#elrond peredhel x you

[system-to-the-madness]

All the Time - Elrond x Reader

Pairing: LotR!Elrond x fem!Elf!Reader Genre: hurt/comfort Word Count: 1 818 Warnings: depression/melancholia(?), mentions of the war and Sauron Summary: Elrond comes to search for you when you don’t attend a feast in Rivendell

At the sound of familiar steps approaching the room, you turned your head away from the doorway, facing out into the night covered valley instead. Snowflakes danced in the air, carried on gusts of cold winter wind. The steps halted in the doorway, the Elf who had approached doubtlessly taking in your turned away form, your pulled up shoulders as you were laying stretched out on the daybed, non-verbally making your disinterest in his presence known by not acknowledging him. After a moment’s hesitation, or consideration, he entered the room nonetheless, the gentle call of your name falling from his lips.

You could not help the shiver that went through you, as anytime Elrond addressed you by name. For centuries you had resided in Imladris, and it was more than friendship that bound you to the Elvenlord by now, no matter how long it had gone unacknowledged by either of you.

His steps halted mere inches from the daybed, and a moment later, he lightly placed his hand on your shoulder. Even through the warm layers of the winter dress you could feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his palm soothing the dark ache in your heart. For a few seconds he stood like that, just resting his hand on you, before he gently squeezed your shoulder and drew away.

Almost you expected him to turn and leave you alone again, but you should have known the Lord of Imladris better than that. Instead of leaving you to the weight that still rested on your shoulders, even now that the war was over, he pushed the fabric of your skirt aside and settled behind you, his backside lightly brushing against your calves. It was no offensive contact, but instead one that, as Elrond’s touch did so often, conveyed the assurance that he was with you, and that no matter your sorrow, he would not abandon you.

For a long while you sat like that, feeling his eyes on the side of your face and the warmth of his body against your calves while your own focus was more on him than the snowflakes your eyes were turned towards.

“Why have you come,” you eventually settled on asking, your voice sounding weaker than you meant to.

“Because you have not,” Elrond answered in his ever patient and even tone. There was no reproach in his voice, he simply answered your question. “The celebration is in full swing, and I was missing your presence.”

“Don’t hold it against me, but I do not feel like celebrating tonight,” you mumbled, curling your fingers into the fabric of the pillow your head was resting on.

“As long as you don’t hold my concern for you against me,” Elrond answered, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder again. 

Considering the Elves’ respect for personal space, Elrond had always been rather physically affectionate with you, you thought to yourself. Hugs after hunts, a hand on the shoulder when he was concerned or proud, or on the small of the back when he was guiding you alongside him. Never had his touch brought anything but comfort into your heart, and even now, when all you wanted to do was shut yourself off from the world, you could not help but feel like the soft gesture lessened the weight you felt.

“You have been quiet these past days, my friend, and I dearly miss the light you always carry. Will you not tell what is weighing down your mind so we may share the burden?”

You inhaled deeply, the clean, crisp air of winter, warmed only by the elven magic that encased Imladris. 

“It is not a burden that can be shared,” you answered, finally turning and sitting up. 

Elrond’s hand slipped off your shoulder, but found your fingers instead, cold to the touch, making his eyebrows furrow before he took your other hand as well, bringing them together between his to warm them. 

“Then what kind of burden is it,” he asked, looking from your hands to your eyes, searching for an answer in them.

“It feels like-” You took another deep breath, feeling as if the night outside the windows was suffocating you. “It feels like the dark that came into the world with Sauron still lingers. And the longer the nights grow, the stronger his power. I know he has been destroyed, and yet… the scars he has left on this world have not yet healed.”

“They will not heal for a long time,” Elrond agreed, “Too many have lost their lives, their loved ones, have fallen victim to injury and pain. Too great is the wound Sauron and Saruman have ripped into the face of Middle-Earth. There is no shame to feel that pain, especially not when the sun barely rises over the mountains and stars are hidden from sight by clouds heavy with snow.”

“It makes me think of the clouds over Mordor, even though I fully know the ones here are only filled with snow, not the dark magic or Morgoth’s servant.”

Elrond’s eyes hesitantly pulled away from your features and instead directed outwards where a thin layer of snow settled on the leaves that had not fallen yet. 

“I do not believe there was ever anyone I told this to, but for years, decades even after the first ring war, I felt the same way about clouds,” he admitted. “I sometimes even feared the night when the stars were in the sky, feeling as if Sauron’s armoured hand was clasping around my throat. It was not for a long time before I saw beauty in the dark, star-sprinkled sky again, not until-”

Expectantly you tried catching his gaze, that was absentmindedly directed into the valley of Rivendell.

“Not until?”

“Not until you came here,” he admitted, finally looking back at you. His grey eyes seemed to be glowing in the dim light of candles lighting the room, and another shiver ran through you, one that almost had you throw your arms around his neck and bury your head under his chin to press as close as you might. “It was only then that I felt like the stars were shining again, only then that the dark clouds lost their threat and returned to what they were, clouds. And I so desperately wish I could return the beauty of nature back into your eyes the way you have done for me. But I am not just aware that we are very different people, with very different experiences, but also that close to a century passed before I found the light of the stars again, and that it has only been a few months for you.”

Something in the way Elrond spoke made your heart ache sweetly, and you turned your hands in his so you could hold his hands in yours.

“I’m glad to know I played a part in you seeing the world for its wonders again. And while I grieve for the time you did not, it gives me hope I too will overcome this darkness one day.”

“You will,” Elrond assured you, touching his forehead to yours. “The darkness seems unending, especially when the nights are as long as now. But the sun will rise, and the shadow will be banned from Middle-Earth just as from your heart. If you wish to stay alone for now, I will see to it that you will be disturbed no more, and if you want company, I offer my own. But should you wish to join the celebrations, I would like to join them with you.”

After a moment of contemplation, you nodded. “Yes, I think,” you agreed. “I think I will join you. But Elrond, wait-” 

The Elf had, with a hopeful smile on his lips already pulled away again but was stopped by your words and your hand reaching up to his chin to catch him in the motion. Curious eyes glimmered in grey back at you as your finger brushed over his skin. Making a fast decision, scared your courage might leave you were you not to act immediately, you leant forward, brushing your lips against his, if only just for a short moment. His lips were soft and warm, just like any touch he had ever shared with you, but the euphoria at the small contact was unmatched, especially when you pulled away and he tried chasing your lips, eyes still closed. Giving in, you placed a second kiss on him, one that made the corners of his mouth tuck upwards, before his eyes fluttered open again, and he regarded you with the softest expression.

“Meleth nin,” he whispered into the space between you, as if he were in joyous disbelief at your action. “I take this as the sign that my affections are returned?”

You smiled, the first real smile in weeks since the sun had forsaken the valley and the winter had gathered its clouds. But Elrond would always be the one to bring light into your heart and a smile to your lips. “Was there any doubt?”

“Only a fool’s doubt,” he replied, his eyes searching your whole face, taking in every detail as if he only truly got to see you now. “Yet a fool it seems I am.”

“No fool,” you disagreed gently, “The Lord of Imladris and the one who holds my heart.”

“Then I shall watch and guard the one with as much care and responsibility as the other, since I shall not have to worry about my own heart while it is with you.”

Your smile widened and you shook your head in amusement as you got up from the daybed, Elrond following your motion, his eyes still glued to your face. “Your words are like poetry,” you teased, making him shrug while he reached for your hand.

“How are you to know they are not part of the songs I wrote with none but you in mind,” he responded in the same teasing manner as his fingers intertwined with you.

“Then, I suppose, where those words came from, there are more, and in due time I shall want to hear as many of them as you will reveal.”

“If you wish so, I shall read them to you,” Elrond agreed as he guided you into the corridor and away from the dark windows. “But a word of warning. There are more of them than I would wish to admit even in front of myself.”

“Well, meleth nin,” you spoke lightly, feeling a shiver run through Elrond at the use of the sweet name, before he squeezed your hand tighter, “I do believe we have time for that.”

“All the time we need,” Elrond agreed, guiding you to walk closer to him as he led you through the dark towards the celebration with food and music and dance in the fire-lit halls of Imladris.

[queers-gambit]

Bait and Switch

prompt: ( requested ) Adar knows you by surname and reputation, but makes a fatal mistake: underestimating the mutual desire to reunite with your husband.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader -> hair color specified reader that does not specify race

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.7k+

note: did i steal the Targaryen hair color? "obviously," - Severus Snape. but don't let HOTD's wigs fool you - this hair color is NOT indicative of race.

warnings: reader insert for the haters, spoilers, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, fuck tone of ellipsis 'cause Adar talks slow. POW!Reader (prisoner of war), violence, blood, injury, depiction of medical phenomenon (cauterization), slight gore (Reader bites off an Orc finger). healthy family dynamics, embedded Aragorn quote, Middle-earth fire is hotter than reality so JUST. roll. with. it. okay? okay. also, this requires a lot of imagination 'cause author invents really random lore but have fun with it. not edited, author can't see straight so what the fuck is this?

incarnate: embody or represent (a diety or spirit) in human form

"We found an Elf still alive, Lord Father!"

Adar watched lazily as one of his children stood over a body covered by toxic volcanic ash; twitching as it regained consciousness. "Kill it," he answered simply. The Orc snarled in pleasure and bent to grab the Elf's head; gripping their hair aggressively, yanking their head up - possibly snapping the Elf's spine - and lifted his blade in the air. However, the clump of hair was familiar and suddenly, Adar was barking, "Wait!"

Not many Elves had this particular hair color. It was dyed from soot and ash, but he could recognize the bright, platinum white-blonde hair. While some Elves were extremely fair yellow-blonde, this was white - like the purest of snows. And Adar only knew this trait belonged to one single bloodline.

The Incarnated, a single brood blessed by the Valar to give them unnatural strength and skill in battle. They were impressive, formidable foes; and typically, never lost a fight, battle, or war. They were absolutely brutish, almost impossible to kill, yet humble, generous, and kind.

Their aim always found the bullseye. Broadswords able to sever bone. Morality skewed more positive than simple neutrality. Silver tongues sharpened to prick the ears that listen.

However, it should be noted that even the Incarnated cannot withstand against the eruption of a volcano.

The Orc snarled with confusion now, hissing through his bloody teeth but not lowering the Elf. Adar strolled over, glaring at their captive, but slowly lowering himself to a squat as the Orc presented his finding. Adar's eyes squinted, reaching out and musing the trademark locks out of the Elf's face; smirking as he caressed her cheek free of ash.

He growled your name, sight still hazy from the eruption of what will later be known as Mount Doom - yet could still recognize sounds. Slowly, you blinked and tried to focus, groaning as pain in your scalp burned and prickled; spine bowed from the horribly painful position.

"Adar?" You whispered in confusion.

"You remember me."

You scoffed, slurring slightly, "You left quite a lasting impression."

His hand dropped to push hair from your neck and shoulder, revealing a long blemish from his dagger years ago. "And here we meet yet again," Adar chuckled. "Release her," he told his child, who instantly dropped you with a grunt; ash puffing up on impact. "Come," Adar offered his hand as you tried to sit up with trembling limbs, "we've still farther to go."

"Fuck you," you seethed, spitting at him; ready for the pain to end after the displacement and turmoil of your people. You had been with the Númenoreans, along with Commander Galadriel, and this... "King" Halbrand; celebrating victory against Adar's first volley of Orcs when the explosion happened; spewing toxicity into the earth, through the air, and evidently, over the area to distinguish what will be known as Mordor.

"Hm," Adar considered your weak form, chuckling. "Get her up," he commanded, standing, and watching as chains were slapped to your wrists and ankles before being tossed into a bloody, maggot-infested, wood-rotting wagon.

Seemingly eons away, Elrond was being informed of your assumed demise. Your husband refused to believe it, but by the solemn look of the messenger, his greatest companion, Galadriel, he knew there was weighted truth to her words.

"Did you see her?" Elrond asked.

"See her fall? No - "

"Did you even look for her?"

"Of course we did, but it was too dangerous to linger longer than what we'd been there for."

Elrond's head shook, "No. No... I won't believe it - "

"I know it's difficult to accept, but... She's gone, Elrond."

"I would know if my wife is dead," Elrond snarled uncharacteristically. "Believe what you wish, but I know she still lives."

Galadriel knew better than to argue; she, herself, spent years of denial after Sauron murdered her brother, Finrod. So she gave Elrond space to process what he'd learned.

Yet while a circumstantially redeeming quality, Elrond was stubborn and confident in his morals and opinions. So, he refused to believe your life was lost; something in his gut twisted knowingly, assuring you were just misplaced and surely, soon to be home. Elrond knew you had a flair for the dramatic, so, he just prayed this was one of those times - where you wouldn't reappear until the very last second to make an entrance.

Yet Adar took every precaution to ensure you did not escape or could be rescued. He didn't parade you around, he kept you hidden away to prevent gossip from revealing your location. You were constantly left chained to posts by rusting irons, no comfort offered, no reprieve; nothing to pass your annoying suffering a little easier. You were fed just enough to be kept alive, you were allowed to wash yourself with a single cloth every few weeks - but typically with an Orcish audience watching, claiming they're "on duty". You lost use of your tongue after so many months had passed without a single indication aid had been deployed - hope shattered and futile.

You wondered if Elrond knew. You worried he thought you lost to the war. In vain, you prayed he didn't give up on you. However, you were logical and logic screamed at you that nobody would come - there was no point! You would've believed being told someone perished, too, if you heard of such circumstances.

