an arrow. He saw a gleam of silver flash to his left and right before she lifted her arms in the air, about to deliver the final strike. It happened before he could even begin to yell at her to stop, that he would surrender.

Two blades, jammed into the ground, centimeters next to his head. Without batting an eyelash. He was alive, but humiliated in the worst possible way. A strategic move on her part. 

Her eyes had a tint darker to them than Carnistir had ever seen. He released a tight breath when she rolled her shoulders back and turned towards him and his brothers, all of whom were too stunned to utter a single word. For a second, he had wholeheartedly believed she was going to kill his brother, who was laying there, paralyzed and dishonored, and it scared him because he had dared to question her intentions. His eyes fell onto his hands, which were balled into fists at his sides in frustration, and he tried to focus on his older brother’s presence instead. Anything to help him ignore the uneasy feeling that was beginning to gnaw at him. It frightened him, seeing her like this, but at the same time, he was impressed by her skills and efficiency. 

With her posture now proud and confident, she locked in a stare with Celegorm, who for once in his life was too intimidated to come up with a comeback. 

"If anybody else wants to tell me something, they’re very welcome to do so."

Although his ears picked up on her words, they didn’t quite register with Carnistir, for he was too taken by her eerily monotone voice. Never before had she acted or spoken this way — sinister and chilling. He found himself wondering whether this was the impression he usually left on others. To some degree, he now understood how it must be to stay on the receiving end of his anger, especially when he was used to his counterpart being but the gentlest soul in all of Arda. Truly, he felt most unsettled by her fëa, which seemed so dark as opposed to when they had entered the gardens to embark on their stroll. Her h/c hair was tousled and tangled, chest rising and falling irregularly as to catch her breath, stature still tense and ready to fight. It sent shivers down his spine — the spine of a kinslayer — when nothing should have this effect on him, not with the experience he had gained on the battlefield over the years. Why yes, he could certainly sense a sort of pride creeping into his chest, he would even go as far as to call it excitement, had it not been for the discomfort and concern for her wellbeing clouding his thinking. Because not only had she completed this quest, she had moreover proven to everyone that she was not to be messed with. To be underestimated, yet again. When her words were met with uneasy silence, Y/N stepped to her lover to return his sword. 

He did not miss her shaking hand when he took it, and he knew it was time for them to leave, immediately. The complexion of her skin told him there would be a bruise on her wrist by tomorrow. She must have twisted it somehow.

Scanning their surroundings for one last time, gaze lingering on Curufin’s silhouette as to make sure he was in fact still breathing, he then gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder and thus lead her away from the training grounds. They left like they had come; arm in arm. This time, however, their steps were fast and restless like Y/N’s eyes which were nervously darting from left to right. The second they got back to the estate, Carnistir didn’t hesitate to pull her aside into a quiet corridor and hold her close. She was shaking against his large frame, burying her face into his chest, clawing onto him for support — he felt a painful twinge in his heart, hugging her tighter. Her silent tears seeped through the fabric of his tunic while countless sobs were wrecking her exhausted body. 

"Melmenya," whispered Carnistir "You do not need to prove yourself, ever again." His hand came to tenderly stroke her hair, hoping to calm her down. When he felt her nodding against his chest, he knew she was listening. "…especially not to my brothers." She slowly raised her head to look at him and the expression on her face broke his heart into a million tiny pieces. He gently wiped her tears and let his thumb linger on her hot cheek, caressing her. "Really, they’re not worth it," he mused, and she nuzzled her face into his hand, closing her eyes. The corridor was silent, the only audible sounds being her soft sniffs and irregular breaths, which she was desperately trying to regulate. Carnistir took his time, comforting his beloved as best as he could. She became so very fragile and delicate in his embrace, something the others would probably not believe after having witnessed her practically obliterating their brother. In a way, he felt relieved to see her crumble like this because it showed him that she was in fact, still the same person. Guilt settled into his bones at that, how could he ever wish to see her cry and lose her composure like this? And feel relief? Because she had acted differently? He shook his head at the thought — that was not important right now. He needed to focus on her, comfort her. 

"I’m certain Atarinkë will never show his face again." That comment actually earned him the smallest hint of a smile, dusting a slight blush onto his cheeks. 

"There it is," he whispered, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers and placing his other hand over the small of her back before kissing her softly, trying to calm himself and forget about the doubtful thoughts in his head. He was glad that underneath that thick skin and harshness displayed mere moments ago, she was still his gentle lover, allowing him to get close to her instead of building more walls to keep him away, especially after what had taken place out there. Anybody would be, right? But he knew that they had to work through her pain. He felt it in their connected fëa. They were intertwined at last, they had always been. She had gone through an unimaginable experience which had left her marked until the end of time, both physically and mentally. Her sudden blank stare and emotionless fighting had certainly frightened him in a way that he had never expected to be frightened of her. But then again, so had he acted after the kinslayings. And she had been there to catch him. To build him up, no matter how cold and angry he got. How could he possibly hold that against her? 

"You did so well, Y/N," he began, suddenly overcome with emotion, "And I love you. Just, please do not forget that you are not alone in this, alright? I will stand beside you regardless of what happens. But I do not wish for you to harm yourself because of my brothers’ inability to shut their mouths." Tears were pooling in his eyes now, the human in his arms being the reason. How he had suffered without her. How his life had lost all meaning when she had vanished. And although she was back, he could not fathom losing her again because of his stupid brothers. Losing her because of his fear of change. She was still here, living and breathing. And she needed him. They needed each other.

"I cannot lose you," The blush on his cheeks grew and spread to his ears as a result of his vulnerability. He had never been one to lay his emotions on the table like this and Y/N felt so very moved by his attempt to comfort her this way. 

