#ecthelion scenario

[doodle-pops]

Sweet Medicine

Ecthelion x modern human!reader

A/N: This had originally started off as a small fic and then it festered into more words before I could stop it. Oopsie

Warnings: fluff, modern human reader in middle earth, humour

Words: 2.3k

Synopsis: You tricked Ecthelion into following your make-up human remedy to cure your fever.

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You felt like you were in a sauna. The linens had been changed twice already, yet the heat still clung to you like a second skin. Sweat dampened your brow, matting your hair to your neck as you lay curled beneath the lighter sheets they’d switched to once they realised how furiously your body had begun to burn up. You didn’t remember getting back to your room—only that the last thing you saw in the kitchen was the blurred edge of a table, and then the sound of shouting before the world had tipped.

Now, the room was spinning faintly when you opened your eyes, and above you was the stone ceiling of the room appearing too bright even in twilight. Groaning at the flooding sensation of that light, you grimaced and licked you lips, only to realise that your mouth tasted stale. Your lips were cracked, and your joints were aching with a dull, simmering pressure. Breathing felt like a reluctant task you were performing for someone else. You swore an elephant was tap dancing on your chest.

And sitting beside your bed, still as a statue but with silvery-grey eyes as focused as a falcon’s, was Ecthelion.

He wasn’t shirtless and sweaty this time. Instead, he wore a layered silver-blue robes, softened around the shoulders and sleeves; thr sleeves slightly pushed up to his elbows in a way that was too casual for the head of the household. His long ebony hair was drawn back in a single plait, and his fingers were curled lightly around a cloth he had clearly been using to dab at your face. Quickly darting your eyes around, you noticed there was a bowl of water on the small table beside him, no longer steaming, with a few herbs you vaguely recognised as things Lord Galdor had once mentioned during a short medical alert for injuries in the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” you groggily croaked.

“I am not moving until your fever breaks,” he announced as though he knew that you would sneak away the moment he turned his back or departed, leaving you under professional support—because you would and had before. “You’ve frightened everyone.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured casually, trying to turn in your spot. Unfortunately, the motion caused more harm than good as it made your stomach lurch. “Just overworked. Been on my feet for three days. Galdor wanted a feast.”

“Galdor,” he corrected, “wanted venison stew and grilled peaches. Not his cook fainting into the basin of boiled lentils and smoked beef.”

You would’ve laughed if it hadn’t felt like your chest had been stuffed with hot cotton. Worse, your limbs didn’t want to obey you. The ache decided to crawled down your spine, and better yet, blinking started to feel like it took effort. You weren’t used to being sick in this world—rarely caught anything, and when you did, it was usually solved with an hour’s rest and a few drinks of miruvor. This was something else entirely.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you gently reminded again, letting your head flop to the side where the pillow was cool. “You’ve probably got angry murder geese and a fancy diamond fountain to supervise.”

“My swans can survive without me…not sure about this new fountain you speak of, but I can whip something up,” he replied with the faintest arch of one dark brow and a twitch of his lips. “However, I was not going to let the most interesting person in Gondolin die of their mortal affliction like…fatigue.”

A smile pulled lazily at your mouth. “So I’m interesting now?”

“You’ve always been interesting. I simply tried to keep my thoughts to myself.” He wrung out the cloth in the water again, leaned forward, and brushed it across your forehead with careful pressure. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who could slice a boulder in half with his sword. “But you make that very difficult.”

“Mmm. Sorry,” you murmured sleepily. “I didn’t mean to collapse dramatically just so you’d come flirt with me.”

He froze momentarily, doing his best not to panic internally at the very true accusations. “This isn’t flirting. This is disaster control.”

“Same difference.”

Shifting your body under the sheets, leg twitching with some half-dreamt memory of the kitchen ovens, you were beginning to feel warm. Too hot. And yet your fingers were cold, your skin prickled uncomfortably beneath the gown someone must have helped you out of your uniform into. You hated feeling like this—so useless, pinned down by your own body while someone like Ecthelion, graceful and composed, hovered like some shining guardian waiting for you to slip away into death.

“Would you like water?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Or more of the willowbark?”

Grimacing, y shook your head weakly. “Oh god! No more bark, please. Makes me feel like I’m high on cloud nine.”

Opening his mouth to question your unusual phrase, he shook his head and considered it the fever talking. “It is a sedative. It would make one feel drowsy.”

“Hey, I thought elves weren’t supposed to know much about human sickness.”

“I asked Glorfindel.”

“Glorfindel!—” If you had the ability to sit up, you would. Instead, you opted for staring at him concerned. “—You’re putting my life in his hands? His solution to everything is wine and a very sharp sword.”

“And yet he’s still more knowledgeable than I am by advising me to ensure you remained in bed.” He leaned back, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Your species is incredibly inconvenient, you realise. You work yourself to the bone, you refuse to eat enough, you forget to sleep, and then you fall into bed with a fever like a wilting flower.”

“You sound like my mother,” you sighed.

“You had the healers in this house running in circles for the first hour. They had no idea what to do. I started thinking you had some incurable mortal affliction.”

“Just overworked,” you lightly reminded again, trying to move and regretting it immediately. “Tell Galdor to let me sleep more next time.”