Despite being an Incarnated, you were emotionally drained. Though, it's worth noting that under normal circumstances, you would've NEVER ended up in this position; but because of your vulnerable state and the opportunity was too good to pass up, Adar prided himself on "defeating you". He didn't know that you were beyond patient; waiting, observing, listening, leaning routines and schedules. Any opportunity you identified, you searched for anything that could help you escape; something sharp, small enough to pick the lock of your irons. You were Incarnated - your will to survive (even out of pure spite) rivaled that of any enemy.

Camp to camp, you were moved. Day by day, you lost a little more sanity. Nights grew cold, days short.

You were surprised when a pair of Orcs lumbered into "your" room, unlocking you from the post but keeping the chains on your wrists in place. They yanked you behind them, shoved you into Adar's tented shelter then forced you to your knees before the food-filled banquet table.

"And of course, there's her," Adar waved at you lazily, smirking when his newest prisoner of war sat forward with a gobsmacked expression.

She whispered your name, head snapping up to find your companion, Commander Galadriel, sat at the opposite head of the table to Adar. You smiled slightly and whispered her name softly, aware of your appearance and how straggly, despondent, and wary you must look.

"What is the meaning of this?" Galadriel demanded, the emotion in her thick voice making it crack.

"We found her," Adar smirked, "after you and your people abandoned her."

"We did not - "

"She's been... An honored guest of ours," Adar cut Galadriel off. "Her hair - it's a rare trait, I knew who she was when she was found. Figured she could truly help... Turn the tides in this war."

"You do not know what you've done," Galadriel breathed. "If her kin knew you held her, they would raze your camp into the dirt and return your children to darkness."

"You think... I do not understand the risks of holding an Incarnated? I have faced them before, known their wrath... But against Sauron, it was a necessary risk to take."

"Why?"

"You must see," Adar explained, "that it is not His lies which must be extinguished. It. Is. Him." He paused, revealing, "And I can help you do it." Adar leaned forward in his chair, "I can help you destroy Sauron, and should you value your friend's life, you will let me help you."

"What help could you possibly provide, Orc?" Galadriel spat, now leaned back casually in the chair Adar sat her in.

"Uruk," Adar corrected in Black Speech, standing from his seat to venture towards the side of the room. He stood before a plain wooden box, lifting the lid, and revealing in his hands:

"Morgoth's crown," Galadriel sat up. "I was told - "

"There are many stories of what happened after the Silmarils were pried from its setting," Adar validated. "But I was there when Sauron re-fired it to fit Himself. I was there when He kneeled to be crowned. And I was the one who used its power to slay Him."

Adar set the crown to the table, your stomach growling at the sight and smell of full platters.

"If what you say is true... Why did He return?" Galadriel asked.

"Because I had not yet found you, as I have her," he gestured at you.

"What part are we to play in this?"

"It is said the Three Elven Rings saved your people from fading. Is it true?" When Galadriel didn't answer, Adar nodded at one of his children standing over you; making the Orc bash you in the temple. "Is it true?" Adar repeated over your whimper of pain.

"Yes," Galadriel grit, glaring at the small dribble of fresh blood dripping down the side of your face. She decided red wasn't your color - no matter how much your husband liked seeing you in it.

"Then perhaps... Together, this crown and your Rings would be powerful enough to truly destroy Sauron forever. The Deceiver believes he is still beyond my grasp... But I know he hides in Eregion. And I suspect you know for certain... Halbrand is Sauron... Isn't he?"

You laughed a little, "Halbrand? Sauron? Come off it, you're mistaken. Go on, Commander, tell him - tell him." Galadriel was silent as she was overwhelmed by her memories. "Commander, tell him he's wrong! Halbrand isn't Sauron, tell him he's mistaken!"

Adar mistook the silence as her being defiant, nodding to his son again in permission. So, the Orc swiftly backhanded you with enough force, it literally toppled you backwards with a groan.

"I kept her alive... For you," Adar growled, bearing his teeth at the Elleth. "But I'll execute her at nightfall if you continue down this path of resistance. The fate of that city and your friend now rests on your ability to put aside your pride." Galadriel's teary eyes casted over you, sprawled out on the floor - not finding the use in sitting up to your knees again. "I suggest you find the will to do so... If you can, for everyone's sake." Adar removed the crown from the table and placed it back in its box, Galadriel hissing your name, only receiving a nonverbal thumbs up to indicate you were okay. When the Father of Uruks returned, he clipped matching irons to Galadriel's wrist before snatching up his sword, tossing over his shoulder, "We will speak again. I'll give you until nightfall to decide."

The Orcs filed out of the room after Adar, leaving you on the ground and chained to a spare post. Slowly, you tried to sit up and use the beam as support; grimacing in pain that made your friend question, "Are you hurt?"

"They're not the most merciful lot," you tried to joke with a smirk, but it turned into a wince, "but I've been through worse, I'll be fine. Listen to me, Galadriel," you sniffled, "you can't tell Adar anything. I don't care if he's gutting me, you don't tell him - "

"I would not have your life ended on my account, it would be as if swinging the sword myself!" Galadriel argued with heat.

"Adar is not your ally," you scoffed, "nor are the Orcs - look at what they've done! Continue to do! Do not be so foolish! So blinded, please, I beg you, my friend. If you tell him about Sauron, yes, your enemy might be vanquished, but you could be creating an entirely new and future enemy that all of Middle-earth must endure. My life is not worth that."

"It's worth more."

You smirked, "Don't forget who I am, friend; I am Incarnated, and I will not die easily nor without a fight. Adar will not succeed in my death so easily."

Galadriel shook her head, "If I do not indulge Adar with information I have and you lose your life because of that, Elrond would never forgive me."

You gave a watery smile, sniffling, "How is he?"

The Elf shook her head, "He's... He refuses to accept your fate, operates on a shorter fuse, he's mourning - even if he doesn't acknowledge or believe he is."

"It's not that I don't love you, my friend, but... I'll miss him the most," you let a single tear fall, a wistful smile toying on your lips. "You'll look out for him, won't you? Just... Just don't let him be alone, please. He'll try to push you away, but be patient; he'll need you and I'll rest easier knowing you'll be there."

"I won't do as you ask," Galadriel grit. "Look at you!"

"How can you be so confident that the moment you tell Adar what he wants to know, he won't kill me anyway?"

"Because Adar appears a man of rationality - unlike Sauron - "

You scoffed, "None of them are rational, Galadriel! They have their own agendas - and none of them benefit the likes of us! Don't tell him anything else, I don't care if he's gutting me like a pig, you don't say anything!"

"I can't agree to that," Galadriel shook her head, "I won't, not when there's a chance we can both get out of this alive."

"And if we survive just to witness the eradication of our people!?" Galadriel was silent, bowing her head. With a sigh, you asked, "Where's Nenya?"

"Safe with Elrond."

"Oh?" You chuckled. "How'd that happen? You have to break his finger off to put it on?"

Galadriel gave a breathy chuckle, "He needed a bit of convincing, but with the greater good at stake - he was left no choice."

With a smirk of amusement, you nodded slowly, then requested, "Could you promise me something decently reasonable?"

"I can try."

"If you make it outta here and I don't - "

"Do not say that!"

"Galadriel, just - stop for a moment and listen to me, please. If you get out of here and I do not, tell Elrond what happened. Tell him Adar found me after the volcano erupted, kept me prisoner, and that I tried." Tears brimmed your waterline, "Tell him I tried to escape, to get back to him... But if I don't make it and you do, please, tell him I love him - more than anything. Tell him I'll wait for him on white shores."

"Tell him yourself."

As promised, when night fell, Adar returned. His second in command, Glüg, approached you with a brandished sword and laid it at your neck with a cruel and twisted expression.

"Have you made your decision?" Adar questioned, Galadriel looking between him and the threat to your life. "Choose wisely, or I'll let my children bleed her; right here, right now. Tell me what I've asked."

"Don't tell him shit, Galadriel!" You barked in a last ditch effort, earning a balled-up-armored fist to rock your jaw. You spit a glob of blood to the side, snarling at Glüg, "You hit like like a bitch." He spit on you.

With a huff, Galadriel exposed, "Yes, Halbrand is Sauron. He's in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow Him to dominate my kind... And yours."

"Every kind in Middle-earth," Adar corrected.

Quickly, Galadriel rushed, "But He will not attempt escape until His task is complete. And that gives us a momentary advantage."

"'Us'?" The Father repeated.

"Unlock me."

"Galadriel! Think for a second!" You snapped, but Glüg pressed his blade deeper into your throat. You seethed, frustrated and angry tears turning suffocating. Adar approached your friend, eyes trained on her, causing the Elleth to look away in discomfort as Adar undid the iron cuff on Galadriel's wrist.

"As we speak, Y/N's husband, Elrond, hastens from Lindon with an army of Elves..." She boldly looked at Adar, you struggling against the blade at the sound of Elrond's name, "And Nenya, my Ring."

"Galadriel! Stop, don't say another word! Silence yourself!" You begged, whimpering shrilly when blood flowed from Glüg's disgustingly dirty blade.

"I see," Adar turned from the Elf.

You were ignored and Galadriel rose from her seat, following Adar while continuing, "Once he arrives, he will seal off the city, loose Celebrimbor from Sauron's grasp, and then together... Uruk, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return."

"And what then?" Adar questioned.

"Any Ring that have known his touch must be destroyed."

"I meant, what then for the Uruk? Will your High King permit us to return home in peace? Or will he proceed with his plans to invade Mordor? The shadow has not only overcome you, it has overcome all of Elvendom. In the end, your drive to prove your virtue will work right into Sauron's designs."

"You speak lies," Galadriel whispered as if in disbelief. "Hoping I will reveal something."

"You have already revealed everything I hoped you would and more."

You groaned and tossed your head back into the beam; a harsh thump echoing as Adar charged out of the tent with Galadriel and Glüg on his heels.

"Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel struggled in her restraints, unable to stray far from her seat as two Orcs entered the tent and began unclipping your irons. You didn't fight them, rolling your tired eyes as they began dragging you out on your backside. "NO! NO! Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel sobbed, on her feet, trying to follow.

"Remember your promise," you told her, forcing yourself to find contentment that your friend could be the last friendly image your brain would register.

"No, please! Please! You will not profit from her death! I have told you what your Father wanted, now release her! Her death will not profit you, but instead, will bring about your utter ruin! Please! Y/N!"

The Orcs ignored Galadriel's pleas, dragging you from the tent and amongst the snarling, snapping Orcs. Adar stood before a cart big enough for a single prisoner, smirking, giving his children command in Black Speech to load you inside. He watched, telling you, "Galadriel says your husband is on his way with an army. Surely, the sight of his wife might give Commander Elrond pause. The knowledge that you're alive will bring him to my table."

You were strung up by your arms, spread in exposure, tarps thrown over the cage to effectively cut you off from the rest of the world. You felt the cage rattle as you were lugged through mud. You couldn't identify hardly anything... Until a familiar horn bellowed in the short distance, making your chest tighten. While excited by the prospect of a rescue, you loathed the idea of Elrond running head first into a trap.

Your Elven ears picked up on the sound of thundering horse hooves, knowing your people (kin, too) were charging towards Adar's army; who were swiftly gathering in organized ranks. Your cage came to a halt, and a moment later, you flinched when the front-facing tarp was ripped down and the light above Eregion glared down on you. You were greeted with the sight of your husband surging closer on horseback, time seemingly slowing when your eyes locked and he registered who Adar's prisoner was.

You flinched when an Orc pressed the tip of their blade into your already injured neck, reopening a wound to send a single stream of blood steadily flowing.

"Halt!" Elrond called in Sindarin, the entire procession coming to an almost synchronized halt. He sized up the enemy, but kept letting his eyes glaze over you - disbelief coloring his expression. Elrond's horse stamped in place, Adar stepping forward to speak.

"Welcome, Commander Elrond."

"Y/N!" A voice shouted from the army, Elrond's head snapping over in time to see your siblings - three brothers, two sisters - dismounting their horses.

"Wait, wait!" Elrond barked at them, holding a hand up; your siblings halting themselves.

"Wise," Adar taunted, your irons noisily rattling when you tried to adjust your stance.

In Sindarin, you called to your eldest brother, "Do what needs done, do not spare my life for this foolishness! Take them down! Be done with it! Rid us of their filth!"

"I should think... Commander Elrond would like to hear my proposal first," Adar told you casually.

"I think they should put you and children in the dirt!" You spat, earning several snarls, growls, and hisses from the surrounding Orcs.

Elrond encouraged his horse forward, standing in the sunlight highlighting 'no man's land'. He glared at Adar, but asked you, "Are you hurt?"

"Only my ego," you assured.

His eyes flickered over to Adar, then nodded, "I will hear you first."

"You're wasting your time," you told him in Sindarin.

"On you, it's not a waste," he answered stiffly, almost angrily. "I would have her set free for the duration of our parlay."

"But of course," Adar agreed, being carted away at his Blackened command. Due to the tarps hanging over the other 3 sides of your prison, you lost sight of Elrond; forced to blindly follow instruction and behave.

The Elves were not permitted weapons in the Uruk camp.

Elrond dismounted his horse with Vorohil and your eldest brother, Iallion, who insisted on going to gauge your state, in time to watch the Orcs yank you from the cart and drag you into a tent as if your legs were of no use. It was all he needed to know to understand your treatment the past few months you've been 'missing'. His hand clapped Adar's shoulder before the Father of Orcs could pass him by, snarling, "If I come to learn you've been mistreating my wife, I assure you, there will be consequences."

Adar just chuckled and lead the way into his tent. Several Orcs shoved Elrond's shoulder and forced him, his second-in-command, and your brother to follow.