"You won’t," she spoke up, her voice no longer monotone and cold, but instead sentimental and warm like the old days. "I know I should not have lashed out like that, but I just couldn’t let him get away with it, Cara. I’m sorry." 

"He deserved it, that fool," he just retorted, kissing her again, feeling a few tears roll down his cheeks. She wiped them. "Just… be careful. I got scared, seeing you like this. I don’t ever want to see you in such pain again." He smoothed his hand over her messy hair as to fix it. 

"I love you," she whispered, her lips brushing against his when she spoke, a slight frown on her forehead. "And to think that it is still so early in the day… I don’t even want to know how your father will react to the news of his favorite child being defeated and humiliated by a mortal woman. Again." Chuckling, Carnistir shook his head. "It does not matter. I bet you they will leave Thargelion together, before dinner even. But until then, let me draw you a bath, alright? And we need to take a look at your wrist as well, the bruise is starting to worry me."

Nodding, she grasped his hand, and squeezed it tightly. The day had only just begun and they had not even encountered a third of his family. Worry was beginning to bubble up inside her at the thought of having to meet each of his brothers and lastly, Fëanor, but the light reflecting in Carnistir’s grey eyes told her it was going to be alright. She could tell from the way he looked at her, admiring her with the most adoring smile on his still wet face, that it did not matter what would happen once they stood face to face with his father. Because they were side by side, his large hand protectively clutching her smaller one, squeezing it just as tightly. She was no longer alone. He was really here. And she was with him.

She was safe. 

[corsairspade]

there are many reasons I like the "Erestor son of Caranthir" headcanon but secretly the main one is that I'm imagining all of the remaining noldo auditors sighing of relief when Caranthir dies and they don't have to try play 4d chess with multiverse time travel trying to catch this guy doing tax evasion. life is good for exilic auditors now.

and then suddenly Elrond and Elros turn up again! even better! oh who's this, Elrond? your good friend Erestor? he's helping you with your taxes? oh how swe- what is this Elrond. What is this. your paperwork for your taxes you say. not a declaration of war? because it looks like a declaration of war on the exilic auditors, Elrond.

and then all the auditors are so busy doing "extreme tax auditing™" for the first time since the second Kinslaying that they don't tell anyone they're pretty sure there's another scion of the house of Fëanor running around.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

But speaking of Tolkien's discarded ideas, the one where Celegorm and Curufin are friends with Finarfin's (then Finrod's) sons and smuggle them on the swan ships is wild.

Fëanor and his folk seized all the ships and sailed east across the sea, and they took none of the other companies save Orodreth, Angrod, and Egnor (Aegnor), whom Celegorm and Curufin loved.

First of all, I love how it sounds - whom Celegorm and Curufin loved - very touching and humanizing.

Imagine being Fingon, though, the same Fingon who's close in friendship with Angrod and Aegnor and Maedhros (or used to be at least). Imagine waking up and realizing that your closest friends have abandoned you without a word. Imagine realizing or finding out that Maedhros's asshole brothers loved their friends enough to take them with them, but neither Maedhros nor Angrod and Aegnor bothered with you.

[animatorweirdo]

Feanorians: Being Their Soulmate...

Different soulmate troupes with the Feanorians.

Requested by Anon

Hi animatorweirdo!

Can I send in a request for different soulmate tropes for the Feanorians and when they find their soulmate? (for example, tropes like the red-string of fate, timer countdown, having a tattoo that symbolizes them on your body, etc).

Thank you so much and I can't wait to see what you come up with!!

(Author note: I didn't do Curufin and the twins as I could not come up with anything with them. )

Warnings: mentions of the book events, mentions of Maedhros's captivity, loss of a hand, separation, reluctance, the oath, doom, and rejection.

--------------------------------------------------------

Maedhros —  Tattoo 

- Maedhros would have a small tattoo on the back of his right hand, right below his thumb and index finger. He would have been confused the first time it appeared, but then he would be excited when his parents or someone else told him it was the mark of his soulmate. 

- He had been given a tattoo that represented his soulmate. His soulmate would bear a tattoo on the same spot that represented him and he would know once he had seen them. 

- Growing up in Valinor he would check people’s hands to see if they had a tattoo on the same spot as him. 

- If you two met in Valinor, he would find a small star on the back of your right hand below your thumb and index. 

- He would be delighted to have finally found you, and most likely would have not hesitated to get to know you and start a relationship with you. His family would be happy for him. 

- However, if you two met in Middle Earth. His feelings about finding his soulmate would be much more complicated. 

- For example, the great enemy mocking the mark of his soulmate and threatening to find them would have left him reluctant to ever find his soulmate. Losing his right hand would have solidified his decision. 

- He would stare at his missing hand from time to time, remembering the mark of his soulmate. He would hope his soulmate would never find him as his reputation would certainly tarnish theirs. 

- If you two did manage to meet, he would feel strange pulling toward you. If you two clicked very well, he would mistake it for simple crushing or fondness. However, that would not be the case when he sees the star on your right hand. 

- Realizing you were his soulmate would cause him to distance himself away from you, startled and anxious to realize you were his one. He would then make a hard decision, to either give himself this chance to feel your love or push you away and possibly save you from the doom that followed him. 

- If he decided to embrace the fact and allow himself to be selfish just once, Maedhros would not reveal you were soulmates but enjoy your company. He would have decided to enjoy it while it lasted because relationships would not last during wars. His feelings for you would have grown but he would have kept it as a good friendship, and it would have hurt less when you two had to separate. 

- If he decided to distance himself and cut ties with you, his soul would ache for your presence and he would feel miserable for causing you to feel sad and confused by his sudden distance. He would have most likely been harsh and explained that you two couldn’t talk to each other, growing the drift between you. 

- Making you leave would be the hardest decision he had ever made. However, it would ease his soul to know you would not be doomed by him and his oath. 