“He has already been informed. Somewhat loudly.”

You turned your head toward him, blinking through the sweat. “You yelled at Lord Galdor?”

“I didn’t yell,” he corrected politely. “I lectured. Sternly.”

The image of it made you smile weakly against the pillow. Ecthelion, tall and formal, walking into Galdor’s kitchen with all his might just to scold a lord unintentionally for working his cook to the bone, and then staying��still here, hours later, watching you like a hawk as if you might disappear the second he turned his head. You probably you have.

“You don’t have to keep watching me,” you suggested. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. You mortals have a very dramatic way of collapsing without warning.”

“Still mad about the stew?”

“I’m mad about the state of you.”

His thoughtfulness made you soften. “You care?”

He looked briefly startled, like the words had escaped him by accident. And yet, his expression shuttered immediately, as he politely looked away to hide his face. “I do.”

A pregnant pause hovered in the room before another drop of sweat slid down your temple, prompting you to let out a low groan and reached weakly for the sheets, trying to shove them off with your trembling fingers. “It’s too hot. Can’t—can’t sleep like this.”

“You’re burning,” he said. “You need to stay covered to sweat it out.”

“For the love of all things good, I don’t need to combust.”

He sighed, and then pushed his chair closer to the bed, rolling the sleeves of his robe even higher as he leaned over to adjust the pillow beneath your shoulders. Once he was finished, he dipped the cloth into the water again, and then wiped your neck, gently pressing at the overheated skin.

“Why are your hands so cold?” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded as you stared at his wrist, trying to hold back a violent shudder and clearly failing.

“Because I haven’t been sick,” he murmured humourless. “Nor do my people tend to run temperatures unless we’re active or in the sun.”

“Tch. You’re so rude to me, Thel. I’m not dying.”

“That is not what your skin is saying.”

“Fine, then. If you want to cure me, then kiss me.”

The cloth stilled against your throat.

“What?”

Blinking up at him with a straight face and cracked lips, you met his eyes. “It’s an old fashion remedy from back in my world for temperature regulation. A kiss.”

Ecthelion looked at you as if you’d just said that you were the Dark Lord incarnated. “What nonsense is that?”

“It’s a human thing,” you stated faintly. “Secret healing technique that I believe works best with elf-lords after deeper…research.”

“You’re delirious.”

“True,” you agreed, leaning in slightly closer to him. “But it’s real. Helps equalise body heat by absorbing the cooler temperature, magic and...saliva or something. It’s science.”

“You’re using your illness as an advantage and too seriously,” he protested, but there was a blush and tightness around his mouth that suggested he was trying not to smile.

“Take the fever away,” you whispered dramatically, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Save me from the boiling curse, oh my noble lord.”

“I should uh…fetch more cold water.”

“Don’t leave me! I’ll die before you come back.”

You were clearly out here questioning his sanity. He didn’t know whether to walk away and hope that it was the fever doing to talking, however, the opportunity might never return unless he worked up the courage. Giving a long-suffering sigh, then dipped the cloth again and pressed it back to your collarbone with something bordering a glare.

“You are insane.”

“I am dying, as you claim.”

“You’re not dying, you’re melodramatic.”

Pouting at his response, you eyes close again, letting the pressure of the cloth moved to your jaw, then your cheek, lingered there a moment longer than necessary. His fingers were much more careful compared to a moment ago. It was clear to state that his gaze had wandered as he contemplated.

Feeling the lingering against your cheek, you opened your eyes, to meet his gaze on you, but softer—less rigid like something in him had begun to fold. He didn’t realise it yet, but he was leaning in closer, his hair slipping from behind his ear to form a small blind.

“You really are overheated,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Mmm. Too bad no one’s kissing me,” you taunted. “Ever heard of the phrase ‘A kiss from a handsome lord, keeps illnesses away?’”

His gaze tenderly flicked up to yours, eyes softening around the edges and making you realise just how beautiful his eyes were when indecisive. You could see it now—he was actually considering it. His brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a flat line, but the decision was making itself somewhere behind his eyes. Your fever must have been sky-high to think that Ecthelion of the Fountain was actually entertaining the idea of—

And then his hand, the one that had been holding the cloth, shifted to your jaw. Those cool fingers, that held swords and fought for victories, cradled your cheek. His thumb brushed beneath your eye, the gesture slow, contemplative and urging you not to look away. Gingerly, he leaned in just a fraction, and the air between you stilled.

“This is ridiculous,” he murmured.

“Not denying it works.”

“Just to be clear,” he whispered with an unreadable expression, “if I kiss you, it’s to cure you.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Captain.”

He didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your comment and instead, leaned in.

His lips were cool, unexpectedly soft, and incredibly still at first—like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when your fingers reached weakly up and curled into the sleeve of his robe, he pressed closer. His lips were careful and undeniably tender—a far cry from the fevered mess of clashing mouths but something more…purposeful. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your jaw as he deepened the kiss slightly—just enough to steal your breath. And as if it was a mind trick, the heat of your fever melted under him for one brief moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were steady.

You breathed. “I’m still hot.”

“That is not my fault.”

“Should try again. For science’s sake.”