Inside, Elrond noted the walls lined with Orcs, all surrounding their prisoners of war - you and Commander Galadriel. The blonde Elleths were shackled to the same post, both standing, though, you were leaning into the beam for support as it appeared you could not stand on your own. When you noted their arrival, you perked up slightly, but not enough to wash away the worry he felt.

Elrond was offered a seat, just staring down Adar, who began, "The Ring you carry... Show it to me."

Elrond snarled, "Show me the care you've taken of my wife."

"She is perfectly healthy... As you can see. The Ring, Commander..."

Elrond glared for several long minutes, then answered, "A foolish act if I had brought it here."

"You are a courtier," Adar pointed out. "More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword."

"You've never seen me wield either."

"And yet," Adar's head cocked slightly, "I have faced the Incarnated and won. Beside Sauron, there's none alive... Entitled to those rights."

Iallion demanded in a snarl, "How came you by my sister? You say you won against her - where?"

"Didn't win a fucking thing! The bastards found me; facedown in volcanic soot after the battle with the Númenoreans. I told you to keep charging - you should've kept charging," you answered, earning a swift kick to the back of your knee; making it buckle and ram the post.

"Touch her again and I'll slaughter everyone in here," Elrond threatened.

"You so much as twitch - "

"And one of your children shall kill me? My wife? My men? You think I am not aware of that fact, do you honestly think I wouldn't risk life and limb for my wife? Do not. Touch. Her."

Adar just stared at Elrond, then nodded, "Fair enough. Though, if she speaks again... Cut out her tongue."

Elrond, Iallion, and Vorohil all sat forward when Glüg's blade chimed as it was deployed from the sheath; another couple Orcs shuffling and snarling forward to box you in. Your eyes rolled when the same dagger pressed unforgivingly to the pulse point beneath the hinge of your jaw.

Adar continued, "Sauron is my enemy as much as yours... Give me what I need to defeat Him and let us be rid of Him."

"Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion?" Elrond countered.

"Eregion has fallen into shadow... It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls."

"Not Lord Celebrimbor," your husband tried to refuted, desperate to believe there was still some good left to fight for.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him... You can...save...them," Adar explained, naturally making Elrond look to you still held at knife point. Galadriel was uncharacteristically silent, chained to the same post, facing one another. "It is an earnest offer... I suggest you take it," punctuated Adar before he rose from his chair. "And leave Sauron to me..."

"Right, 'cause that worked sooo well last time," you scoffed, making every Elven eye widen in surprised shock. "You're the reason He still lives, you're forcing us all to do your bidding and fight against Him!" When an Orc's hand rose in a sudden movement to grip your chin - intending to hold open so Glüg could amputate your tongue - you simply reacted out of panic by erratically whipping your head to the side in time to catch the Orc's hand. His pointer finger landed between your teeth, too slow on the draw; losing the finger to the single, incredible chomp as if a root vegetable.

The Orc screamed in pain, spitting the finger and causing black blood to coat your lips like sadistic make-up.

"Lord Father - "

Adar silenced Glüg with a hand in the air, the injured Orc being escorted from the tent; hissing at you in a way that made you smirk. The Father of Orcs glanced at you, demanding, "Quiet," before slowly moved around the banquet table. He complimented Elrond, "You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar. If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins... You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you... My forces outfight yours... And you will fall."

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black," Elrond stood to meet Adar, "with the blood of your kin."

You smirked slightly, always having faith Elrond would choose responsibility over emotion - something Galadriel was increasingly struggling with and unable to master. Glüg lowered his blade when he heard Elrond's threat - thinking this war was meant to played with strategy, not overwhelming numbers that would discard Orcish life without thought or consideration.

Adar assured, "My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely... Adar?" Elrond questioned, using the Uruk's name as if an insult. "Are they?" He asked the room, letting his eyes bore into those of few Orcs to truly drive his words and plant seeds of doubt.

Adar didn't respond, pausing, then demanding, "You may haggle over Galadriel... But it's the Ring for your wife's life. What is it to be?"

Elrond's eyes locked with yours, noting the way your head shook. He slowly stalked around Adar, his hand unsuspectingly unclipping the decorative detail of his cloak's shoulder broach. His teary gaze lifted to lock with yours, portraying his apology and grief, then turning to Adar, "Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours."

Orcs hissed.

"Very well," Adar accepted, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I suppose not all vows are kept sacred... I will meet you there... With your wife's head on a pike."

Elrond held Adar's attention, relenting, "If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell."

Adar's eyes shifted to Glüg's over Elrond's shoulder, the Orc assuring, "He's unarmed."

Interesting, you mused to yourself, he saw Elrond's broach but doesn't report it? Perhaps this war caused tension among their legion - beginning to question the man they followed.

After Adar's nod, Elrond turned to approach the beam in record break time. "My love," he greeted softly, tears evident and ready to spill. You both just stared at each other, unable to accept or process being within proximity to one another after being apart for so long - and only now, reunited to say goodbye. "Forgive me," Elrond whispered in Sindarin.

"Win," you answered in a matching hushed volume. "And if you don't, meet me on white shores."

He nodded, hand lifted to caress your cheek in disbelief; shuddering at the feel of your flesh. "I've missed you past the point of words, my star," he frowned.

"No more than I you."

You snuggled into his hand, stomach lurching when he leaned forward to press his final kiss to your lips. It wasn't passionate, but something chaste for show only; your chained hands reaching to hold his free one as it was all you could reach. The broach's center was pressed to your palm, your tear streaking through grimy cheeks when he pulled back to rest his forehead on yours. "I love you," he swore.

"I love you, too," you whimpered, bottom lip trembling with emotion as Adar looked to the ground. You wished to say your acting skills were that good to be truly deceptive, but in reality, something in your intuition refused to let you believe you'd survive this.

Hating the look of devastation on your otherwise devastatingly beautiful features, Elrond leaned in again before hushing against your lips, "Be ready."

"Be smart."

Elrond nodded, kissed you one last time before pulling back. Almost as if in pain, he turned, unable to handle being so close so improperly; causing him to snap, "Iallion, Vorohil," who flanked his tail upon their exit of the Uruk tent.

You sniffled, leaning on the beam in exhaustion, still playing into the facade you thought Elrond was trying to silently communicate. You weren't defeated yet; the pin kept in your clenched fist to cause indentations from the star-point design.

Outside, Iallion and Vorohil questioned Elrond's confidence, being told a legion of Dwarves had been summoned to march to Eregion's aid; telling his second to guide the army to the battle while he held the city. Before trotting away, Elrond pulled on his helmet and told the two in Sindarin, "And it starts with the rescue of my wife and decimation of this camp."

You used Elrond's pin to pick Galadriel's lock first, insisting she had to flee before anyone caught you. She tried to refuse, something about loyalty or other, but you all but shoved her away from you and snarled for her to leave you.

"Elrond's near," you reminded her, "I'm not going anywhere."

"He's coming for you," she realized.

"Did you have any doubt?"

She chuckled, "I suppose not."

"Get out of here," you cocked your head, indicating she flee out the tent flap. You focused on your own lock as the sounds of invasion echoed around the camp. Praying Galadriel found a way to disguise herself, you struggled to unlock your irons; hearing someone rush into the tent behind you.

"You!"

An Orc was surging up to you in record time, bloody dagger in hand, twisted snarl curling his lip. You dropped the pin on accident, unable to retrieve it; but having enough mind to wait until the Orc was a foot from you, stepping back, extending your chains. The Orc slashed directly into the weakened metal, severing your bond, but the loss of tension made you flop backwards; rolling over your shoulder and onto your feet.

The Orc, ever graceful, hacked wildly at you; forcing you to go on the defense and dodge his attacks around the tent. Three more Orcs filed in; but however you might argue, luck was on your side for your brother, Iallion, came charging in with your sister, Eliriel.

"Y/N!"

You caught the sword your brother tossed, slashing the offending Orc's head from his shoulders as your siblings disposed of the other three enemies with ease.

Realizing the Orcs were vanquished (for now), you turned to your brother and raced into his embrace. He grunted and caught you, petting the back of your head before releasing and letting you hug your sister.

"Do you need medial aid?" Eliriel asked in worry, pushing hair from your shoulders to expose flesh - checking for any injury or bloody blemish.

"No - "

"Can you fight?"

"The day I answer no, you've permission to put me in the ground yourself," you scoffed, nodding at your brother. "You came back?"

"Elrond's leading the charge, they're razing the camp," Iallion explained, "otherwise he would've come himself."

"Where is he?"

"Come, we can find him," he insisted, eyes raking over you. "Sure you're all right?"

"Never better," you chuckled without humor, intent on holding the horrors you've experienced at the hands of your captors close to your chest. "Now, we gonna stand here and talk or go hunt some Orc?"

"YES!"

The Incarnated swarmed together in a protection fashion around you; a sibling shield, if you would, due to your lack of armor. Individually, the Incarnated were almost impossible to defeat, but together, they rivaled armies; exactly as the Valar intended. However, while fearsome in battle, you were still but a few and the Orcs were a grand-many; almost easily overwhelming any Elf they encountered.

Exactly why you were separated from them.

You faced against four different foes, turning as if dancing steps to something intimate; blade flashing in the sunlight, ringing as it clanged against blackened blades and rusted armor. It was easy to cut off your retreat or direction back to your siblings, forcing you back several yards as the Orcs swiftly closed in.

"Y/N! DUCK!" You heard from behind you; not thinking, just dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Horse hooves passed you, looking up in time to defend against another blade as Elrond engaged the others. You were both fairing decently until a moment of distraction - where an Orc swung his axe into Elrond's chest and knocked him from his horse - leaving an opportunity for your attacker.

With a scream, the Orc's blade sliced your chest in a deep slashing, managing to cut into your neck; blood starting to stream into your torn and tattered prison clothes. You were blinded by stinging pain, whimpering as your non-dominant arm curled across your chest as if gauze to lay over the injury; dominant hand occupied by your sword, defending yourself with weak whimpers.

One final hack made your sword arm collapse into the ground and for the Orc to stomp on your wrist to hold you there. You were pinned. The Orc laughed and sadistically reached down to swipe a grimy finger into your wound, causing you to hiss through teeth, only to lift his finger to his mouth and taste your life force. The sight alone made your stomach lurch, a panicked cry escaping your lips.

Elrond heard the enemy's laugh and lifted his head in time to see it lick your blood; noting your cry and position beneath the Orc. His face steeled into something beyond infuriation. The three Orcs that filled the space between you and he were quickly dispatched, Elrond engaging your attacker - letting you scramble backwards into a tree trunk for a front row viewing.

With a wild swing, Elrond swiped at the Orc; who reached up to grab hold of his helmet, which was freed when Elrond rolled from under him. The Orc swung, blade whistling; catching Elrond's cheek and sending him to the dirt, much to your worry. He glared at the enemy, wiping at his injury as the Orc growled, "I'm gonna spill her guts at your feet, Elf!"

Elrond's eyes flickered to you, taking the threat as credible; swiping the sword away, using a second blade to inflict injury before driving his longsword into the Orc's belly - driving him backwards into the basket of a trebuchet (or catapult). When pinned, Elrond drove his dagger into the Orc's sternum; leering over him in Sindarin, "Die."

Elrond yanked both weapons free and turned for the machine's mechanisms; yanking a rope and setting the trebuchet into motion. "No, no, no, no," the Orc begged when he realized what was happening; lifted off his feet only to be flung with the basket of rocks through the air, over the width of the Glanduin, and into the walls of Eregion.

Your husband wasted no time to drop the rope and turn for you; rushing forward and sliding to his knees beside your bleeding form. "Elrond, oh, my stars," you rushed with a bloody grin, reaching for him with your dominate hand as the other still tried to staunch your injury.

"I knew you weren't gone, I knew it," he breathed, taking your face in hand, "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry. I should've come sooner - "

"You got here right when you were supposed to," you assured, sniffling. "Have you - Have you seen Galadriel? I set her free, have you seen her?"

"Why was she not with you?"

"I sent her away, I wasn't sure how long I'd take to escape," you trembled, "then Iallion and Eliriel got me out."

"Why didn't you run?"

"I did..."

"No, away from the battle - "

"I ran to find you," you whispered, offering a sad smile. "Oh," you breathed, fingertip ghosting over his cut cheek, "that'll scar."

"It's nothing," he shook his head, "but yours isn't - I have to get you away from here - "

"There's no time," you rushed, "so, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

You swallowed thickly, "Clean your blade, put it in the fire."

Elrond's brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to see the trebuchet set ablaze by his men; the Orcs fleeing from the danger, leaving a rare opening. "I don't... Oh," his eyes widened, nodding and rushing to do as you bid. He cleaned his blade on his cloak as he sprinted to the burning machine; sticking his blade in, then returning to your side. "Can you stand?" He asked.

"If you can get me up," you nodded.

"C'mon, love," Elrond whispered, hands under your arms and hoisting you up the bark with a small grunt. "I've got you - "

"Elrond!"

He didn't think, just gripped the blade of his dagger and flung it in a fluid motion over his shoulder where you were staring. The weapon struck an approaching Orc in the throat; gurgling black blood as he went down, but Elrond didn't even bother to watch. He just returned his attention to you, "C'mere, starlight, I've got you."

"Commander!" A different voice shouted, your siblings rushing to the scene. Iallion, as the eldest, gave command to the others, "Circle - circle up! Get around them!" As the Incarnated surrounded you, Elrond was assisting you towards the flames. "Commander, orders, sir?"

"Stand guard," Elrond replied, easing you to your knees. "All right, my love," he paused, checking the blade, "think it's good?"

You nodded, "It's good. Just, uh... Aim, please."

He huffed, "As if I'd miss." He pulled his sword fully from the flames, the thin metal burning bright red; even sizzling subtly. "Ready?"