- If there was a chance Eru took pity on you, he would either allow you to meet again in better circumstances or let you have someone else for a soulmate. 

Maglor — Red string of fate

- (Because I think Maglor would love tragic love stories, the red string of fate would be fitting for him.)

- Maglor would be blooming with excitement when one day he saw a red string attached to his finger. He would have read all about the red string of fate and would have most likely been eager to go on an adventure to find his soulmate, the red string being his guide. Unfortunately, he was too young to go on his own. 

- Growing up, he would occasionally check on the red string to see if his soulmate was nearby as the red string would extend or become more clear when his soulmate was near. 

- If you two met on Valinor, it would have happened during a party or one of his performances. He would be surprised to see the red string suddenly become visible and lead his eyes upon you. However, it would not have been an unwelcome surprise and he would have jumped on the first chance to talk with you. 

- His search would finally be over after meeting you and his family would have to suffer his constant serenading of finding his soulmate. 

- However, if you met on Middle Earth, his feelings would be slightly reluctant, but not opposed to it. 

- After the whole kin slaying and burning of the boats, he would have wished he would not find his soulmate. The red string went more distant, but he would be surprised to find the red string showing itself more one day. 

- He would be curious to find them and one day when he met you, he would feel happy. 

- He would be more open about revealing being his soulmate and having a relationship with you. However, since he and his kin were at war with Morgoth, the relationship would have to be kept as a secret. 

- However, if he decided you two would be better off without each other. He would send you away with good wishes and hopes that fate would allow you to meet again, and thus ends the tragic love story.

 

Celegorm — Dreams/Led by your pets

- As a hunter, I think Celegorm would have a prophetic dream about an animal that would lead him to his soulmate. 

- In his dreams, he would see an animal he is meant to find and follow to find his soulmate. He is a free spirit so he might find the dreams and the thought of having a soulmate slightly annoying. 

- However, if he came to meet with the said animal from his dreams he would not be opposed to following it and seeing what would happen. And when that happens, Huan would go missing and ignore his calls. 

- He would then find you with the animal and Huan who had led you to him. Perhaps that time, he would be more open and excited when he locked his eyes with you, especially if you two met in the woods of Valinor and the animal turned out to be your companion. 

- However, if you met in Middle Earth, I do not think Celegorm would not hesitate to have a relationship with you. If you both were hunters I think the relationship would go pretty smoothly. 

- But, if the oath comes between you, Celegorm might let you go in order for you to be safe from danger, or if you do not agree, and that he made it clear he would not give up the oath even for you. 

- Separation from you might cause him to become slightly more violent, but the thought of you being somewhere safe might ease it just a bit. 

Caranthir — Timer

 - A timer would suit Caranthir. 

- He would have been very confused when one day he found a clock drawn on his hand and it would not go away no matter how much he washed. 

- It would take both his parents to explain he had received a soulmate clock, which tells how long it would take to meet his soulmate: the more hours and minutes the farther away and the less how close his soulmate is. 

- The idea would not wrap around his head for a while, especially if the clock showed several hours, which only meant his soulmate was nowhere near. 

- He would be thrilled to find out when his clock reveals fewer minutes and would look around in curiosity till he found you. 

- I think he would be slightly shy, but would not avoid you. If you two click and you show your timer, then it would be the start of a beautiful relationship.

- However, if you two met on Middle Earth, he would be skeptical about having a relationship with you. 

- Seeing there was no hope after his reputation as a kin slayer and war with Morgoth, he saw it would be best not to seek out his soulmate. 

- So, imagine the shock he would feel when he finds his timer running toward the end and eventually finding you. 

- In some parts of his soul he would have been thrilled, but due to his unfortunate circumstances, he might avoid revealing about being your soulmate. However, due to the tugging in his soul, he might make a friendly relationship with you. 

- He would feel ease from his anger, and it would slightly hurt him to know he might have to separate from you. 

- He would enjoy it while it lasted, before sending you off with heartfelt goodbyes. 

Celebrimbor — A strand of hair

- Celebrimbor would be surprised to find a strand of his hair had turned into a different color, but would be delighted when he learned it was the clue of his soulmate and that his soulmate would have a strand of his hair color. 

- He would not mind walking around with the new color and sometimes styling it while searching for the one who had his hair color. 

- If you two met on Valinor, it would be joyful. 

- However, if you two met on Middle Earth, his feelings on the matter would have died down. 

- But when he suddenly meets you one day and sees the dark strand of hair across your hair. He became frightened as he could feel tugging from within his very soul. 

- He should feel happy by his kin’s standards. He had been blessed by chance to meet his soulmate, but his past and the reputation of his house had left him reluctant. He had hidden the color of your hair in hopes he might not accidentally meet you or anyone who might figure out who his soulmate is. In his mind, you were not worthy to get tarnished by his house’s past, but fate, of course, has worked against him. 

- However, if you were not intimidated by his past, Celebrimbor’s fear might vanish and he might entertain the idea of getting to know you. It would take a lot of time to convince himself to finally reveal your hair color on his hair, and wait for your reaction as your hair colors would match and return to normal.

- If you were happy by the reveal, Celebrimbor might then be confident enough to have a relationship with you. However, he would let you go if you weren't eager by the reveal and decided to leave. He would not blame you, but he would feel a painful aching for your presence and heartache for your rejection.