“Do you not have a sense of decorum?”

“Says the person who listened to my foolishness and kissed me.”

He quickly cleared his throat, sitting back a little and appearing flustered. “Do not think I make a habit of kissing semi-conscious humans.”

“I’m not unconscious.”

“Barely counts.”

You smiled again, even as your vision blurred. “You’ve got good hands for a warrior.”

“I have excellent hands. I simply rarely use them for wet cloth and feverish cheeks.”

“You’re better than most doctors I’ve had.”

“I should hope so. I am many times their age and ten times as intelligent.”

Saying nothing, you let your head fall back to the pillow while your body continued to ache. The fever still hummed beneath your skin, but there was something oddly comforting about the sensation now. The agonising ache in your joints and muscles were reduced—something about your kiss was extra magically with whatever elf-enhancements he added.

Peering at him through your lashes, his eyes were still on you. Even when you were semi-conscious, apparently, you half-wondered what else he’d done for you. As your thoughts began to fade into another drowsy fog, you heard him shift beside the bed, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. Another cloth dipped into the bowl.

“I’m going to sit with you,” he said quietly, like a promise, “until you’re better.”

“Why don’t you give me another kiss instead?”

“Firstly, get better.”

“Sounds like you really like me,” you slurred.

He didn’t answer.

But the cloth was cool on your brow, and his hand never left yours.

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[through-the-seas-to-valinor]

Lords Of Gondolin

Glorfindel

Headcanons

Glorfindel x Human Crush Who Is Badly Wounded

Glorfindel Smitten By His Crush Whose Admiring The Night Sky

Playing With Glorfindel's Hair

Glorfindel nsfw with his male partner

 Glorfindel Returning From War and S/o Being Very Happy To See Him

Scenarios:

Glorfindel Stargazing With S/O

Ecthelion

Hc Ecthelion and a short, (M) human s/o

[tiutale]

"Galdor hand me that-no the-woukd you let me finish and stop grabbing random objects!" Glorfindel's amused voice barely made it through the din of the hall. Galdor laughed holsing his hands up in defeat.

The Main Hall was bustling with elves of every House Lord to cook to chamber elf helping get things ready for mid winter.

Egalmoth walked passed the two shaking his head. Arms laden with strings of flowering plants. Rog's booming voice cut through the laughing cries of Ecthelion as his ladder once more was bumped by a rushing elf. An elf who colored at Rog's admonsihment to be careful and apologized in deep bows to Ecthelion.

Turgon grinned at Idril as they both set up the tables near the east wall. Where the prizes for later games would be held.

"Galdor! Are you going to hand me that or simply play with it?!"

Galdor grinned and tossed it up to the menacing vanya. "One would think over the years we would find a way to decorate with less chaos." Setting his hands on another string and bracket he glanced up and moved to steady the ladder Glorfindel was on. "There now. Do not overstretch or you will spill yourself into my boxes here."

Glorfindel grinned down at him. "I have never fallen from-"

A shout and crash across the Hall cut off his words. Laughter errupted soon after and chaos of a less organised scene began to ensue. Rog's vouce cut through the din as both Glorfindel and Galdor watched with worry and amusement.

Ecthelion dangled from the wall he had been decorating holding to a sconce that thankfully held no torch. The ladder he had been on was lying several feet away with an elf half beneath it. Fabric was wrapped about both and two others were trying to figure out where the elf, ladder, and fabric could be seperated.

Rog was shaking his head. His smile was wide enough to tell no one had been injured. Egalmoth stood just to the right of Echthelion calling up to him what he said the two Lords could not hear.

Turgon and Idril were laughing off near another table.

"Should we assist?" Glorfindel asked a little worried that no one had tried to help their friend down just yet. "Ee do have a usable ladder."

Galdor pretended to think over the scenario. "Do we wish to endanger our ladder? They have proven untrustworthy of such a tool. "

Glorfindel laughed climbing down from his perch. "Then we shall have to surpervise them as one should do with errant elflings playing with tools they ate not grown enough to use."

Togethe they carried their ladder over to the other Lords and made short work of rescuing the dangling Ecthelion. A break had been called until the chaos had settled once more.

Midwinter in Gondolin alwaya proved to be something to remember. This year was proving to be one above all tha would remain in their minds for some time.

[gondolinweek]

HEAR YE! HEAR YE!

Note: This will be the last early details revealed before we unveil the individual scenarios for our daily prompts.

May 14th Feast of Summer Turgon, Idril, Eärendil

May 15th Ceremony of Silence Aredhel, Maeglin, Rog

May 16th Songs of Sunrise Ecthelion, Salgant

May 17th Dance of Daylight Duilin, Egalmoth, Penlod

May 18th Tales of Triumph Galdor, Glorfindel, Pengolodh

May 19th Parade of Passage Tuor, Voronwë

May 20th Freedom of Summer FREE

While we cannot stop you from using this information to begin creating your works (and, in fact, encourage you to), we would ask that you consider using tumblr's scheduling feature to post your works. Regarding works posted in the AO3 archive, the collection will be moderated throughout the event, and works will be revealed once Gondolin Week begins on May 14th.