"Wait, wait," Eliriel bartered, finding a chunk of wood and placing it in your mouth. She lowered to her knees and hooked her arms around yours; restraining them behind your back in a vice. "Okay... Okay, good - do it, do it now, Elrond!" She begged, seeing blood flow a little more freely now that you weren't trying to plug the wound.

When your husband lowered the blade to your injury, you lost consciousness after screaming blood murder until air depleted from your lungs. The flesh was cauterized as cleanly as Elrond could manage, satisfied when he noted no weeping openings.

"Commander! What orders, Commander!?"

Elrond was torn between his wife and his company - but Iallion encouraged, "Go, brother. We'll get her somewhere safe."

With a scoff, Elrond shook his head and carefully pulled the wood from your mouth; gathering you off your sister and into his chest. "Where's safe anymore?" Elrond asked rhetorically in Sindarin, standing with you in his arms.

The camp was in complete disarray, Adar realizing the Elven Calvary had destroyed nearly everything in their path, almost to a barbaric extent. He would've questioned the displayed Elven bravery, but his mind knew better and reminded him he threatened Commander Elrond's wife... No wonder the camp was stamped into the ground.

The sun sank, darkness spread, and Adar listened to report after report, all confirming the Elves were fairing better than expected. Many Uruk lost their lives, more were injured, and the Orcs were encountering outmaneuvers no matter where they attacked.

Adar returned to the tent he left you and Galadriel in... Finding empty irons, no prisoners, and several of his children - dead. There was no confirmation as to who the wounds were from, but considering the swift yet strategically fatal injuries, he assumed the Incarnated had come to your rescue. Death was only graceful when dealt by their hands.

"Perhaps, Lord Father," Glüg reported, "we should sound the retreat. The Commander Elrond is formidable, angry over his wife's injuries..."

"No," Adar refused.

"He slaughtered half the camp to find her!"

"We do not retreat," Adar growled, making his son shy back a step. "Send him in..."

"He will kill our own kind!"

"Send. Him. In. Commander Elrond is on the battlefield, his wife smuggled away - "

"His wife is on the field, Lord Father! Khor saw her," Glüg gestured at his brother, who nodded vigorously at Adar.

"All the more reason... Send him in."

After your wound was cauterized, Elrond managed to find a horse and rush you a safe distance into the woods with Eliriel to guard you. Upon awakening, you were stiff with pain, but infuriated by the obvious delay in consciousness; rolling to your feet and testing the bounds of the near-fatal, scabbing wound.

"You can't go," Eliriel insisted, watching you stretch, "you'll tear open - "

"Adar kept me alive just enough for this moment, I have business to settle with him. I've been on the sidelines too long, sister," you snapped, "and injured or not, I will not leave Eregion to the darkness. There's still a chance - our people still fight. Will you join us? Or shall you turn tail, as our uncle did? Demote yourself?"

Your uncle, another Incarnated, had been a member of the original alliance of Elves against Sauron; one of the first to leave Valinor on a noble quest to Middle-earth. He was one of the reasons your kin had been blessed, but he's also the reason you know what happens if Incarnated refuse their Holy Calling... Facing Morgoth's apprentice was traumatizing beyond belief, your uncle leading alongside Galadriel's brother, Finrod, in many abattle. Yet Sauron's craft was vast, weaseling into your uncle's heart and brain to the point of insanity; so much so, that upon your uncle going AWOL, Finrod was slain in response.

Galadriel never blamed you nor other Incarnated; she blamed only Sauron, rationalizing he was who fucked up your uncle's head so much that the Valar took back their gift. A forfeited Incarnated was gazed upon with utter contempt until driven into exile, and even then, they aren't immediately granted immunity nor entrance into Aman, - or the Undying Lands - but instead, must plead for redemption. Needless to say, your uncle gave your kin quiet a public mess to rectify and it was a grave insult to throw such an accusation at an Incarnated.

"Sister?" You prompted.

From the dirt, Eliriel nodded and reached for your hand; allowing you to heave her onto her feet. "You'll need armor - do not argue!" She snapped with a pointed finger when your mouth opened. "Come."

Eliriel lead you through the woods at a mild pace as to not irritate your injury. Using the darkness to your advantage, you snuck around until happening upon a fallen Elleth who was about your size and body type. Swiftly, you took her armor with a prayer in Sindarin, securing it, then latching on her weapons belt.

"Ready?" You asked, seeing Eliriel nod. "Stay close."

"I'm older than you!"

"Then act like it!" You laughed over your shoulder, sprinting from the treeline and directly towards the fray taking place before Eregion's walls. You snatched a full quiver from a dead Elf, not stopping; plucking up an abandoned bow, still surging; then snatching whatever spent torch-arrows you could, doubly determined.

Blood transformed impacted dirt into a marsh; bodies littering the land, a city on fire, and Death permeating the air. Your sword sang with glee at each blow; injury holding strong, giving you fuller permission to move as you needed. When you raced into battle, you were an entirely different breed; purely animalistic, relying on your senses to cause the most damage. All you could process was you needing to kill.

You happened to be in the right place at the right time because just yards ahead of you, several jagged arrows thumped into your comrade, Rían's, body at varying angles. She swayed and dropped to her knees, revealing ahead of her, a small gaggle of Elves - Elrond included. Rían reached for a torch arrow as you noted the barrel of oil by the Grond and quickly connected the dots.

It was as if the Valar arranged it themself: where one Elf fell, an Incarnated steps up to assume responsibility without hesitation nor prompt. Three additional arrows struck Rían, who fell dead, and there you stood; causing your name to fall from your husband's mouth and for you to spring into action. Without hesitation, you ignite your own arrow, notch it, aim, then release before rushing towards Elrond; seven arrows impalied the place you vacated. "What're you doing here!? It's not safe!" Elrond demanded when you lowered to his level behind a barrier of dirt.

Your arrow found it's mark, catching the entire Grond and surrounding Orcs in a violently gnarly explosion. You smirked at your husband, anchoring him by his neck to place a desperate, messy, slippery kiss to his lips. On retraction, there came a loud, wet smooch sound; you nodding and answering, "Winning a war."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[sun-snatcher]

Your take of Círdan being an old man who enjoys pestering people is my absolute fave bc yeah if I was the oldest elf alive I'd be a little shit half the time too for funzies

( credits to the lovely @peregrintook for this beautiful gifset ! )

✵ — WATER-DAMAGED!

summ.  Elrond arrives at Círdan’s workshop. He finds his heart instead. or:  The Herald and the Artisan fall in love. pairing.  elrond peredhel / f!reader  w.count.  1.2k (a lil baby!) a/n.  set in s2e1, friends-to-lovers kinda , fluff galore , mutual pining , Círdan being a thirdwheel (but highkey enjoying it because he’s a little shit like that)

       YOU’RE QUICK TO attempt to bundle Elrond up like a child when he’d arrived. 

Frantic, almost, at the sight of Lindon’s renowned Herald— drenched to the bone, head-to-toe, and dripping river water from his mess of curls, leaving puddles and a wet track wherever he went on the stone of the workshop.

“He’s not here yet,” is what you’d said, when he’d urged you for Master Círdan. The shipwright had gone off to appraise proper timber for the frames of the vessels prepared for Valinor, now that High King Gil-Galad has decreed preparations to set sail. 

“But he should return by nightfall, latest. So will you please sit down, Elr—”

“I cannot,” he overrides, wholly unconvincing through the chatter of his teeth. “You’ll be at risk if I stay.”

You blink. “…From who?”

“I—”

In the distance, a horse whinnies. 

Elrond tenses instantly.

“…Are you— hiding?” you realise, as he springs to his feet to make headway for the sidedoors. “Elrond, wait!”

“Thank you, truly, for your kindness, but I cannot allow the King’s Guard—”

“That was just Silef,” you say incredulously, muscling the door back shut and stubbornly standing in his way. “My mare, remember? From the stables just uphill?” 

A pause. 

He listens with pricked ears: gates of a stable door squeaking; hooves clopping from paddock ground onto pasture grass; the sound of grain and feed being chewed on, after a moment's pass. A notable absence of marching Elven armour and feet stamping its way downhill towards him. 

Just Silef. You’re right. He’d been paranoid. 

“Á quildessë, Elrond,” comes your quiet voice, gentler now as you chase to meet his anxious gaze. “I will make sure no one comes into this workshop, unless it’s Master Círdan himself,” you assure, resting your hands on his forearms. “Just please, sit down. You’re shaking.” 

…He is. He hadn’t even realised. 

It might have been adrenaline, or the bite of the cold from wind and water— but he’s trembling, nonetheless, like a leaf. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, much, much later, when you’d stoked the coals of the workshop hearth to life, and set him upon a wooden seat beside it.

From the open foyer of the atelier, the sea-reflected hues of the setting sun does little to hide the tentative worry in your features. Your voice is as gentle as the lap of tidewater. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I shouldn’t have… barged in.” 

I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place, and put you at risk for treason for harboring a dissenter.

The firelight paints your face in soft, flickering licks of ochre as you tenderly dry off the dampness in his hair, the water trickling down his face. “You were afraid,” you reason generously.

(You don’t tell him that he looks adorably… pitiful. With eyes like that of a kicked puppy, almost. Even worse that he looks half-drowned.)

Elrond doesn’t argue. You’ve always been a kind friend to him. So, so kind. Ever-ready and steadfast to extend an olive branch, impervious to tactlessness, or even offence, from the sheer tenacity of your patience. Elrond has always admired you for it. Elrond has always—

Liked you. Cared. Loved.

(Too much to allow himself to let you get caught in this tangle he’s been forced into.)

He lays a hand over yours, and you pause mid-wipe of a droplet down his lined jaw. His eyes are shut briefly, as if falling into the comfort of your touch— candid indulgence. It makes your heart stutter.

That you’re allowed a quiet moment to admire him this close, so much so you can see the rings of sundering blue in his eyes; or to touch him this affectionately, so much so you could feel the very change of temperature on his skin— 

You think you’ve been blessed with a handsome vision by the Valar themselves.

“You must be curious,” he says, voice a low murmur. His palm swallows yours entirely. His fingers are warm by now. (You shouldn’t notice such details— but you do. You’re an artisan, after all. Or perhaps hopeless romantic is a better suited term?) “But this is beyond even me.”

He slides your hand down, much to your dismay, and uncurls the pouch he’s been clutching onto since he arrived. Now that it’s infront of you, there’s a pull to it you can’t quite understand.

You reach, almost too keenly— 

—but you close his fingers around it instead.

If Elrond had shown any surprise, you didn’t notice. 

“Must be why you’ve sought out Master Círdan,” you muse, looking up at him. “If it’s beyond you, it’s most certainly beyond me, a mere shipwright’s apprentice.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Elrond adds quickly, realising how he must have come across. 

“I know,” you laugh, before he can take off into a tangent. (It’s bright and musical to Elrond’s ears— thinks if he could drown in its sound, he would have done so willingly.) “You forget I know you.”

Not entirely, he doesn’t say. You don’t know how much my heart sings to be near you. How much your presence— or the very thought of you, even— have always brought comfort to me. 

You don’t know how much I’ve been resisting the urge to kiss you since you first sat me down by the fire.

He feels a little smile coming, the kind he couldn’t help, that would light his whole face whenever he cast his gaze on you. “You do, don’t you?” he whispers, voice sinking into something almost— nostalgic, at the sudden unravelling of old memories shared with you throughout the age.

“Well, when it comes to Kingdom politicians…” you shrug teasingly. “As much as I’m allowed to be privy to.”

He barely laughs, too busy looking at you with rapt, reverent attention. It curls a timidness in your heart. “You are allowed all of me. Always.”

Something takes wing in your chest. Butterflies, maybe. Doves taking flight in your ribcage. 

As are you, to me.

At least, that's what you would’ve said, had your ears not caught the distant clop of hooves headed downwind towards the river edge. “Master Círdan is here,” you say instead, diverted. You recognise the huff of his steed anywhere.

You watch Elrond perk up and tune into the approach: the rustle of saddle and stirrups, the shuffle of robes and footsteps. When the doors squeak open and shut, the Kingdom’s shipwright finds the Kingdom’s herald standing in the heart of his own workshop.

“Elrond,” he says, by way of greeting. There’s naught a hint of surprise in his voice— Círdan had felt a call louder than the sea long before he’d arrived, and now he can understand it’s carried in the herald’s charge. “Have you come to seek a certain apprentice of mine?” he asks, regardless.

It’s playful. Knowing.

“He seeks you, Master Círdan,” you answer politely, rounding from the corner where you’d grabbed your spare pelerine cloak to pass to Elrond. “Here, to keep warm.”

“Thank you.”

You bow your head to them both. “I shall be at the lighthouse just across.”

Your fingertips brush against Elrond’s hand as you leave. It tarries; merely a millisecond— enough, however, for Círdan’s keen eyes to catch— before he watches you depart through the sidedoors to give them the privacy they needed. 

Elrond's hand flexes reflexively. Longingly.

A beat passes.

“…Are you sure it is still me you seek?” Círdan muses, brows shot to his hairline.

The tips of Elrond’s ears burn. 

[sassypossum]

Winter Musings

Elrond Peredhel x Reader ❄ Tree Decorating

Elrond finds his 'little fox' deep in the woods, fashioning something to be admired by both beast and mortal man...

Following the sounds of rustling through the trees, Elrond paused to pull his cloak tighter. The wind had been especially biting this turning of thr seasons from warm to frigid.

Rounding another evergreen and pausing to let a fox squitter across his path, Elrond couldn't help thr musings thst wandered through his mind likening you to that fox - and the sight that greeted his eyes did little to assuage such a notion.