[sakasakiii]

the idea of the peredhel twins having heightened senses due to their maia blood is one of the concepts ive seen floating around that i really like, so here's my take on it combined with the feanorians (+ fingon) lingering about as houseless spirits that i explored some time ago in an old inktober post 😌

houseless spirits see all, but they can't interact with the world around them so i suppose that makes for quite a static existence...but compared to an oathbound eternity in Mandos (sans Fingon??), i like to imagine they'll stay a little longer to watch over those left behind, just to make sure they're doing alright 👍🏻

some more lighthearted bonuses cuz why not:

[essenceofarda]

Haleth, sparring with Caranthir

[doodle-pops]

Sugar and Spice

Modern AU!Caranthir x reader

Request: Hi! Hope you’re doing alright! Exams are killing me, I need some love and comfort and your fics always bring me that🥹Can I ask for a Christmas fic with Caranthir? A Modern!AU where Cara and reader relax under a fluffy blanket with hot chocolate and soft kisses.Thank you❤️ - anon

A/N: Your daily dose of Caranthir fluff is coming right up, anon :)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none, fluff

Synopsis: You finally managed to get your beloved workaholic away from his annoying business matters, and to spend some time with you.

Masterlist | Navigation

The faint glow of twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the bannister, casting a soft golden hue against the polished wooden floor. The living room smelled of pine and cinnamon, the Christmas tree standing proud in the corner, its ornaments glinting like tiny stars. A light snowfall had begun outside, flakes gathering gently on the windowsill, and all was quiet save for the occasional creak of the house settling against the chill.

You sat cross-legged on the plush sofa, wrapped in a thick, oversized cardigan, your hands cradling a mug of hot chocolate that was more marshmallow than drink. The blanket you had draped over your legs was warm and soft, but it lacked something—or rather, someone. Your eyes shifted to the figure in the adjacent room.

You had spent the better part of the evening setting the stage for what you hoped would finally coax Caranthir away from his laptop. He had been tethered to it for weeks, drowning in spreadsheets, audits, and the endless tedium of his work as a forensic accountant. You knew how much he valued precision and responsibility, but the sight of him hunched over his keyboard, his dark brows furrowed in continual concentration, had begun to weigh on you.

Tonight, though, you had decided to change that.

The sofa had been transformed into a fortress of comfort, laden with plush cushions and a ridiculously oversized, fluffy blanket you had insisted on buying earlier that month. On the table, another steaming mug of hot chocolate sat waiting, topped with whipped cream and a sprinkling of crushed candy canes. The fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows that danced on the walls. The festive film you’d put on for background cheer played unnoticed, its cheery music starkly at odds with the subdued energy of the room.

Caranthir sat at the dining table, his laptop glowing faintly against the dim light of the room. His brow was furrowed in concentration, one hand tapping rhythmically against the edge of the table while the other navigated through endless spreadsheets and emails. His tie had been discarded hours ago, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. You could see the subtle tension in his shoulders, the tell-tale signs of a man who had been working far too much for far too long.

“Cara,” you called gently, trying not to startle him. He didn’t respond, his focus entirely absorbed in whatever forensic accounting puzzle he was trying to untangle.

You sighed softly, setting your mug down on the coffee table and rising to your feet. Padding over to him, you placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He jumped slightly, his head snapping up, his deep brown eyes meeting yours.

“Sorry,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice low and gravelly from hours of silence. He ran a hand through his dark hair, which was slightly dishevelled from the way he had been raking his fingers through it. “Just a bit... focused.”

“That’s an understatement.” You quirked an eyebrow, gesturing to the laptop. “How long have you been at this?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning slightly. “A few hours, maybe?”

“Try most of the day,” you countered, crossing your arms. “It’s Christmas Eve, Cara. You promised me you’d take a break.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know. I just—there’s this audit that needs sorting, and some discrepancies in—”

“No.” You shook your head, cutting him off before he could dive into another explanation. You bit back a sigh and leaned down, reaching out to gently close the lid of his laptop. That finally earned his attention. His head snapped up, and his dark eyes locked onto yours, confusion flickering across his face. “No discrepancies, no audits, no numbers. You’re officially done for tonight.”

“Love...” he began, his tone almost pleading, but you were having none of it.

“You’ve worked hard enough,” you said firmly, your hands moving to rest on your hips. “I’ve let you bury yourself in spreadsheets and ledgers for days, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re mine. And we’re going to sit on that sofa, drink hot chocolate, and pretend the only thing we have to worry about is whether we’ll run out of marshmallows before the shops open again.”

He looked up at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re very persuasive, you know that?”

“I’ve had to be,” you said, your expression softening. “Come on, Moryo. Just a few hours. The world won’t end if you close that laptop for one evening.”

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at his laptop, before finally exhaling a deep breath. “Alright. You win.”

You grinned, triumphant, and reached down to gently tug him out of the chair. He rose to his full height, towering over you, his presence warm and grounding. You led him to the sofa, pulling him down beside you and wrapping the blanket around both of you. He chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, and let you tuck him in as though he were the one in need of care.

“See?” you said, leaning back and handing him the mug of hot chocolate you had been saving for him. “This is much better, isn’t it?”

He took the mug from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment. “It’s definitely warmer,” he admitted, his lips quirking into a small smile.

You settled against him, your head resting on his shoulder as he sipped the drink. The tension in his body began to melt away, his arm draping over your shoulders to pull you closer. The blanket cocooned you both, the outside world fading into insignificance as the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth enveloped the room. The film continued to play in the background, its jolly charm adding to the cosy atmosphere. You nestled against Caranthir’s side, your head resting on his shoulder. For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence.

“You know,” you murmured softly, “you’re like that hot chocolate.”

Caranthir raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you. “Am I?”

“Mmhmm.” You tilted your head up to look at him. “All serious and intense at first, but underneath, you’re just sweet and comforting.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “That’s quite the comparison.”

“It’s true,” you teased. “Though you’re missing the marshmallows.”

“I think I’ll survive,” he replied dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of Christmas music playing from the radio—his older brother’s number one Christmas hit. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a state of contentment.

“This is nice,” he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

“It is,” you agreed, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his arm. “We should do this more often.”

“I’d like that,” he said thoughtfully. “I know I’ve been...preoccupied lately. Work has a way of pulling me in and not letting go.”