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Denethor and Saruman are implied to have interacted multiple times by Tolkien, and I think there are some very interesting possibilities here. In ROTK Denethor says Saruman has visited Minas Tirith to use the archives, in the Palantiri essay Tolkien says the two likely had contact through their palantiri (with profit to Denethor!) In the appendices it says that Denethor and Thorongil (Aragorn) disagreed on only one thing, Thorongil encouraged Ecthelion to listen to Gandalf rather than Saruman (but does not say whether Denethor was advocating for Saruman or against wizards generally).

It's a fascinating scenario. Saruman who is known for his compelling voice, and Denethor who is known for being stubborn and difficult to deceive. Were they ever friends? Did Saruman attempt to exert influence over Denethor? Was he successful or was he rejected?

The thought of Denethor being Saruman's pupil is very intriguing. Not only for the betrayal of Saruman coming to support Sauron, who Denethor would rather die than bow to, feeding Denethor's feelings of isolation, but also for how it relates to Faramir and his relationship to Gandalf. The master betraying the cause the pupil stays loyal to is also an interesting idea.

And the first time they encountered each other through the palantir? Saruman must know he has been caught doing something he shouldn't. If it is before Saruman is ensnared by Sauron I can imagine Denethor scolding Saruman, warning him of the danger, Denethor has the right and the strength, Saruman does not.

If after, it may well be a stinging betrayal. There would be some catharsis though, Denethor has proved stronger and more determined than a wizard. Not just any wizard either, but the head of the Istari! But there is no joy in this. If Saruman is in league with Sauron he will act against Rohan, turning a war where the Gondorians have little chance and one ally to one where they are completely isolated and have no chance.

[awkwardkindatries]

D, F, and K for Ecthelion

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

Whenever he masturbates he has a penitence for letting his mind wander off to many different individuals and scenarios, even if he’d never seriously consider them.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Kind of like a straight sitting doggy? Both of you up right on your knees, your back flush against his as he pushes and pulls you back and forth by the bend of your elbows.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

I feel like he’d have an immense skill fucking kink, the idea of power that encompasses having his partner on their knees and he pistons his cock down their gullet, taking an uncomfortable amount of pride as he listens to them choke. His favorite part is the end, after he’s forced his seed down their throat and pulls himself free it’s followed by thick strings of saliva and cum that dribble down your chin having been blended together by his mistranslations.

[tolkien-feels]

Ahhh for the character ask game, Glorfindel or Ecthelion? Or Turgon? Honesty anyone from Gondolin that you have Thoughts™️ about

I was emoting about Turgon on my own a few days ago so I'll go with him. (I also...... Just generally love him a lot......)

one aspect about them i love: It's almost unfair to say this because I know it's a byproduct of how much we know about him, but I really enjoy his complexity! So many Silm characters have one-note personalities that require extensive scholarship, but Turgon has like, a symphony personality, if I can invent this phrase lol

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: There's literally no scenario in which Turgon can be both High King of the Noldor and King of Gondolin successfully. He has to prioritize one of these things, almost by definition. While I (admittedly having no head for politics) find all the discussions about this fascinating, I think they should be done with the understanding that Turgon was in a very difficult position where every decision is always going to be the lesser of two evils, not the greater of two goods or a only-one-right-choice situation

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: When he was younger, he was every bit as stubborn as his siblings. But after losing his wife, he's developed a tendency to value loved ones even above his own wisdom. This means that he learns to compromise (good!) but also that sometimes he goes along with plans he knows are unlikely to end well (bad!) so who's to say if that's a character upgrade or downgrade

one character i love seeing them interact with: Aredhel. I know they don't share a lot of screentime (so to speak) but the little we see is just great! It has both conflict and love and that's catnip for me

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: Fingon. I feel like we don't know nearly as much about them as you'd think given their importance! Fanon for them is great, but I do wish we had more canon to work with

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: I don't know how this isn't a running gag in the fandom: Turgon and Finrod's beloved baby sisters are born on the same year. Plot twist, Turgon and Finrod don't get along because they're wise, it's because they share a bond forged by gushing about sisters who are growing up so fast and are so perfect and fair and bold and and and and

[goldenglorfindel]

If it came to that, could you kill Ecthelion for a greater cause?

“What a horrible question! What in the world would make anyone ask such a thing?” 

He frowned, genuinely puzzled as to why anyone would think to approach him with that, although he soon sighed deeply, knowing after so many years of seeing every kind of person under the sun that some were simply the type to enjoy needling others.

“I can’t think of a possible scenario which would warrant me killing anyone, including Ecthelion, unless they were aiming to kill other innocents themselves and there were no other option. even with orcs and such I don’t kill just for the sake of it.”

[magpiecaranthir]

Olwe as king of the Teleri being forced to welcome each ship of elves that sailed, and then one day that very last ship. And then it's just one very drunk king and one very drunk kinslayer. Elves probably also have a rule about harming/judging drunk people, so they can literally do nothing about Tinwe. Worst case scenario: Elrond is also there and ready to fake cry.

Scenario: they get SUPER FUCKING sloshed. Like cant even bother to know if its day or night sloshed.