You, notably cloakless, were flitting around a particularly glorious evergreen, stringing what looked to be…preserved orange slices of all things along its branches.

His lips pursed into a hard line at the shiver that racked your frame, and shaking out the spare cloak he'd brought, Elrond slipped behind you stealthily. “So this is what my errant fox has been up to.” He murmured softly, draping the cloak about your shoulders. Tensing, you glanced back at him and relaxed as his hands tightened about your shoulders.

“Husband.” You exhaled in relief, sagging against his solid form. Elrond hummed and enveloped you in his arms, resting his chin on the crown of your head. For a long moment you stood like that, merely enjoying the quiet solitude that can only bloom where time and trust has made such a bond possible.

Elrond’s eyes skit up the tree surveying your handy work. Preserved orange slices, dark berries, and small bells decorate the branches of the gently swaying evergreen. Already he can see birds and small woodland creatures fluttering and squittering closer to take small nibbles at the said offerings.

“Why did you choose an evergreen so far from our dwelling?” His breath was warm and sweet against your ear as he nuzzled your hair. Eyes closing, you leaned further into him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you seem to consider a response.

“I know how the trees are viewed by your…brethren,” You begin carefully, face turning to look up at the tree, “I hadn't wanted to offend any with my…proclivities.” Your consideration of his kinsmen and homeland warmed Elrond's heart.

“And yet, this pleases you? To feed these creatures and create such a charming tableau as this evergreen presents?” You hum in answer to his question. Elrond hums thoughtfully himself, and resting his chin again against your hair pauses to consider.

“I see no reason that you should not adorn the tree in our very yard in such a fashion.” You turn fully in his arms, eyes alight to look up at him. Eyed twinkling, he continued, “Besides, I cannot have my little fox wandering about the wood in the dead of winter, forsaking cloak and slippers to admire a tree.” His voice dipped with traces of fond humor as his arms tighten about your waist, drawing you close.

“Have I mentioned this day how much I adore you?” You whispered reverently in hopes to preserve the little spell of warmth that seems to have been spun about the two of you.

“My love, should I ever tire of hearing the murmurings of your true heart, then my own should stop all together and be fit for little more than fire cinders.” Cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and catches your lips in a sweet kiss.

[luzriels]

"I was alone. A young, half-elven boy, without friend or kin. You gave me water" GALADRIEL and ELROND for week 5, rings of power summer celebration

[morganas-pendragons]

sweet and soft | elrond peredhel

okay LISTEN

I read this prompt about the elves ears DAYS ago and it has not left me alone. it being their most sensitive part of their body along with touching their ears meaning you want courtship.... and I then had a dream about this with Elrond

not a drop of angst in here, I want to kiss him so bad

enjoy!

***

Sunlight cradles the two of you from where you sit among the gardens in Lindon. It is a rare day where the High King has given Elrond reprieve from his duties as Herald, and you both took the opportunity to spend the time together in the gardens where you’d met.

Elrond only had one condition: You had to play for him. As your skill with a violin was renowned, you’d earned your place as High King Gil-Galad’s violinist who was often called upon for important events. It was what had initially drawn Elrond to you, seeing you playing at Gil-Galad's feast.

That was almost six months ago. Now you find yourself enraptured by the Half-Elven man with his head in your lap, your fingers idly carding through unruly curls as you recite lines of poetry from the book he’d brought to read.

Your first mistake in being so engrossed in your poetry is that you miss Elrond’s breathing hitch when your fingers ghost the tips of his ears. He is aware, as are you, what the implications are behind touching the ears of another elf. Elrond has never made the depth of his feelings for you known.

He is cognizant of one detail, at minimum. Elrond wants to court you.

He is also aware that his cheeks are burning as he turns to press his head into your thigh.

Your fingers curl just beneath the neckline of his shirt before dancing upward once again and repeating the same motion. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond catches the faint smile upturning your lips as you peer down to meet his gaze. His eyes are astonishing already, but washed in the glow of the morning sun, he almost seems as if he is sent straight from the Valar themselves.

“Is something wrong, Elrond?” You ask innocently. He reaches up to snap the poetry book shut, allowing him the opportunity to sit up and face you. “I thought you were enjoying the poetry. This is our weekly routine, after all.”

He takes those next few beats of silence to allow his eyes to sweep across your face. Elrond has known you to be somewhat of a mischievous person, feigning innocence and naivety in situations where repercussions are demanded if fault is admitted.

“I was simply admiring the person who chooses to spend their waking hours with me instead of making practical use of their time,” Elrond remarks, voice stuttering as you curled your fingers into the lengthening curls at his temples to tug him close to you. “And how devious you are.”

You grin widely at him. Elrond is the only person you have ever allowed yourself to be genuine with. Being in Gil-Galad’s favor means that you so often have to wear a practiced facade of grace and poise. There is no room for child like behaviors.

Being with Elrond allows you to truly, truly embrace the very being of who you are. That is one of the many characteristics you have come to love about him.

“Me? Devious? Surely you are joking." You tease. "All I did was-“

He catches your hand before you can do it again. The two of you sit there in silence for a brief moment as you stare at your hand caught in his own. It’s the first time he’s really taken it. Sure, the two of you have walked with one another in these gardens plenty of times, but only as friends.

You have wanted Elrond for what feels like lifetimes. For the sake of yourself and for him as parts of Gil-Galad’s court, you chose to love him from afar. You didn’t want to impose upon Elrond. He already carried enough.

However, given the way he’s looking at you, part of you quietly wonders if he feels the same way and chose not to speak it for fear of your rejection.

Elrond takes each one of your fingers and spreads them apart, laying a kiss on each fingertip before enclosing your hand with his own. Your breath stuttered in your chest as he leaned impossibly closer.

“You know what it means to touch the ears of another elf,” Elrond said lowly. It almost sounds like barely concealed restraint. “Do not tread upon a path you do not wish to walk down.”

You hum softly and grab his chin with your fingers so he will look at you. Trepidation lingers in the depths of the gray irises that stare back into yours. “And if it is a path I wish to tread upon?” You whisper. “Let it be my choice.”

Elrond shudders as your fingers trail upward to tangle in his hair again, and he finds himself unable to breathe as you slowly shift your positions so you can settle yourself into his lap. It's a bold move considering you have done little else outside of resting your head on his shoulder and holding his arm as you venture Lindon's gardens. You're quietly praying that you have not overstepped a boundary.

Elrond doesn’t push you away. He welcomes it. He welcomes you.

He tries to focus on the sights around him to avoid the fear of disappointing you lingering in the back of his mind. You are a sight to behold among Lindon’s gardens. Despite the wonders of the sights around him, none of the flora and fauna that have grown here over the centuries are comparable to you.

“Hey,” You call softly. “Where did you go, nin mel?”

Elrond is not usually one to fumble over his words, but they roll off his tongue before he can stop his rambling, “I do not want to bring any disappointment if I am not what you wish me to be.”

You’d be lying if you said the statement didn’t make you melt. He was so earnest and sweet when it came to ensuring he lived up to what other people wanted but so often gave himself such little credit. “Elrond,” You began, taking his hands into your own to press them against your waist. “I have wanted you for so long. You could never disappoint me, meleth nin.”

You bend your head to the juncture where his jaw meets his neck and place a kiss thereupon. As you anticipate, Elrond groans low in his throat and grasps you more tightly. “Please,” He breathes, breath hot against your ear as you drum your fingers against his neck. “Please touch me.”

It was the closest to a declaration you were going to get at that moment. He wants you to be near to him, to touch him, to be witness to the rawest and most vulnerable parts that he so often hid from everyone else. He had to hide. Who would want to see the human side of the Half-Elven Herald of the King?

You tilt your head and gently graze your fingertips over his ears as he bends his own head to meet your mouth halfway. It's cataclysmic. You've been dreaming about this moment since the first time he asked you to play for him at the very end of one of Gil-Galad's feasts with the other elves who dwelt in Lindon.

Elrond shudders as you come together and lifts a hand to touch your jaw just beneath your own ear.

The action alone causes you to gasp just enough for him to take the opportunity to kiss you more deeply, licking into your mouth with a low groan as you wind your fingers through his hair.

"Elrond," You breathe. The two of you pull away just enough to feel the warm breath of the other on your skin, your fingers twirling circles against his temples as he worked at undoing the braids that hung over your shoulders. You want more of him. You want to bury yourself in his heart and never let anyone hurt him again. "That was-"

"I would very much like to do it again. And again, and again, until you are rendered breathless," Elrond whispers, reaching to the side to pluck a lily from the flower bed before tucking it behind your ear. There is hope lingering on the edge of his tone as he looks at you. A hidden promise for something that you both can chase, not a futile dream he has to chase alone. "But only after I hear you play."

You stand to your feet and motion for the violin case beside him. "One on condition," You reply as you tuck your chin into the base of the instrument and poise your bow against its strings. "There must be more kisses at the end of this song."

You swallow the knot in your throat as the melody begins to echo in the gardens, allowing Elrond the opportunity to lean back on his elbows and peer up at you from his spot on the blanket. "I believe that can be arranged. Is there anything else?" He asks innocently. You raise a brow and pause as his shirt shifts to reveal the skin beneath. Warm, tanned skin that you wanted to... "You're staring. You're going to mess up your song."

"You are distracting me." You retort. "I do have one more condition."

There are several beats of silence between you two as Elrond goes quietly, enraptured by the melody that seems to encompass your entire being as if it comes from the very heart of you. You are the very essence of what makes music beautiful.

When your final note decrescendos into the serenity of the garden's life around you is when you open your eyes to look at Elrond once again.

"What's that final condition?" Elrond asks.

"A date, Elrond Peredhel." You muse, leaning down to return your violin to its case before swooping in to press a kiss to reddened cheeks. "Anywhere and any time. I will leave the rest up to you."

He does not dare move as he watches you walk back towards your rooms. You truly are a marvel, a sight to behold. You are the brightest light that has entered his life since he lost Elros. He would not dare to dim that light.

"Anytime and anywhere," He whispers to himself as he traces his fingers over his cheek. "For all my life-time."

[lordelrondofrivendell]

"And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in."

[feyhunter78]

Hi 💕

If requests are still open can you do something Elrond x reader where reader watches him duelling for sword training (or something similar)?

Can be as sweet or spicy as you want❤️

I know you sent this in ages ago, I'm so sorry!!! Also, I'm so bad at describing fighting, please ignore that

Sparring Sessions

You sit with your friend Taethrien on one of the various stone benches that line the outer circle of the training yard. The open space of packed dirt and training dummies, the sounds of sparring and instruction mingling with grunts of exertion from the younger elves.

“Again.” Elrond calls, his voice sharp, like a whip, his face set in stone, as he jerks his head towards the fallen sword of his sparring partner.

The younger elf, Narion, you believe his name is, picks up his sword, and settles back into a sturdy fighting stance, sweat dripping from his brow.

You know you should intervene, insist that your husband take more care with the younger elves, but you find yourself unable to. Your eyes drawn to his form, the graceful but powerful movements, the controlled strength behind his swings and strikes.

“Elrond is quite intense this morn, is he not?” Taethrien says, watching the pair as they begin, Narion lunging first, seemingly not learning his lesson.

You hum in response, captivated by the easy way Elrond deflects the blow. He has not even broken a sweat, but his hair is disheveled from him raking his hand through it.

There is a smirk, almost cocky, on Elrond’s face as Narion growls and tries to fake right and catch Elrond off guard. He sees right through it, striking Narion’s exposed side.

“Oh, poor boy, he must cease leaving his left side so open.” She continues, frowning as the flat of Elrond’s blade taps against Narion’s ribs.

You hum again, feeling your stomach flip when Elrond spots you and sends you a quick smile, a simple uptick of his lips, but it is enough to make a sudden warmth flood your face.

“Y/N?” Taethrien asks, turning to face you, her brows furrowed. “Are you listening.”

“Yes, yes, I agree, left side, much too exposed.” You say far too quickly, remembering where you are and tearing your eyes from Elrond.

She tilts her head, a catlike smile on her lips, but says nothing of your reaction. “My husband should be along soon, perhaps he will present a finer challenge for Elrond than the young ones do.”

“I am sure it will be a worthy display of both their skills.” You smile, bumping your shoulder into hers. “And it will allow me to see this strength of his you are so very fond of.”

 “I told you of that in confidence.” She whispers, blushing all the way to the tips of her ears.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” You reassure her, patting her hand.

A sudden shout draws your attention back to the ring, where Elrond has Narion at sword point, the young elf on his back in the dirt. You grip your skirts, a flash of heat surging through you as Elrond sheathes his sword with a one-handed, fluid motion, before pulling Narion up from the dirt.

“It seems we both may have something, not to be ashamed of.” Taethrien teases, making a show of pretending to try and unfurl your fingers.

You do not tease her in return when it is her husband against yours, they are newly married, still in a phase of infatuation, still discovering much about themselves and each other. Besides, you are far too focused on Elrond as he and Iandor spar, their swords singing, sparking through the air, throwing bits of sunlight as it glints off their blades.

“Do keep up Elrond, I know you have not tasted battle in ages, but surely you cannot be this out of practice.” Iandor taunts jovially, a bright smile on his face.

Elrond throws him a devastatingly charming smile in response, the gleam of a worthy challenge in his eyes. “No, my friend, I am simply allowing you the advantage, I would not wish to embarrass you in front of your new bride.”

They spar for what feels akin to eternity as well as mere moments until they call it a draw, both men breathing heavily, clapping each other on the shoulder as they return their weapons to the rack.

You meet Elrond halfway, and he wipes the sweat from his brow, smiling at you, his chest still rising and falling harshly. “My starlight, I can only hope we did not bore you.”