“Hmm,” you hummed with a hint of amusement. “But I also know how hard you work, Cara. You’ve always been so dedicated, so driven. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

He looked down at you, his expression softening. “And yet you still manage to pull me away from it.”

“Because I know you need it,” you said, smiling up at him. “Even you need to rest sometimes, no matter how stubborn you are.”

He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For being patient with me. For knowing when to push and when to let me be. For...this.”

You leaned into him, your heart swelling at his words. “Always,” you said softly.

The evening stretched on, the two of you exchanging quiet conversation and occasional kisses. At one point, you reached for a tin of biscuits, holding it out to him with a playful grin.

“Cookie?”

“Only if there’s gingerbread,” he stated sombre.

You rummaged through the tin, pulling out a gingerbread man and handing it to him with a flourish. He took it with a smirk, biting off the head first as you gasped in mock horror.

“Monster,” you said, shaking your head.

He shrugged, unrepentant, and continued eating. “Sugar and spice,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “It’s a perfect combination.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Just don’t eat all the gingerbread. I’m saving some for tomorrow.”

“No promises,” he said, leaning in to steal a kiss.

The night wore on, the two of you revelling in the warmth and simplicity of the moment. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence and serenity. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Caranthir was fully present, his mind no longer tethered to numbers and deadlines but to you and the quiet joy of being together.

As the fire began to die down and the room grew darker, you found yourselves lying side by side on the sofa, the blanket pulled up to your chins. You yawned softly, your eyelids growing heavy, and Caranthir pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmured in return, your voice thick with sleep.

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[lovefairymina]

*Snuggles sitting on Caranthir's lap.*

"This is my spot; I claim it!"

“Hmm, claiming what isn't genuinely yours is a dangerous act, melda. I'll have no choice but to be forced to defend my keep...through war!” Before you could comprehend his words, his actions sprung on you quickly prompting a chorus of squeals and laughter to follow. Fingers digging into your sides, reigning an army of tickles to defeat his enemy once and for all.

[eunoiaastralwings]

Hello, may I get headcanons for how an elf with a strict or serious attitude would react to being chosen by the valar, to act as a mentor to raise and teach a young human child, in their early teen years? Like how would they react to the child being very hyper and excited all the time and just wants to play, like how young kids usually do. Elves being very serious most of the time and wise, how would they react to having to deal with a complete opposite of themselves. Would they get mad and frustrated, or have patience? Would they try a different method of teaching to get them to pay attention? Etc? And how would they react to other humans or elves belittling the child for being raised by another race? You can choose the elf or elves if you want that would best fit this ask. One that is pretty much serious or is not used to being around kids.

Caranthir with a Hyperactive Human Child

featuring caranthir and adopted child (gender neutral)

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

warnings mortality vs immortality

a/n i mean the 1st person that came to mind was Cara - who else but Cara lmaoo. I hope you enjoy this anon <;/3 thanks again@theladyvanya I owe you my life

Carnistir let out another sigh - witnessing your attention had yet again diverted elsewhere. He pinched the bridge of his nose as you blabbered on about whatever else that was not important as of this moment.

He really could not understand why the Valar had chosen him of all people - to mentor this hyperactive human child.

He still remembered standing before the Queen of the Stars herself - in shock and disbelief as she handed over you to him.

You were in fits of laughs and giggles - eagerly wrapping your arms around his legs.

Carnistir had asked Queen Varda as to why - but she chose not to reply him and only encouraged him to take care of you.

It was havoc at first - he has 6 brothers, 3 younger ones too, kids weren’t exactly a new concept to him but mentoring and raising you had been a completely different concept.

Not even the Ambarussa was this hard.

Carnistir had found himself in the aid of his mother multiple times.

His mother, being the ever wiser, had tried to advise both himself and you - you were simply a child craving his constant attention in whatever little thing that fascinated you.

He couldn’t understand why you couldn’t sit in one less and listen to him - however Nerdanel had explained to him children did not have the same attention span as adults.

Something he should have known. . .

But he couldn’t even teach more than 3 seconds - before you bounded off to somewhere interesting in whatever was in the other end of the room or happily rattled off about a particular story you read.

He let out a sigh and tried to speak with you - but chose to remember his mother’s advice.

Carnistir supposed it was getting late - he scooped you up in his arms still wondering how had bundles of energy to be fighting against him and refusing to be put to bed.

Sometimes it made him wonder if you were actually a human child.

He had placed Tyelko on a pedestal on being the one to never run out of energy - but somehow even you outturned him.

But he had come to terms on this is just who you were and he could not ever ask you to change - in all honesty he had grown to admire your hyperactive self, even if it made him roll his eyes or made him frustrated.

Some days Queen Varda had come to see how you were doing - and some days she took you away for a few days and Carnistir found those days to be quite lonely or too silent.

Usually he welcomed the peace and quiet with open arms but he found to be rather restless these days now - missing how you bound over to either him or something you found interesting in his study.

Or your endless chatter - he missed it so much.

The day you had returned to him - Carnistir found himself crouching with arms open ready to grasp you into a tight hug as you came running over and he closed his eyes in relief.

It was something he had never done so - but at that moment it felt like a natural reflex like he had been doing it all his life.

He had shocked himself with the gesture and how tightly he held onto you like you were his own. . .

It was at that moment he knew - you definitely made sure to keep yourself as a permanent fixture in his life. He loved hearing whine and cry for his attention in the mornings when you awake tired and hungry.

He loved how giddy how you jumped on his lap as he tried to do this work.

He loved how you babble out complete nonsense in the middle of meetings - making everyone in the room laugh.

He loved how you cuddled into his arms rubbing your sleepy eyes whenever you were tired from your active day.

He loved it all - and he would change any of it for the world.