Boat docks some late afternoon after days on sea. Quite a few people there bc who tf comes that late?? Ecthelion, obv. There, bc he's been quite hopeful tinwe would come to Aman at some point. Thranduil's wife and Legolas are there, too, bc if anyone were to come around that late it would be their husband/dad.

Everyone waits for someone to get off the boat. Nothing happens.

Awkward throat clearing. Nothing happens.

Ecthelion is Over It and marches on the boat to see Tinwe and Thranduil mumble about some random shit while nursing a huge flagon of wine. He picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. She never vomits so fuck it that will do.

Confused looks when thranduil's wife hauls him off the boat in much the same manner kings being manhandled yummy

"Wait wait," slurs Thranduil. Hands tinwe the flagon. She takes a huge gulp and gives back the bottle.

[doodle-pops]

Until I Found You

Ecthelion x reader

Request: Ecthelion comfort fic where they discuss all that they went through prior to marrying one another. Reader has a sad family background and had to run away from home at 13 due to abuse (not necessary to get into details if you don’t want to), and yet still made it in life. A lot of mutual reassurance, empathy, and wisdom going forward. Pref cuddling in bed or something but location is up to you <3

A/N: Thank you for the request! I wrote this pretty vague, not going into details or mentioning much about the suffering the reader faced and instead, focused on how Thel handled a resurfacing moment with reader.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, faint reminiscing on reader’s abusive past, mutual comfort and reassurance, some humour

Words: 2.2k

Synopsis: After attending a play which resurfaced old memories of your past, Ecthelion, concerned, sought to provide you with the necessary comfort.

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“You look awfully lost in thoughts.” Came the melodic voice of your beloved husband, standing in the doorway as he removed his gloves, followed by his outer robes. The glimmer of the fire caught in the silver of his attire, flickering fragmented reflections of kaleidoscopic images on the wall.

Swivelling your head around to face him, he was already marching into the room, undressing as he walked—a habit of his—into the walk-in closet. You hadn’t spoken or even returned the faint whisper of a hum his way, eyes fixated on his figure as he whirled around the room like a miniature storm. From the vanity to the closet, then back to the vanity—he was quiet the disarray tonight, far less composed than any other night. Nevertheless, your eyes followed his movements, a ghost smile playing on your lips as he remained focused on removing the stubborn trousers that became a size too small for him, yet he insisted that he would fit perfectly into them. Now, he paid the price, especially after feasting and drinking.

“Are you alright?” he questioned, snapping you out of your trance.

With jerky movements, you inclined your head towards him with a puzzled expression marring your face. “Whatever do you mean?”

He sighed, shuffling out of the last piece of clothing that made him feel compact and walked over to the edge of the bed. Hovering at the edge, his hand reached out, knuckles curling and brushing over your cheek. You leaned into his touch and shutting your eyes at the warmth his hands always provided, you hummed in contentment before opening your eyes to gaze upwards. “How was the dinner?”

He gave a knowing smile and moved to sit at the edge, his hand shifting to hold yours. “It was exactly as anticipated. Egalmoth was the first to become drunk and started stripping, Laurë challenged me to a competition and embarrassingly lost—ended up crying, and Rog was late due to working on some one-of-a-kind piece.”

“Sounds like you had a lot of fun,” you jested, squeezing his hand while your thumb idly traced patterns at the back. “I should accompany you next time and see all the antics myself.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid that might traumatise you for the rest of your life. Don’t want that,” he chuckled lightly and looked down at where your hands were entwined, his heart warming at the sight.

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes and threw him an exasperated look. “I doubt that. I’ve faced worse things and still came out on top. If anything, I can endure all the antics that your odd group of friends conjures by the day.”

There was a short pause after your statement, your words nearly falling flat before a sudden, loud laugh escaped him. His head tossed backwards as it grew heartily, a deep rumble from within. “Oh my love, you are full of surprises. But indeed, I’m sure you can put up with them,” he acknowledged, lifting your hand to his lips and imparting a long, sweet kiss to your knuckles, gazing into your eyes lovingly. “But how was your day spent away from me?”

You hummed at the question and his actions, feeling your stomach fluttering and performing cartwheels by the dozens. You fought to control your expression, not wanting to end up like a blushing fool who caves in at the mere contact of their husband kissing their hand—as if you hadn’t had numerous occasions before. Darting your eyes away from him and focusing on the bed, your other hand reached out to idly pluck at the sheets. “It was…well spent,” you began with some hesitation before taking a deep breath and continuing, “went to see a play today—the one I told you about, ‘No Place Like Home?’”

He gave a curt hum and waited for you to continue, always enjoying when you spoke about your day instead of his—the best part about his day. “It was much different from the others we attended. This one…” you paused, trying to find the right words to describe what you felt as you observed the play from start to finish. “This one felt too close to home. I wasn’t expecting it to be so similar to what I experienced…”

Your voice was left to hang in the air, there were no words spoken between you or Ecthelion. Only the faint sound of the firewood crackling in the hearth and your breathing.

The topic of your past was a touchy one, more so for Ecthelion rather than you, having overcome the obstacles and wanting to live your life to the fullest. You made the option to overcome the burdens, facing your memories all for the sake of wanting to never feel weighted by them as you lived in the future. Whereas Ecthelion, well, it was simply a touchy subject that left him torn, even when he had no part to play in your early years. Carrying your burdens as if they were his own. He always seemed to be the one who was more affected by your past than you were.