“I never tire of watching you train.” You tell him, dusting the dirt from his training leathers, attempting to banish the memory of your wedding night from your mind. The way he looked hovering above you, his curls wild, his pupils blown wide, his bare chest heaving, the sound of your name on his lips. “I always find such interest in seeing more of this side of you. I know my husband the poet, the herald, the romantic, but I see seldom see my husband the warrior.”

“Truly, I prefer the quill to the sword, but I cannot deny a good bout brings a certain sense of joy to me.” He says, as you both wave goodbye to Taethrien and Iandor.

“You fight well, as you always have.” You compliment, leaning your head against his arm as you walk back to your shared chambers. You must cease these thoughts, stifle the heat, lest you become a lecher for your own husband.

“I am better with a bow.” He deflects, ever so humble.

“You are skilled with both, though I would not say you are a better archer than swordsman.” You tease. “That title belongs to Galadriel.”

Though you say it, your mind’s eye still conjures an image. His deft hands wrapped around the bow, his broad shoulder spread, his spine straight, his arms taut as he pulls back the arrow. Heat rushes through you once more, and you bite the inside of your cheek to clear your mind.

“Yes, I know it is your preference, but it is not…” Elrond stretches his arms behind his head, a small groan slipping past his lips, and you all but trip over your own feet.

“It is not what?” He asks, his hands flying out to steady you. His touch is lightning, striking through you, setting fire to the desire that had been bubbling within you since his blade had met its first foe in the early hours of the morn.

“Stars, Elrond, simply—” You grab him by the collar of his leathers and yank him down, your lips melding with his, frantic and fevered.

He melts into your touch, lips parting as his grip tightens on you, dragging you closer.

You press yourself against him, walking him backwards until his back meets the wall, a surprised gasp escaping him.

“We are still along the path; anyone could come upon us.” He breathes, loathe to separate his lips from yours.

“We will hear them before they do.” You assure him, though you doubt your vigilance and his, when your lips leave his own, trailing across his chiseled jaw, up to his ear, taking his earlobe between your teeth.

Elrond lets out a strangled moan, the sound shooting through you, warming you like Dwarven ale. “Fenedhis, y/n, please.”

You press a chaste kiss to the place beneath his ear, and return your lips to his jaw, your fingertips replacing your teeth, tracing the shell of his ear. “Of course, my love, anything you desire.”

He groans lowly, his fingers bunching in your skirts as he tries to calm himself. “My sweet starlight, do not torture me.”

You untangle one of his hands, and slide it beneath your skirts, a shiver running through you when he grips your thigh and drags you closer. “I would never. I want only to give you what you desire, remember?”

His chest brushes against yours with each breath, leather against silk, desire swirling between you, as he leans down to capture your lips, stopping a hairbreadth away. “Let us return to our chambers then, it seems you much to give me.”

TROP tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace, @emmyspov, @elrondswifey, @victoria-styles, @90angiex, @lucypaulette

[curiouser--and--curiouser]

Elrond Peredhel A-Z Smut Headcanons

Kinktober 2024 - Week 1

Warnings: SMUT, switch!Elrond, dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, cum, anal play, toys, dirty talk, etc., x reader, gender neutral reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Such a sweet and attentive boy. Elrond is immediately up on his feet, getting whatever you may desire. Especially if you'd just had a more rough session, he would always double check he didn't hurt you and pamper you. Definitely his body's last hurrah before he eventually falls asleep in your arms.

On the flip side, if you'd taken control for the evening, he would be so appreciative of you taking care of him while he stared at you with loving, glassy eyes, bringing him back down to earth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Elrond likes (how much you like) his hands. They are the link between his mind and the page as a herald, and the thing to make you truly fall apart. Some of his favourite memories feature him crowding you against a wall with his fingers inside you, gently shushing you so you are not caught.

On you, Elrond always comes back to your hips. Stroking them, grabbing them, kissing up and down them. His hands are always at your hips: to manhandle your pliant body into a new position, or just hanging on for dear life as you make him lose his mind.

Also, just a quick point about Elven ears generally: definitely a major erogenous zone for all elves, so if you even lightly brush your lips against his ears, Elrond is ready to give his soul to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he actually sees it as a sign of connection between you both. Either cumming inside of you and mixing his with your own, or spilling all over both you and himself, he just can't help but stare down between you while trying to catch his breath.

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

The first time he ordered you to ride his thigh, he came in his pants. The sight of you getting yourself off on him, the power he had over you - it was too much for him. He tried his best to hide it as you were coming down from your own high.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Elven life is so long, so Elrond is undoubtedly fairly experienced, having a fair share of elves and mortals lured by his charm and good looks. But I feel he may not have ever been as experimental as he may have fantasised of late at night, stroking his cock at great pace. However, despite his long life, Elrond had never loved someone so much as you; he is slightly stunned the first time you make love, forgetting for a moment what to do and where to put his hands.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Below you. In awe. Watching you. Seeing you in control in any situation does things to him, and you on top of him, riding him, controlling him, choking him, makes him lose his mind. Nowhere in the whole of Valinor does Elrond expect to see something quite as beautiful as you over him with your head thrown back in pleasure. All he can do is wrap himself around you and hold on.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Elrond can go both ways. He can be all cute smiles and giggling, all in your own little world. Or deadly serious, purely focussed on you and the love you share.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't believe he is completely shaven, but the small amount of curly hair that is there is very nicely kept and groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Such a hopeless romantic. The first time, he decked out his rooms with rose petals, dimmed lights, silk sheets - everything to give you the most pleasurable and intimate experience for your first time together.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He would always just prefer to find you. But if he is ever away on a mission for Lindon, Elrond can't help but spend nearly every night one hand fisting his cock and the other covering his mouth, muffling his moans and whimpers. He will always take a reminder of you with him, and it stays firmly between his lips when he dreams of feeling your touch again.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

First and foremost, Elrond is a switch - he is overwhelmed the moment you stand over him and use an authoritative tone, but can have you in a puddle on the floor with once single command.

Hair pulling - those beautiful curly locks are too gorgeous to not run your fingers through and grab, and it makes Elrond's eyes roll back in his head every time. And if you ever pull him by his hair, either back to your lips or back to his work under the covers, he's going to cum right then and there.

Face sitting - Elrond would die a happy man, suffocated between your thighs. Nothing is too much for him - he just wants to do good for you - so give him all you've got and watch him buck his hips up and rut against the air like an animal.

Commander kink - need I say more? You were there when Gil-galad ordained him Commander Elrond, and the name immediately went straight through you - and he noticed. Now, he will do barely anything until you have sufficiently begged your commander to keep moving, before he finally slams into you with a power you never thought he could possess.

Overstimulation - it doesn't come out often, but when he is angry with you - and you can't help but fight back - Elrond has no choice but to teach you a lesson. Soon, he has you on his lap, your back to his chest, fingering you harshly as you cum over and over and over again. And he just keeps going, even as your head lolls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, baby, one more. Just give me one more. I want to hear those beautiful moans again. Look at you, finally being so good for your commander."

"Yes, Sir."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Sometimes the simplest is the best: in the confines of your shared rooms and marriage bed, you can take all the time you might desire with each other, completely uninterrupted and focussed on each other. Otherwise, he loves to spend a day with you in the woods; take a picnic, sing to you, and make love to you under the canopy of trees.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just the sight of you. Also, pretty sure Elrond has a competency kink. Seeing you working and succeeding and leading really makes him weak and submissive. And for any little doubts and anxieties that may crawl there way into his mind, just simply knowing you want him, and only him, really frees his soul.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't believe Elrond would ever be into impact play. He may sometimes grab you with hard hands and leave bruises on your hips, but he would never intentionally hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Elrond is without a doubt a skilled and enthusiastic lover. At any possible opportunity, he will go down on you (or otherwise beg to) and how could you say no to him? His tongue was moulded by the Valar themselves just for you and his eyes close in pleasure as he plays your every string like a lute. Also, he has no gag reflex.

On the other hand, Elrond absolutely loses his mind when you suck him off. He is so overwhelmed and can barely breathe. Definitely when you surprise him by undoing his pants and distract him from work at his desk. And definitely when he stands before you, you on your knees, tears streaming down your face, taking everything he gives you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Elrond has a lot of energy, so he can't help but use it sometimes, pounding into you with his lips connected to your neck. But his roughest side comes out when he is stressed from work or angry with the world, your face pushed into the pillows and body pinned to the bed as he takes you in whichever dark way he may desire. If he is in more of a romantic mood, he takes it slower, deeper, more sensual, wrapped up in each other's bodies. Usually slow and sensual, but loses his mind sometimes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He always needs you, so whenever and wherever possible. In great hallways in between his meetings with the King, pushed up against the wall (something he had been thinking of doing the entire meeting beforehand. In the gardens in a little secluded corner you know, shushing each other to be quiet between giggles and low moans.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If he isn't busy with work, Elrond is always down for a quickie. So, you have both taken a lot of risks in your time with regard to location. He was a bit cautious when you first got together about experimentation, but he has become (very) open with time. Elrond just wants to make you happy, and he will do nearly anything to make that happen.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Elves, y'all… The lot of them have the stamina of the Valar, so you happen to be of a race with any less endurance, then good luck… Elrond is no different: bouncing with boundless energy, ready to go again with very little rest time. He can go all night long. Insatiable.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't believe his own personal collection would be vast before getting together with you; his primary possession a small metal vibe he teases himself with to thoughts of you. However, he is excited to delve into your own collection, eager to find out what you like and don't like, and which he could persuade you to use on him. He never expected he would ever react like this, but the moment you mentioned it, it lit a fire in him... and so did those nipple clamps he found at the bottom of your box.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He dishes it out but he can't take it. You really both drive each other insane. Private whispers of dirty promises just before he is called away by Gil-galad, or intentionally low-cut robes that make him choke on air when you bend over - you are both insufferable.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's so loud, he just can't help himself. He gets lost in you and your body that he sometimes forgets he's making noises at all. Loud moans all the time, and delicate whimpers when you climb on top of him. But this transforms into low, feral growls when he is jealous or angry, his animalistic and possessive side coming out. Also, no one in the whole of Middle Earth can stop this man's constant dirty talk whispered in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I don't think Elrond had done a lot of anal play before meeting you. He had experiemented with himself, fingering himself with breathless gasps in the confines of his chambers. But never particularly with other people; he had always been more of a giver than a taker. It intrigued him, and you helped to bring him into the light. You started slow, trying to relax his nervous trembling, but soon he was thrusting back against you or the toy, eyes glossed over as you hit the just the right spot again and again. Now, it is a frequent feature of your nightlife together, where he can embrace his little subby side and let go to complete pleasure.

"Please, my love, more, I need more. Fuck. I need you so bad, please give me more, I can take it. I love you. Please."

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is not the longest, but has a fair girth and is slightly curved up in just the right way to make you see stars.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Definitely high. He's so in love. He will physically tell himself to calm it before meetings with the High King (more frequently than he'd like to admit), and then he is able to stay focussed on the job at hand. But when he is writing speeches - and ultimately calm in his beloved art - he can start to feel his mind wandering to you. All the strength in his body is needed to make sure all his work is finished before running off to find you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he has taken of you thoroughly, Elrond gets very sleepy. He tries his best to engage in pillow talk with you, but soon his eyes start to flutter close - not without them leaving your beautiful face.

[dracowars]

knight in shining armour | elrond

pairing: elrond x elf!reader

word count: 5,5k

summary: where elrond and y/n have to make fatal decisions in war

a/n: i'm having so much fun with writing in this universe i haven't had in a long time (with writing in general) and i think that's beautiful <3 season 2 elrond really did it for me, so i hope you enjoy this flangsty fic. don't forget to reblog and give feedback, it means the world to me ♡

warnings: angst, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, miscommunication (kind of), elrond kisses galadriel

universe: the rings of power

You hold your breath once you step into the dimly lit tent, teeming with orcs and their smells. Carefully, you place one foot in front of the other, never taking your eyes off the enemy who is currently watching three elves enter its territory. Amidst all these orcs and darkness, you couldn't stand out less in your polished white armour.

You follow Vorohil who is walking directly behind Elrond, and quickly spot the Father of the Orcs sitting on a makeshift chair that almost resembles a throne. Your gaze doesn't linger on him for long, however, because something or someone else catches your eye. Galadriel is standing right behind him, tied up and leaning against a post. Her eyes widen when your gaze meets and everything in her face screams for you to not be here, to turn around and leave again immediately. But you are here to help her, to free her from the clutches of the enemy, from the claws of evil. And you won't leave without her.

One of the orcs tells Elrond to sit opposite Adar, and he does as he is told with so much confidence you hardly recognize the sweet, curious boy behind the mask. Vorohil positions himself to his left, you stand on his right, ready to step in at any time should something go amiss.

You are more than aware of your situation: right in the mouth of the enemy whose teeth could pierce your flesh any moment, with absolutely no escape. Should this turn out to be a trap and part of Adar's plan, you have stepped right into it. Yet, Elrond insisted on not bringing a weapon of his own. You, on the other hand, have hidden daggers all around your body that you could pull out in the blink of an eye if the situation arises.

Even though all eyes are on Elrond, you still feel uncomfortable. You have never been this close to orcs before without fighting them at the same time.

"The ring you carry. Show it to me", Adar opens the conversation, and you inevitably flinch. Of course he shows interest in the ring. Like all of Middle-earth, it may seem.

"A foolish act if I had brought it here", Elrond answers in a firm voice and appears calm and collected, stoic almost, one arm draped over the armrest.