When Carnistir had announced to adopt you - Queen Varda and Nerdanel was most pleased, it had been Fëanáro, his father that took the most convincing to take you into the family.

In all honesty he was afraid of his Morifinwë facing the mortality of the human child he decided to adopt and raise as his own.

But soon even you managed to melt the crown prince’s heart with hyperactive self and infectious giggles.

So soon - Carnistir had you as his own child, loving you just the way you were.

Though he still receives questionable looks and concerns - he never let any of it stop it from loving and spending every moment with you. . .

Because Eru knew, Carnistir did not have much time with you because of mortality. . .

Good luck with suitors - no one seems to be good enough for his child.

But when you finally find the one - he will be accepting, after being the big scary overprotective dad.

Your passing away would have been the hardest thing he would have to face - and it would have killed him too, but he kept himself alive and watched over your family line, never letting anything happen to your kin and descendants.

It was like seeing you being reborn again. . .

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tara's taglist: @wandererindreams @fizzyxcustard @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @asianbutnotjapanese @floraroselaughter @mismaeve

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The first of many glorious nights

This is for the writer's challenge (nos. 4 and 5. The smut word that makes me cringe? "Mount/Mounting") by @silmsmutweek

Pairing: Haleth x Caranthir | Location: Thargelion

Themes: Smut

Warnings: Sexual activity | Penetrative sex | Cream pie 

Word count: 615 words

Summary: Haleth accepts Caranthir's offer to stay by spending the night with him.

Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume 

This ficlet can also be found on AO3.

Moonlight spilled in through the open windows, forming shadows that rose and fell with his chest.

Haleth thought him the fairest creature she had ever beheld, but now, bathed in dim light, he was positively ethereal.

And to think I nearly refused his invitation to live with him and his kin.

Haleth nearly refused a great many things: to have her people live amongst the Eldar and learn from them; to enjoy their protection, their company, his company, his bed, his body. Oh yes, Haleth nearly refused him. All of him. Wiser counsel prevailed in the end. She stayed. Accepted Caranthir for her own. Now she was here inside his bedchamber, sharing his furs and yielding to the wild demands of his hands, his mouth. Fresh desire tore through her like a white-hot blade when he moved onto his back, and she mounted him, taking him inside her in a slow, fluid movement. Her breath caught when he filled her to the hilt.

Eru save me, she thought. He feels wondrous even inside of me.

Caranthir shivered beneath her while he lay against the pelt, his walnut hair spreading out all around him like spilled ink. Clear hazel eyes—a rare sight amongst his kin—remained fixed on her, brimming with insatiable hunger. He whispered her name, his breath rough, desperate, amplified. Fistfuls of her hips filled callused, greedy hands. Such things were glorious to see and feel, and hear. Haleth arched her back, grabbing onto his arms, her hips undulating wildly every time he thrust.

Caranthir lets go of her hips. His hands glide up her belly, his palms soon filling with breasts. “Do you doubt your decision to stay?”

His thumbs trace and brush over rigid tips. Haleth smiles. It is both wanton and inviting. “No and never, my lord.”  

His smile is slow, hesitant. It then grows and mirrors her own. Caranthir closes his eyes, urging her to go faster. Haleth, on the other hand, keeps her eyes open. Spellbound, she feasts on each new expression dancing on his face, the trembling torso, and the sinful mouth that always parted when he moaned. It was for her. All of it was for her. It delighted her to no end.  

“I want you,” he breathed, his voice barely over a whisper. “I want only you.”

As she was his. Haleth makes this known. Her body hummed, grew taut, fanning the flames already coursing through her veins.

“I am close.”

“I am with you.”

Haleth pushed down, pushed hard, nearly collapsing over him even as she drowned beneath the fiery waves that rose to claim her. She could barely feel Caranthir holding her, keeping her steady, so lost was she in the all-consuming rapture that speared through her like a lance. She barely heard it, him moaning one final time as he emptied his spend inside her.

The air grew colder, and the wind slowly rose as a storm approached. The moon disappeared behind a wall of thick clouds. Haleth shivered, and found herself being lowered onto soft furs. More pelts, thicker this time, were pulled over her.

“I am glad you said yes.” Caranthir pressed his forehead against hers and stroked her cheek. “I am glad you decided to stay and be mine. I am not certain if I will be able to ever find the right words to tell you how pleased I am for all of it.”

Haleth opened her eyes. A wave of happiness washed over her. “Words are not necessary, Morifinwë.” A slow, gentle smile returned to her lips. “What you have just said is enough for me.”

It was the first of many glorious nights they shared together.

[hongchenzhu]

I’d like you to know your paying for my therapy sessions 😭

Vandanyë - Caranthir x reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Reader became mute after she witnessed Carnistir’s death at the hands of Dior. Centuries after his passing, he is reborn and reunites with her in Rivendell, only to find that she no longer is how he remembered her. One day, she decides to show him a painting she had been working on since his passing — her way of coping with the grief — now that he has come back to her. 

Tags: Angst, mourning, mentions of character death, mute!reader, fluff, happy ending

Quenya translations:

Vandanyë - I promise

Órenya ná órelya - My heart is your heart

Melmenya - My love

Author's note: I have a thing for angst with a happy ending, let me cry in peace pls. This probably isn’t chronologically accurate but I needed to get the feels across 

-

He knew it was important when she knocked on his door that evening. The sun was just about to set when their eyes met — her pained expression told him more than he could ever put into words.

Ever since Menegroth, she hadn’t spoken a word. She had every reason not to. He didn’t remember most of the events leading up to his death, and she could not tell him what exactly had happened after he had drawn his last breath — he had been forced to have other surviving witnesses recount the end of the battle to him after his rebirth, although she had been the one who had held him until his fëa had left the mortal realm. 