Realising that he wasn’t planning on responding, you continued in a more upbeat tone to disperse the growing heaviness in the room. “I still enjoyed the play, nonetheless. The songs were well-written and sung—credits to the writers and singers—”

“And the story? Was it also…” His words were left in suspension, waiting for you to pick them up.

“Interesting? Enjoyable?” you inquired, giving his hand a gentle, yet firm squeeze of reassurance. “Well, the story was about a child unable to bear the pressure of high expectations placed upon them, punished brutally in return, and then ran away, finding peace in the comforts of a stranger who offered them a new start. It ended with the child, now an adult, having the happy ending they deserved.”

“And that reminded you of yourself,” he said softly, a statement rather than a question.

You nodded against him. “I hadn’t thought about those days in a long time. But seeing it unfold on the stage tonight, watching it happen to someone else...it brought everything back.”

Ecthelion was quiet for a moment, his grip tightening on your hand. And when he spoke, it was thoughtful. “It is one thing to look back on our own pasts, but another to see them reflected in another’s story. It makes us remember not just the events, but the way we felt—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty.” He exhaled softly. “Did it bring you sorrow?”

You considered that. “Not sorrow. Not exactly. Just...a strange sort of reflection.” You shifted and adjusted the sheet over your lower half. “I thought about how much has changed since then. How I never imagined, back then, that I would one day have this—a home, a life of my own...you.”

“You built this life for yourself,” he murmured with reassurance. “Through hardship and pain, through struggle and determination. You carved your own path, and that strength is something to be proud of.”

“I did come a long way,” you whispered with a small smile. “All thanks to you.”

“And in this play, did they find someone to love them and relieve them of their burdens?” he quietly mumbled, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Hmm—” you tapped your chin with your finger, pretending to appear deep in thought, “—well, their beloved appeared to be quite the crybaby, if I must say. Also, very cute, more cute than handsome—”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” he grumbled, disgruntled at your teasing as you reminisced on how teary he was in the earliest when you both met. You would never let him live it down, constantly reminding him at every opportunity you got. “I was not a crybaby.”

“I did not say that you were. I was speaking about the main love interest.”

“You were implying.”

“Your words, not mine.”

He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his lips despite his annoyance. You did have a way of turning the most melancholic conversations into something lighter and enjoyable. That was your charm, your secret weapon that he fell for when he first met you—dispelling all the negativity even when you had yours sitting on your back. To still see light in dark places after everything, it took a lot of courage and hope to get where you are.

Glancing at you once more, his face became serious, lines of concern etched into his forehead, making him appear aged. “Did it trouble you?”

With a dramatic exhale, though you understood his distress, you reached your other hand out to place over his, sandwiching his hand between yours. “Thel. My sweet as honey, Thel,” you cooed and smiled at the way he uncontrollably blushed, “it does not bother me anymore. I have made up my mind to live in the present—I want to live the life I’ve always dreamed of, and I cannot do so if my past is a constant burden at every turn. I have learned to make peace because I have a future to look forward to. A future with you, the one who gave me a chance.”

“The one who fell in love with the apothecary because he was stumbling over his words, asking for herbs for a headache,” he laughed, and you followed suit, joining with your joyous and infectious sounds.

“Indeed,” you confirmed. “The one who, when asked about his headache, began asking me about my day, my name, who I was, as though he was about to hire me for another trade.”

He met your gaze, his expression turning serious. “Because I saw something in you that I could not ignore. And the more I learned, the more I knew I wanted to be part of your life.”

Your heart swelled at his words. "And now you are."

He smiled, relieved. “Now I am. However, I wasn’t a crybaby like the main love interest.”

Without missing a beat, you countered. “I beg to differ. Remember when I told you about—” Your words were cut off by a hand clamping over your mouth to silence the rest of that embarrassing story that would forever haunt him. No one needed to know the horror he would take with him to the grave.

Eyes crinkling at the corners, you gave a muffled, amused laugh as you watched him grow redder by the second at the mentioned memory. You were not one to let him forget such a precious memory. If you could frame it in a picture and hang it on the wall, you would.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help it,” you giggled and reached out to remove his hand from over your mouth. “You were so precious.”

“Hmm, of course, I was,” he muttered half-heartedly, not forgetting to roll his eyes. Redirecting the conversation back to the original topic, he spoke up. “But…I just want to ensure that you’re alright and the play didn’t resurface anything. You always say that you’re alright and then something suddenly happens, and you relapse for a bit. I just want to make sure that you’re not saying this for my cause.”

The air fell silent. You inhaled sharply, looking down at your hands sandwiching his, your teeth gnawing at your lower lip. Then, you glanced up at him, meeting his awaiting eyes. The intensity behind his steel-grey eyes made your heart skip a beat and your stomach flip. It wasn’t the gaze that left you feeling anxious or guilty, it was one that was warm and inviting—holding no malice or disappointment—just pure safety.