Adar's expression tells you that he is less than satisfied with this answer. What he doesn't know, however, is that the ring is closer to him than he thinks possible.

Its metal presses cold against the skin between your collarbones, your heart thumping loudly at the mention of it and your mind drifts back to the moment when it was handed to you.

'You shall have it', Elrond tells you, wearing that gentle smile on his lips that always adorns his features when he's around you, that makes your heart beat faster every single time. He places Nenya in your palm and when the light reflects in its beauty, you gasp. This small ring, inconspicuous at first glance but incredibly beautiful, contains a power you can't and don't even want to imagine.

'No, Elrond. I can't', you whisper, afraid that your voice might break. He now clasps your hand with both of his and gently closes your fingers around the piece of jewelry.

'My love. I wouldn't trust anyone else to keep it safe', he tells you with so much confidence and affection in his voice that you can't help but believe his words. The way he stands in front of you, his brown locks falling into his face, his eyes clear and bright, and holds your hand tightly leaves no room for further discussion. He trusts you with this power and you won't fail him.

'You can consider yourself a ring bearer now', he smiles, gently guiding your fist to his mouth to place a light kiss on top of it, his other hand cupping your cheek while doing so. His eyes linger on your lips for a second too long, but before you can say anything, he is summoned to the High King.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him. You can save Galadriel", Adars voice brings you back to the present. The circumstances you find yourself in make it hard to believe his words. He won't let Galadriel go willingly and Elrond will never give him the ring voluntarily. Since it is in your possession, you don't plan on handing it over either. No matter how much more danger that puts you in.

"It is an earnest offer. I suggest you take it", Adar continues, staring solely at Elrond from across the table, and stands up from his seat. "And leave Sauron to me."

The mention of this name sends a shiver down your spine. A name that describes pure evil. It is obvious from the way Adar says his name that he feels as much hatred towards him as the elves and all other inhabitants of Middle-earth. It makes you a little suspicious, after all, Adar was once a loyal servant of Sauron.

Once more, your gaze slides over to Galadriel when Adar walks around the table. One of the orcs holds his sharp weapon against her throat, a sign to not even think of making a wrong move. It is known that Galadriel was deceived by Sauron, or Halbrand as she used to call him, which is why her face reacts to his name, too.

She whispers something and you try to read her lips, but you don't get a chance when Adar suddenly stands right in front of you, blocking your view. Although he is still talking to Elrond, his full attention is now solely on you.

"You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you, my forces outfight yours, and you will fall", Adar spits out, searching your face for any signs of fear, but you hold your ground and present him with your best death stare in return. But inside of you, it looks much different. Chaos rages within your mind and veins, your heart is beating so fast that it's pounding in your ears and Nenya is pressing painfully against your skin. You send a prayer to the Valar that Adar won't suspect anything, that he can't see behind the mask you've put on. Because you don't know how much longer you can keep it up, especially not under his relentless gaze.

Adar takes another step towards you and you can now feel his breath on your skin. Since he knows that you cannot resist him at the moment, he uses this to his advantage. His eyes search your face, but you cannot say what exactly they are looking for. Whatever it is, he doesn't find it.

"You will fall and all your little elves with you", he says in a calm voice, but his words are filled with hatred. At this, Elrond suddenly raises from his seat as well and positions his body between the two of you, enabling you to finally breathe again, your heartbeat slowing with relief.

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black with the blood of your kin", Elrond tells him, briefly looking over to the orc whose blade is still at Galadriel's throat. His hand behind his back indicates that you should remain calm. Some of the orcs around you growl.

"My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely, Adar?", Elrond confronts him, his words sounding accusatory. "Are they?"

Peaking over Elrond's shoulders, you see a clear shift in Adar's face, in his eyes. Apparently Elrond has struck a nerve with his words, the orcs becoming more and more restless as well.

"The ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be?", Adar once again presents him with the tough decision, to choose, to pick one and let the other down. Before answering, Elrond closely walks past Adar, drawing his attention away from you and what it is he desires most. From your position, you only see Elrond adjusting his cloak before he casts another glance at Galadriel. Their eye contact lasts almost a moment too long before he then returns his attention to her captor.

"Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours", Elrond tells him, his deep voice making it sound like a threat. The orcs around you begin to seethe and snarl again and all of a sudden you are very aware of the dagger strapped to your shin, hidden beneath the leather of your boots.

"Very well. I will meet you there", Adar replies, his voice carrying a tinge of amusement after he gave him a once-over. And for a moment you think he actually agrees, that this decision can be made without shedding any blood, no matter red or black. That is until he finishes his sentence.

"With her head on a pike."

You want to step in, to say something, anything to help get Galadriel and the ring out of here, but you don't even know what. And you don't want to risk putting Elrond in danger by acting rashly. That is why silence ensues for a moment while Adar and Elrond just stare each other down challengingly, neither of them backing down or even thinking about giving in.

"If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell", Elrond finally answers him, causing a gasp to escape your lips as you unintentionally take a step forward. But Vorohil stops you by putting his arm out in front of you, preventing you from doing something you might regret later.

You can't believe what you're hearing, what just left Elrond's mouth. Galadriel, on the other hand, seems just about pleased with this decision, because it means that no one will be harmed because of her. At least no one who is currently present in this tent.

To your surprise, Adar grants him this favour and lets him talk to Galadriel one last time. All eyes are on them, but you can't hear what they say to each other; their voices too quiet. You watch in disbelief, however, as Elrond softly touches her face and suddenly leans in to her, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss.

All of a sudden, you find it difficult to breathe. You distinctly feel your heart breaking in two. The tent feels too small, too cramped, and tears well up in your eyes. No longer able to bear the sight, you lower your gaze, clenching your hands into fists at your sides. Although no one should be looking in your direction at this moment, it does not go unnoticed by Adar. He notices the pain in your eyes and in your entire life you have never felt so at the mercy of the enemy as you do right now.

You thought there was something between you and Elrond, a mutual, deep understanding that connected you. When by his side, you felt safe and loved. Until now you thought he returned that feeling and that there could be something more between the two of you, one day.

Apparently you were wrong.

It may have only been a few seconds, but for you it feels like several agonizing minutes before Elrond and Galadriel separate again. As soon as Elrond turns away from her, your eyes meet and a sharp pain ripples through your body, as if someone had stabbed you directly in the chest. Elrond's eyes are sad, suffering almost, and he looks at you with so much pity that you wish to disappear into thin air.

Elrond blinks a few times before making his way straight out of the tent.

"Vorohil. Y/N", he calls out your names, a silent command to follow him. Your gaze meets Adar's again who is watching you with his head tilted as you leave the tent together. You entered it as one, as a unit, but you leave it shattered.

You follow them out, the sun blinding you, but due to the tears you are still trying to hold back you couldn't see much from the beginning anyway. The orcs swarming around you aren't at all helping with the chaos that are your emotions.

You fall behind the two men. As if you were in a tunnel, you hear Vorohil bombarding Elrond with all sorts of questions in the distance. Questions whose answers are no longer important to you.

When they stop in front of you, you almost crash into them, too busy with all the thoughts swirling around in your head.

Was it all just a lie, a plot? Was he just using you to protect the ring? To have someone to sacrifice?

Your common sense tells you that this simply cannot be true, that Elrond has not been leading you astray and that what you feel for him is reciprocated inside of his heart. But your broken heart painfully beats in your chest and tells you something completely different.

You watch as Elrond mounts his horse and gives Vorohil an order, but the words do not reach your ears. You only see him in front of you, a knight in shining white armour, the sight of whom used to give you so much joy, made your heart beat faster and your cheeks blush. In the tent, you were willing to take a blade for him until the very end, but everything is different now.

Elrond's gaze wanders from Vorohil to you and all the sadness from before has disappeared from his face, replaced by a neutral expression. The expression of a warrior on his way into battle.

"Meantime, I will ensure that Eregion's walls hold for one more night", you finally register his words as he looks straight at you. Without another word, he puts on his helmet and rides away. An unspoken order hangs in the air and you swing yourself onto your own horse. After all, he is still your commander, whom you will always follow into battle, come what may.

════════════

Your legs are shaking, your hands sticky, covered in blood and mud. Your movements are shaped by exhaustion. Nevertheless, your blade sinks into the flesh of another orc who falls to the ground with a gurgling sound. With all your strength, you pull out your sword and stumble back a few steps, your gaze wandering over the battlefield in front of you.

Corpses over corpses scatter the ground. Some brave warriors are still fighting against the few remaining orcs, but there is no way out. You have lost, Eregion has fallen. You are shocked to realize that you have lost so many elves today, friends and strangers alike.

This realization hits you with so much force out of nowhere and you collapse to the ground, onto your knees, and let out a scream filled with pain and sorrow and all of your remaining strength. You fought, side by side, and in the end it was all for nothing. The forces of Adar have taken you by surprise and no one was prepared for the chaos that would ensue. Now you find yourself in the mud, surrounded by the dead, the last sounds of battle wafting towards you, and you feel utterly and completely alone.

You lost sight of Elrond since the troll's attack and Arondir is nowhere to be found either. Just thinking of Elrond gives your wounded heart another stab that cannot be compared to any wound inflicted in battle. Ever.

A tear finally finds its way down your cheek, but you are quick to wipe it away with your dirty hand. You can't show weakness, not even now when you feel incredibly overwhelmed. You don't even know if Elrond is still alive, and you scold yourself for still worrying about the man who took your feelings for granted.

But of course you do, you love him.

You don't know if it's the ring still around your neck or your instinct, but something tells you to look toward the fallen walls of Eregion, to get one last look at the once beautiful city. And there you see him.

Elrond.

Kneeling.

In front of Adar.

Without hesitating for even a split second, you gather all your strength and stand up. You approach them quickly and watch as Elrond attacks Adar with his dagger, but Adar parries his attack by violently grabbing his arm. With a whimper, Elrond drops his weapon. You stand still as Adar's hand closes around Elrond's throat and lifts him above the ground, choking him. The sounds that escape from Elrond's mouth will haunt you in your dreams.

"Where is it?!", Adar shouts at him, losing his composure. Elrond's hands claw at his, trying to somehow prie them away, but to no avail. The battle has left Elrond weakened. Adar, on the other hand, seems to have gained more strength from it. At that moment, Elrond spots you, and even though you only look at each other for a second, Adar immediately notices Elrond's shift of attention. He turns his head in your direction, and if you didn't know better, you'd think surprise flashes across his face. Apparently he didn't expect to ever see you again.

"Let him go", you command, your voice trembling and your sword pointing at him.

"Or what?", Adar asks spitefully, raising an eyebrow. Not knowing how to answer, you look at Elrond again.

"G-Go", he chokes out.

You look at him in shock and immediately shake your head. You would never leave him behind. Adar follows this encounter with interest and with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth when something dawns on him. The next moment, he pushes Elrond to the ground forcefully who desperately gasps for air.

You want to rush to his side immediately, but Adar draws his own sword and pushes the tip directly against Elrond's throat who is still gasping for air and hasn't even managed to sit up.

You freeze when you see blood.

"So that's how it is, I understand", Adar murmurs loudly, seemingly amused by something. Then, he reaches out his open hand towards you, catching you by surprise.

"The ring. Or he's dead."

Your eyes inevitably widen, but you no longer have the strength to put on a mask and hide your true emotions. And in doing so, you put everyone in danger.

"D-Don't listen t-to him", Elrond stutters, his eyes full of terror when he meets your gaze. He is not afraid of dying. He is afraid that the ring will fall into the wrong hands.

You gave him your promise. When you accepted the ring, you simultaneously promised that you would protect it with your life. And you still stand by that.

But right now, this is not about your life.

"Hurry or your sweet commander will soon find it extremely difficult to breathe", Adar threatens and presses his blade even harder into Elrond's skin, making him whimper in pain.

He can't speak anymore because of the life-threatening weapon at his throat, but his tear-filled eyes scream at you not to give in. But how could you not?

You move your lips and form the words 'I'm sorry', but no sound wants to escape your throat, your vocal cords failing terribly.

Lowering your sword dejectedly, you feel for the silver chain around your neck and eventually pull it over your head. Nenya dangles at the end, catching the sunlight that slowly but surely breaks through the clouds. Your hand trembles as you place the ring in Adar's palm, feeling like a failure.

Not just to yourself, but to your entire kind. And above all, to Elrond.

As soon as Adar has the ring in his possession, he removes his sword from Elrond and lets you approach him. You immediately fall to your knees beside him. Elrond gasps for air and coughs repeatedly, his head thrown back in defeat. You support his head with one of your hands, helping him to sit up.

"Forgive me", you sob quietly, but get no answer from him. He watches silently as you are surrounded by orcs who were just waiting to take you as prisoners.

And the whole time you can only think of one thing: You betrayed them all.

════════════

You were about to set out to help her on your commander's orders. But it was already too late. You only saw a white figure falling down the cliffs. Now you're running through the dense forest, searching the ground, looking for a body. Every inch of your own body hurts, the cuts across your face throbbing painfully, but you have to keep going, keep walking just a bit longer, because she could be lying behind the next tree and you would never forgive yourself if you didn't find her.

Taking a break and catching your breath for a second, you lean against a tree, the battle taking a heavy toll on your body and strength. Suddenly you fleetingly notice a white shimmer to your right and run straight towards it, your ribs hurting. You breathe a sigh of relief and, at the same time, shock when you see Galadriel's motionless body on the ground, her arms stretched out at unnatural angles.

Without wasting any time, you rush to her, lifting her head so that you can gently place it on your lap. Loudly, you call out to the others that you have found her.

Her face is covered in soot and blood, her eyes closed. As you look at her like this, you once again realize how truly beautiful she is, even on the treshold to death. Your thoughts make your heart ache deeply, because how could Elrond not take a liking to her?