Carnistir knew how long she had been working on this particular piece. Art had always played a significant role in her life, whether it be self expression or a therapeutic outlet. Back in their time, she had been known for her renowned paintings, her impeccable technique had been unmatched. He remembered how many commissions she would receive, how many hours she would spend portraying people. He had been there for most of the time, just sitting with her while she would work. Now, however, he was not permitted to enter her studio. The reasons had been unclear to him at first, as he believed that it was only normal to take up activities of the past in order to cope with their trauma. Over time, though, he had realized that she had been on her own much longer than him. Time passed differently in the Halls of Mandos — Carnistir knew he had been gone for a long time, but it hadn’t felt the same as her earthly days. The sun wouldn’t rise and set. It had almost been like he had been in a state of trance. His soul had been in a daze, wandering endlessly, existing in untouchable shades of grey; smokey and sheer. And just like he hadn't been ready to talk to her about the happenings in the Halls, she hadn't been ready to let him inside her mourning space.

He hadn’t been there for what felt like an eternity, hadn’t been by her side to help her cope with the traumatizing events of the First Age. She had been left all by herself, forced to process his death, the sinking of Beleriand, the perishing of her bloodline along with friends, companions and enemies alike. She had never spoken about the years between his death and rebirth, only through Lord Elrond had he learned of them. Of her escape from the doomed lands, seeking refuge at Imladris, her encounters with other Lords from fallen cities — a spark of jealousy would ignite in his mind whenever he would see her spend time with Glorfindel of Gondolin, for example. He knew he was by no means in a position to comment on their relationship and bonding, since he had heard how the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had aided her greatly with her grief. It was understandable that she would feel close to someone from the First Age — seen, for once. 

It had been difficult, getting accustomed to each other again after all those years, especially regarding her absence of speech. While she would react to his every word, he wished for nothing more than to hear her angelic voice again. He found himself listening to the slightest sounds she would make, hoping that it would bring her closer to speaking again. He knew she wanted to talk. It was visible in her eyes whenever he spoke or looked at her. They would sit across each other, staring into each others’ eyes for sometimes hours. There was no equivalent to the feeling he got when her cold hands would caress his face, her eyebrows scrunched in a beautifully triste expression, her mouth agape, desperately trying to convey through her glazed eyes what she was thinking. How she had been longing for his presence, his touch, since his return to the mortal realm, how grateful she was for the miracle that had brought him back to her, how she would tell him all about her time spent wrapped up in the embrace of grief, always yearning to be encaged in his arms instead. She would regularly write notes, a habit she had picked up when she had become closer to Glorfindel — who kept journals as a means of coping with his past. And although Carnistir disliked how close the golden haired Lord was to his wife, he was grateful for the support he had given — and continued to give — to her in times of need. 

There was no need for jealousy, he would tell himself. Tales would be told about her, the fallen soldier — widow of a kinslayer. He had first heard about them when a conversation between two young elleths had fallen on his ears. How she had never once taken off her ring. How she would only be seen in long black robes, sometimes wearing a veil, masking her sorrowful face. Roaming around the corridors of the Elven outpost at night, light steps giving the impression of her floating like a ghost; a frighteningly beautiful vision to the entirety of Imladris except for the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel. It was said she had not uttered a single word since that fateful day in Menegroth, because her pain ran too deep. For tears would glisten in her tired eyes like starlight whenever someone would mention him in front of her. Only once, allegedly, she had woken up in terror, and her screams had echoed through the halls — agonizing calls of his name, chilling every inhabitant of Rivendell to the bone. 

Carnistir’s heart had sunken even deeper when he had first heard about those tales. How it pained him to know that his betrothed, who he knew as a cheerful, bright and loving individual, had become nothing but a shell of herself, depicted so wrongfully by people who failed to grasp the state she was in. He had been blinded by his anger, almost yelling at those elleths when he had had to remind himself that this was not his role to play. Not when he was the infamous kinslayer who had come back to live among those he had mercilessly slaughtered centuries ago. How his temper flared up every time he thought about his choices and the impact they had left on her. How it killed him to know that deep down, it hadn't been Dior, his father or the Silmarils who had been responsible for putting her through this torture, it was him.

Her hand laid securely in his when she lead him towards her studio, which was hidden away in the western wing of the estate, close to the gardens and greenhouses, overlooking the roaring waterfalls of Imladris. He couldn’t believe the day had finally come for her to allow him inside this safe haven. They came to a halt in front of an intricately engraved door. Her hands shook when she brought forth a key and proceeded to unlock it. Sensing her anxiety, Carnistir’s arms gently snaked around her from behind, pulling her against his chest. 

"Whatever it is, I will be with you," he whispered, "Vandanyë." 

She squeezed his hand rather tightly before pushing the door open, revealing the mystery he had been dying to lay his eyes on since his return. 

The room was spacey, surrounded by large, arched windows overlooking the mountains. The sun had just begun to set, bathing the entire studio in breathtaking orange light. Papers were scattered across the floor and on the big wooden desk to his right. There were empty canvases leaning against the walls, some of them having outlines of what seemed to be unfinished portraits on them. As he timidly followed her further inside, he noticed how many of the papers were torn apart or crumpled up. He could make out sketches, but didn’t dare look closer in fear of upsetting her or disturbing her privacy. As they turned around the corner and came closer to an adjoining pavillon, where he assumed she usually painted, he stopped dead in his tracks. The wall to his left was plastered with sketches. Impressive sketches. Messy sketches. Sketches of him. 

His eyes scanned the wall in shock, he couldn’t make out how many of them were there. 

His face, sometimes laughing, sometimes looking annoyed, concerned, sad, surprised — it was as if she had desperately tried to capture each facet of his visage so it would never be erased from her memory. 

Carnistir didn’t know how long he stood like this, taking in nothing but himself, feeling like a thousand mirrors were aimed at him. Her talent overwhelmed him every single time he laid eyes on her work, be it messy, unfinished or polished, even. 