“I can never convince you enough, can I?” You gave an airy, laugh, then took a deep breath and leaned forward, bridging the gap between you until there was nought but an inch of space between your faces. His eyes softened at the closeness. “You’re so good to me. Giving me a chance to experience the love of another person and letting me live my life to the fullest,” you whispered genuinely. “I appreciate that, my love.”

A beat passed, and then he spoke up with a smile. “That answers my concern, then?”

“Thoroughly. Though, I have nothing to hide from you. You are the one soul I will bear myself to without hesitation,” you admitted without hesitation.

“You should have nothing to fear from your past,” Ecthelion murmured after a while. “It shaped you, yes, but it does not define you. You have built something beautiful, something no cruelty could ever take from you.”

Then gingerly, he leaned in to press his lips against your cheek. The kiss was short, simple and sweet. Nothing different from the man who sat before you, cradling your face with his other hand as though you were glass. Pulling away first, Ecthelion tilted his head to meet your forehead and planted a longer kiss on your warm skin, humming against you in contentment. “Why don’t I finish freshening up and then return to you more decently, and we can assess the rest of your comfort?”

“Only if you promise to cuddle me,” you replied.

“I would be a madman to deny,” he laughed, and forced himself away from your warmth, rising to his feet and marching towards the closet to disrobe the remaining clothes he wore.

You, on the other hand, sat there, staring at his retreating figure, feeling all the more content now that you got your thoughts off your chest. You truly could not have been any more grateful for meeting someone like him all those years ago. You wished it could have been under better circumstances; however, you didn’t regret meeting and falling in love with him.

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[deadqueernoldor]

Honestly just craving 4th age fluff with Tinwe and everyone right now.

We've one scenario we want for 4th age fic in any case, and its not a reunion thing so here's a little fluff scenario we've already planned but not properly written under the cut! (No problem spoilering that bc it doesnt really connect to anything else lol)

So, at some point tinwe goes to whatever city turgon and Finrod built together bc that's where ecthelion lives, still Lord of the Fountain.

Anyway, in our AU glorfindel already hs a son, right? But we're saying he's having another baby (which is hilarious given there's an age gap of like 7000 years between the siblings now).

Tinwe cant bring herself to live in the city permanently (yet) so she's just visiting and usually stays around Ecthelion's house and closeby areas.

One evening shes painting and glorfindel's baby escapes their minder while everyone is at some celebration or whatnot, and bc the house of the golden flower and house of the fountain are next to each other, the baby and its stuffie end up with tinwe.

It's late, she waited like an hour and nobody is coming to pick up the child (the minder is going apeshit but is confining only to house of Golden flower bc this is also the first time baby is climbing down stairs and they didnt know)

Anyway, tinwe knows its glorfindel's baby, so she just picks up the baby and brings them to ectheljon's house and makes them dinner and helps them wash their feet and hands (dirty baby running all barefoot heeh)

They end up in the same bed, and they quietly play with their respective stuffies like those are friends on an adventure

By the time glorfindel is back from the celebration with everyone else, the minder has combed the entire HoGF top to bottom twice, they figure maybe they found a way down the stairs.

They search the HoF and find tinwe and the baby asleep, both clutching their stuffies and leftover dinner still in the kitchen and a hand-written message on the table abt how "baby found tinwe and-" stopped by a smudge in child hand form hehe

[rarepairnation]

5, 8, 12, 15, 33, and 34! <3333

YAYY thank u jamie for all of these <333

5. quote one of your fics out of context

A memory, to an architect, is a prison, a haunting, a noose.

from two shadows burning out a glory day, my bizarre inception/bond crossover fic. its very close to my heart it was kind of my first. idk if i can say non-conventional fic but it kind of is. like conceptually and narratively Weird. something that messes with the reader's head.

8. share the last line that you wrote

oh BOY. im trying to ease back into writing after the wackass week i've had but something seized me and i AM up at 3am picking away at umbar fic. but its time for bed because i have work and also i just thesaurused "retreat." when i start looking up synonyms of VERY simple words its a sign the night is over.

[his father] would give him every honour, and would that not mean he would accord him every accompanying sin?

hehehehe the thorongil-ecthelion-denethor dynamic IS absolutely in the air. its funny because right before this denethor basically curses thorongil out for daring to bring up His Damn Father when they're making out. yeah its pretty insensitive. but it leads him here and from MY perspective the introspection is yummy. don't think of elephants or whatever.

12. what fandom do you want to write for most often

hmm i feel like. my answer is just whatever im? hyperfixating on at the moment? when i get in there i REALLY get in there. but maybe pacific rim. it just lives at a low simmer in the back of my mind at all times but it's also the hardest to bang something quick out for because it is one of, if not THE most emotionally fraught for me to deal with. its just. well its a lot of grief. and also a lot of times my style becomes very um. Particular. because of my personal headcanons about how drifting fucks with your head and how that kind of comes across in the prose. and i gotta be in the right headspace for All That.

15. what fic of yours would you most like to rewrite

honestly i'm not sure if? any of them? i saw a quotation once about only having been able to write certain things at certain points in your life and i really believe that. current me could not produce a lot of my old stuff at all. there's small parts of many things i might change but not complete rewrites, and i also want to preserve them in their posted form for posterity. e.g. there's parts of dreamlike, and yet no dream that i would want to tweak to match my current Denethor And Faramir complexities (it's missing a Little of the nuance. and the terrible pity that i think faramir ends up feeling for his father) but i would NOT want to completely rewrite it. i'm scrolling through my ao3 and like. yeah. and i do think that after maybe 2020 it really begins to stand the test of time and most of my prior stuff i don't have a strong enough attachment to really want to rework. i leave it up entirely for archival purposes.