He could not even begin to imagine how anguishing the time she had spent mourning him had been, especially now. Some of the sketches had a yellow tint to them already, indicating they had been hanging on that wall for quite some time. He could feel tears filling his eyes, trying his hardest to keep his composure for her sake, although his heart tore itself apart in his chest. 

A small tug on his sleeve brought him back to reality. Right, this wasn’t the piece of art she wanted to show him. Her hand came to rest in his again and she pulled him away from the wall — his head was still painfully submerged in heartache. 

How could he have known that the painting she was about to show him would completely shatter him?

They entered the pavillon and Carnistir’s eyes immediately fell on a single easel carrying a canvas covered with a white cloth. He came to a halt in front of it, gulping when she moved to reveal the piece awaiting underneath. This was definitely one of, if not the most intimate interactions he had ever had with her, he was sure of it. She was about to bare her soul to him, in its rawest state and though he could not wait to see what lied underneath that piece of cloth, he felt just as scared as excited. 

She had turned her back towards him when she finally unveiled the painting. His eyes widened, tears coming back to cloud his vision in an instant upon seeing it. 

In front of him stood yet another depiction of himself. However, this time, he laid lifelessly in her arms, staring into nothingness. His skin looked pale, drained of all its blood, which was tainting his armor. Her hands, clutching onto him with an iron grip, drenched in what he assumed to be his blood. The marble floor was splattered with it, as well as his cheek. His freckles looked so much darker in contrast to his skin. Carnistir felt a shudder running through his body — how did she manage to capture a moment that had taken place hundreds of years ago so vividly? 

His eyes fell on the other person in the picture, her. And the second they did, his tears started falling, streaming down his cheeks like neverending rivers. 

The expression on her face was the most gutwrenching thing he had ever seen. Her face, twisted in an anguishing scream, wide eyes begging, pleading for him to wake up. He could almost hear it. Feel her hands shaking him, pressing into his wound, her tears dropping onto his face.

Her complexion was messy, red and teary eyed, hair all tangled up from having fought alongside him, her sword long abandoned when she had realized he had been slain. 

Carnistir did not remember his last moments, he had only heard stories about how he had collapsed in her arms, how she had desperately tried to stop his bleeding, how it had taken multiple of his men to pull her away from him upon their retreat. He had been told how she had clawed at him, clawed at the ground so much that her hands had started bleeding, how her wails had momentarily stopped the battle because they had been so unsettling. Word had it she had refused to wash off his blood and had sat in her armor for days — completely unresponsive. A part of her had died that day, that was what they said, and so had her voice. 

She had never told him about his last moments, for this exact reason. The painting spoke more than a thousand words, more than volumes could ever capture. A few silent moments passed before she slowly turned around to face him, eyes full of indecipherable emotions. She had become so very expressive over the loss of her speech but right now, Carnistir was completely lost in the mess that seemed to be swirling around in her e/c orbs. 

He opened his mouth but found himself completely speechless, too moved to say anything. There they stood, facing each other, communicating only through their fëa. He could feel her inner turmoil, her sadness and anger, her grief and love, passion and pain washing over him all at once. It almost felt like she had infused that painting with the most powerful magic of this earthly realm. 

The sun had almost completely set, painting the sky in a purple hue that reflected in her tears.

And he understood. 

When her hand moved to grasp his again, he just pulled her into a crashing embrace, holding her so tightly he had to remind himself to not break her. She melted against him, eyes closed in sudden bliss. He made her feel safe, safer than this space could ever have. That, she realized. His lips repeatedly pressed themselves against the crown of her head, which he delicately cradled in his large hand. 

"Órenya ná órelya.." he whispered, fearing that his voice would break if he spoke any louder. "My heart is your heart, my love." 

He was so engrossed in reassuring her, letting her know that he stood by her, like he had promised before they had entered the studio, that he almost didn’t hear it, for it had come out quiet, muffled and hoarse.

"Melmenya…" 

Carnistir froze, not believing what he had just heard. Her tear stained face remained gloomy, but her eyes widened upon realizing what she had done. She had uttered a word — the first word in hundreds of years. A shaky breath left his mouth, more tears pooling in his grey eyes. 

Not just a word, a term of endearment. 

He crashed his lips against hers and kissed them like they were the very air he was in need of breathing. There, in the intimacy of this embrace, in the act of baring her soul to him, she had spoken. Carnistir did not know how long it would take for her to start speaking freely again, but he was willing to wait for her, reassuring and encouraging her all the while like he had been doing since his return. He knew the public would never cease to spread those stories about her and that he would never be able to protect her, which drove him mad — but he knew that the most important thing he could do was to be next to her until she regained her speech and would be able to tell the tale herself.

His hands were warm on her face when he gently wiped her tears. How proud he was of her. He felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards into a coy smile, intently focused on her.

"Melmenya," he repeated, blushing profusely. The smile that appeared on her face was just as genuine as his, with the bashfulness of having heard her own voice again. They stood like this until the sun had disappeared completely, taking its purple hues with it. Only when the darkness had fully engulfed them did they return to their chambers, hearts beating in unison upon the events of this evening, feeling so close to each other like it was the First Age again, unsuspecting of the events that would soon catch up to them.

[whiteladyofithilien]

I think my main reason for shipping Caranthir and Haleth is because we need at least one inter-race Tolkien couple where the human is a woman. Like all three canon human-elven pairings it's always the fabulous fae elven beauty and the heroic dude and I'm like... What about a mighty elf-lord and his badass human lady? Hmm? I need this to be a thing and Haleth/Caranthir is the only ship I know of that has that dynamic going for it plus of the middle three sons of Feanor Caranthir is the only one NOT part of the attacks on Luthien... therefore he's the best of those 3