33. which of your fic titles is your favourite?

i really like five year plan for the afternoon. i honestly really like most of my titles i’ve probably mentioned i think really hard when im choosing them and i hope it shows in the match between the title and the energy/themes of the fic. but i DID create this one from my own mind (rare) and i feel like it really gave the energy of like. having the future you never thought you would have because you've spent your whole life fighting an impossible fight thinking you would die trying...and getting to not have to have a plan for the future not because you think you won't have one but because you just have all the time in the world.......wow.

35. have you ever written a fic because you were inspired by a title?

hmm. not really. i do have some inspired-by-songs ones (talked about those here) that eventually ended up with corresponding lyric titles but it doesn't really work the reverse way. i mostly will hear a lyric and create a Scenario rather than a title

fic writer asks

[lordofthegoldenflower]

😉💦

😉 What are my muse’s fetishes/kinks? : Fin absolutely loves to be restrained (tied up, handcuffed, etc), and for his partner to have complete control. Even the mere thought of it makes him hard.

💦 At what age did my muse lose their virginity? : In the modern verse he lost his virginity at 18. In the main verse it was after he had reached majority. (Fun fact: I’ve never pinned down exactly when in the main verse because I’ve never been asked before. The mun’s favorite scenario is that he pines after Ecthelion for years until they finally have sex as lords of Gondolin)

[welcomingdisaster]

@nelyoslegalteam >:3

this is such a fun question and such a fun scenario and i'm delighted by it. the way i was planning it out right, this did not happen until fairly late in the story -- turgon leaves immediately, basically just "ecthelion's in charge, give the crown to my daughter, bye guys." he cannot lose one more person and if there's any change at all he can save his brother he's taking it

meanwhile maedhros is both farther away, distance-wise, and trying to account for his own brothers post battle (we know that all the feanorians that had fought had been injured!). i also think he does not get the news and details of what happened as quickly.

soo he is going on the rescue mission (and, most likely, maglor is coming with him, because maglor is not letting his brother leave to go to the enemy alone again), but it's going to take him a fair while longer than it takes turgon.

actually, one of the few scenes i picture super vividly is the scene where they do meet up. i'm super into the idea of these two, both terrifying in their own right, kicking an insane amount of ass together. what's scarier than one extremely tall elven swordsman with the light of valinor in his eyes and nothing to lose? two extremely tall elven swordsmen with the light of valinor in their eyes and nothing to lose!

only barely related but i have also. had the temptation to somehow involve morwen in this, because hurin is captured also, but tbh i haven't found a way to justify it, so that stays in the "well, it would be fun but it is entirely unrealistic" realm

Tell us about 'self indulgent nirnaeth au planning'? so what if it's never actually written... those thoughts deserve to be heard!

ahh thank you for asking about this! <3 it's self indulgent passion projects hours!! the basic premise is "fingon gets captured alongside hurin instead of being killed at the nirnaeth." it straddles the line between "fix it" and "break it" in a way that is very fun to me.

the main problem is that my brain is swiss cheese and i'm very very bad at keeping track of timelines and my concept here involves things going majorly off the rails extremely quickly, with turgon immediately going to save his brother gwindor-and-gelmir style, leaving idril as high regent of the noldor (arguably things for gondolin end up playing out a lot better!), intense feanorian drama about loyalty, debts, and common sense, etc etc

i think to write it properly i need to re-read the source material, take a ton of notes, and make a visual storyline for the project on my corkboard like some kind of psycho in a movie (this is how i handle large plots). but i have not had the brain energy for this, yet, so the project is mostly a lot of cool scenes that vaguely string together with many many canon mistakes and an uncertain resolution.

maybe someday!! i have fun with it, at least.

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Two names- Erestor and Ecthelion!

Erestor. Please I Uh, let us just go with Ecthelion, because there are less chances for heartbreak me to be yelled at and hit by wayward objects in that scenario.

[cycas]

I’m starting to collect ideas still nagging at me around my Return to Aman series (in which Elrond takes Maglor with him when he sails from the Havens to Tol Eressëa* and eventually ends up retrieving the entire House of Feanor from Mandos.) So far I’ve got: 

Maglor meeting Galadriel & Cirdan at the Havens

Maeglin & Aredhel

The Gondolodrim watching Maglor from Ecthelion’s point of view. 

Something with Maglor & Mahtan

I don’t know if anyone has Stuff they would like to read written in this setting? If so, let me know characters / scenario and if you are more interested in it set during the 120-odd years post LOTR, or after Return to Aman in Beleriand Risen.   I may not write it immediately, but I’ll probably get to it some time in 2018. 

*No, honestly it can work! We only get Sam’s impression of them leaving the Havens, there were a lot of unnamed background Elves on the ship!  If Gandalf can take hobbits and Legolas can take Gimli, Elrond can take Maglor!