"They will be here soon", you whisper encouragingly, although you are not even sure she can hear you and your voice sounds anything but heartening. Your gaze lands on a large wound on her shoulder, the source of black streaks that are running across her armour. Carefully, you lift her armour with shaking hands and recoil in shock, as if you burned yourself, when you see a dark mark carved into her skin.

You don't get the chance to think about it any further, however, when Arondir and the High King finally arrive at your side. You let Gil-galad help Galadriel and take a few steps back, giving them enough space. As you do so, a light catches your eye, coming from under a branch. The relief you feel deep inside when you spot Nenya is overwhelming.

The High King tries healing Galadriel with the help of his ring. In Quenya, he orders her to step back into the light and leave the darkness behind her and her soul. With tears in your eyes, you watch as Galadriel takes heaving breaths, her eyes blinking violently, but she doesn't come back. Every passing second, she leaves the light a little more.

When you hear footsteps, running quickly at first and then slowing down abruptly, you don't have to turn around to know that it is Elrond.

"We're losing her", Arondir says and looks around helplessly. You see as much pain in his eyes as is reflected in yours and Elrond’s.

When you look over at Elrond at last, your heart stops beating for a moment. You thought you had already seen him at his lowest, where things couldn't have gotten any worse, completely devastated, but the way he is looking at Galadriel right now convinces you otherwise. The sadness that adorns his battle-torn but still beautiful features brings even more tears to your eyes.

His heart seems broken, crying for Galadriel.

"The darkness is too powerful. I cannot save her", the High King utters in defeat.

Even though it is only for one short moment, you hesitate. You hesitate to give the ring to Elrond, afraid of what might happen then, that your heart will crumble into even more fragile pieces.

"You can", you hear your own voice from afar and give Elrond the ring that you lost earlier. Elrond's eyes suddenly become clearer, brighter as he takes it, feeling it in his palm. But his eyes tell you that he is afraid, too. Afraid that he may not be able to save her. He fears he might lose her.

Gathering all your remaining strength, you force an encouraging smile onto your face, nodding and indicating that he should go to her. Elrond doesn't return your smile, he still looks at you with so much suffering in his eyes, but his facial features are more at ease now as he nods back at you. His way of thanking you.

"We can", he states, to convince himself once again before he puts on the ring.

════════════

You stare at your own reflection, which looks up at you from the quiet water of the river. You dip your fingertips into the water, the waves that result distorting your face. The wounds that covered your face have been cleaned and treated, only slight cuts still visible. There is nothing to do but rest and reflect while everyone waits for Galadriel to awaken.

You are not startled when you suddenly see another reflection, a face above your own, for you have heard him coming.

"Galadriel has awakend", Elrond lets you know and elicits nothing more than a nod from you. "She is up and well."

"I'm glad", you reply and see his brow frowning, his eyes growing sadder in the reflection of his face in the water. Which surprises you in all honesty, because he should be filled with happiness right now. You may have lost the rings for men and many of your elven friends have fallen, but in the end you are alive and safe. Galadriel is safe.

In fact, you admit that you feel relief that she seems to be doing well, but it somehow still hurts just thinking about the kiss they shared.

"May I.. May I have a moment of your time?", Elrond asks you now, after a few seconds of silence, filled only by the chirping of birds and the rustling of the trees around you. This place is truly a sanctuary.

His voice sounds so fragile that you can't help but raise up and turn to him, folding your hands in front of your lower body.

"I bestowed the ring upon you as a token of my faith in you", Elrond explains and you notice from the small wrinkles on his forehead that he is having difficulty finding the right words.

Meanwhile, you just want to leave. You can't listen to him express his disappointment about your actions. After everything that has happened, you're just not strong enough anymore. Your heart is not strong enough.

"I entrusted you with it because I didn't trust myself", he continues, looking into your eyes, but you avert them and focus on the grass on the ground. "Because I knew that, if the situation occurred, I would have acted the same way you did."

A look of surprise crosses your face as you lift your gaze and meet his glistening eyes.

"If the roles had been reversed, I would have given up the ring, too. For your life", Elrond states, his eyes solely focused on yours. "Because when it concerns you, I'm simply too weak. You are my weakness. By giving Nenya to you I thought I could prevent myself from losing it. Instead, I placed the burden upon you."

Your heart beats loudly in your ears, not quite understanding what he is saying.

"But Galadriel-"

"What you saw.. It was a distraction. Galadriel is merely a good friend, whom I love differently", Elrond explains and his voice tells you how sorry he is. "I gave her the pin off my shoulder piece to give her a chance to escape. I couldn't guarantee that it would work, but I took the risk. And I was willing to hurt you by doing so."

He carefully reaches for your hand and you let him take it, continuing to stare at him with glassy eyes as he speaks, your throat dry.

"I am deeply sorry for any pain my actions have inflicted upon you", he apologizes sincerely and lowers his head in regret, some of his brown curls falling into his face. "I couldn't even look at you after that because I could see exactly how badly I had hurt you."

"E-Elrond..", you get out, but you don't even know how to continue or what to say to him. Your emotions are all over the place because you have wanted to hear these words from him for so long, but on the other hand you feel sad because he suffered as well. And if there is one thing you hate more than anything else, it is seeing those you love hurt.

"Another weakness on my part was not telling you about my true feelings earlier. It was unfair since you have always given me nothing but sincerity and affection. My love, I hope you can forgive me and overlook my weaknesses", he says, his voice getting quieter and more humble towards the end, his hand squeezing yours tightly as if you could run away at any moment. What he doesn't know, however, is that with every word he is mending your heart a little bit more.

"I remain hopeful that you will return my love, despite what happened."

He stands before you, probably barely able to stand after days of constant fighting, and pours his heart out to you. He is still in his armour, his face scarred by battle. And you can't help but admire him for it.

Because what he is doing right now is braver than anything he has ever done before.

Without saying a word, you finally pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck tightly, his armour pressing against your chest. At first, Elrond didn't expect such a reaction, which is why it takes him a moment until his muscles relax, the burden falling from his shoulders, and his arms sneak around your waist.

"Sometimes I really hate you, Elrond Peredhel", you say against his neck before pulling away from him, hitting his chest plate once to get your point across. Laughing, he takes a step back and protects himself with his arms in front of his chest. You laugh too, but only for a moment until Elrond's smile disappears again as he looks at you.

"Your beauty is truly captivating", he smiles softly and slowly steps closer so that your bodies almost touch. His hand reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your pointed ear as he looks back and forth between your eyes, his fingertip gently running over your skin from your ear to your chin. His touch leaves a trail of warmth. A smile twitches at the corner of your mouth and your gaze wanders to his lips.

The world stands still for a moment, all the events of the last few hours forgotten, banished from your thoughts to enjoy this one moment.

When Elrond's lips gently connect with yours, your patched up heart feels like it's about to jump out of your chest. Elrond's hand on your chin pulls you even closer to him, but he does it in such a gentle way that your cheeks turn red. One of your hands searches for support on his armor because your knees feel like they are about to give in. But you know that Elrond would be there to catch you. Your knight in shining armour.

You never want to stop kissing him. How many times have you dreamed of this moment, imagined what it would be like. All your expectations are being exceeded right now.

When Elrond pulls away from you so you can both catch your breath, he leans his forehead against yours gently. You immediately miss the feeling of his lips on yours.

"My love", Elrond whispers against your skin, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. His cheeks took on a shade of red after the kiss and you are certain that his heart is beating against his armour just as fast as yours. Gently, you cup his heated cheek and run your finger over his skin, being careful not to touch any of his wounds. Then you can't stand it any longer, pull him even closer to you and kiss him again, which elicits a surprised gasp from him. Both of you smile into the kiss as he leans in even more.

If it were up to you, this moment would last forever - just you and Elrond and your love for each other. But you know that this is just wishful thinking, that you have tasks to complete, duties to fulfill. After this moment, the world will continue spinning, wars and battles will be fought, history will be written, but now you know that whatever happens, Elrond is by your side. For eternity.

[system-to-the-madness]

Not Forever - Elrond x Reader

Pairing: tRoP!Elrond x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 044 Warnings: mentions of Sauron and death Summary: During the longest night, Elrond and you are on patrol around the refuge A/N: Rather unsurprisingly, tRoP!Elrond was the winner of the poll! Also: This is posting exactly as the sun is setting in my city.

Cold starlight glittered overhead, covered partially by the bare branches of old trees. It was only early afternoon, but the longest night of the year had already begun shortly past noon. 

Turning your head, you spied your companion stepping through the fallen leaves, carrying a pouch with provision over his shoulder. It wasn't much, since you were only patrolling the lands surrounding the new settlement that had been built as refuge for the elves of Eregion. Trying to block out the anger that patrols had become a necessity now, the rage at the mindless destruction of peace and beauty for power, you called for Elrond, who closed the last meters between you.

"It seems quiet in the south for now," he told you. "What about the east?"

"Nothing," you replied, "but the stars have come out."

Elrond followed the line you indicated with a reach of your hand and leant his head back to look at the sky above.

Instead of turning your eyes the same direction, you watched him. His hair had grown longer since the battle, and now fell in soft locks almost down to his shoulders, shifting as he moved his head to get a better look at the stars. Their light sparkled in his eyes, and for a moment the burden of grief and responsibility fell off his shoulders. It seemed like a lightness returned to him, an upwards tucking of the corners of his mouth, one you had not seen in several moons upon his face. It made your heart beat harder, and you barely were able to resist the urge to brush away a curl of his hair that had caught on his cheek. 

As if he had felt your eyes on him, he turned to look at you. The forest was dark, safe for the stars above, but still you could make out that his expression grew ever softer as he took you in. Your breaths condensed as white clouds between your faces while he considered your form, wrapped in the warmest coat you had found, feet tightly tucked into some light, but warm boots, bow thrown over your shoulder, quiver with arrows on your back and a sword strapped to your hip.

"You're cold," he observed, a frown creasing his brow, and he stepped forward, placing his hands at your upper arms and rubbing gently. It was a strangely intimate gesture, one like he had often shared with you recently, but you did not find it in you to refuse his approach. His hands were warm in the winter night, and his touch filled with familiarity and light, that pushed back against the darkness that had begun to spread over the lands even before the sun had reached the highest point of the shortest day.

"The winter feels colder this year," you finally answered, praying that Elrond would not mind the way you had lent into his touch. But he yet had to draw away, so you told yourself not to mind.

"It's Sauron's darkness that draws the warmth out of all that is good in this world," Elrond answered, his voice having taken the heavy tone he often struck recently. "I cannot even feel the warmth in the ground anymore. It is frozen in more ways than the winter would allow."

You knew what he was talking about. Even when the ground was frozen solid, there were always the lingering traces of life, the roots of trees that roped through the earth, young acorns and other seeds, waiting for spring warmth before starting to grow their first leaves, bugs and worms or even rabbits. But none of that life was there now, only cold, frozen, dead soil.

“I love the stars, but this cold makes me think this night will last forever,” you admitted guiltily. “It no longer carries the comfort it once did. It’s distant now, and dangerous.”

“It is not the night’s darkness that carries the danger, but Sauron’s,” Elrond answered. “But this night, just like all the others before, shall pass.” Carefully he moved one of his hands from your shoulder up to your cheek, his warmth sending a shiver down your spine, his smooth skin gentle against yours. “Even the darkest night will end and when the stars’ light fades by sunbeams, our hearts will be filled with hope once more.” 

You inhaled deeply, the icy air, the scent of fallen leaves and the warmth of Elrond’s hand at your cheek before you looked up at him.

“It seems impossible,” you denied. “Like I’m suffocating in the dark.”

“You won’t, I won’t let you,” Elrond promised, taking a step closer and resting his forehead against yours. He was warm and alive, and it felt like golden light was bleeding from his touch into your heart, lifting the darkness that had wrapped around it. “We will face this night together and welcome the sun again. And we will hold onto each other and defeat whatever darkness lingers in this world. I will not let you despair; this I promise you.”

Tightly closing your eyes at his words, you inhaled shakily and nodded. “I promise, too,” you replied and even though your answer was simple, you knew Elrond understood how important the words’ meaning was.

For a few more moments he held you there, forehead to forehead, breath condensing to mist between your bodies, but eventually he drew back.

“Let’s have some of the Lembas and the fruit,” he suggested, rubbing his thumb over your cheek as if to rub life back into your skin, or to chase away the heat that had begun rising at the proximity, you could not be sure. 

Settling down on the frozen ground, leaning against a fallen tree, Elrond unpacked the provisions, handing you some of them before scooting so close that eventually his side was pressed against yours. With a reassuring smile he wrapped his cloak around the two of you, warmth beginning to chase out the cold and as you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling him lean his cheek against your hair, both of you watching the stars slowly move over the sky while eating the sweet, dried fruit, you suddenly felt as if Elrond was right; the night would not last forever.

[queers-gambit]

Never Make War in Anger

prompt: ( requested ) after being separated on the battlefield, your husband cannot locate you among the carnage, so he comes to rely on Nenya.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 5.7k+

note: a little burnt out so this isn't much at all. my apologies.

warnings: accidental LOTR Merry quote, purposeful LOTR Aragorn quote. i don't think there's foul / explicit language but i'm blind to it. gaslighting, marital spats, small angst, some spoilers, probably more hurt and comfort, brief breaking of the Fourth Wall, some blood, minor injury, happy but brief / abrupt ending, adapted and edited Poppy s2e8 monologue.

Despite the light The Rings of Power brought back to Lindon, it had never felt so dark than in this moment. You stood in the middle of your chambers, tears in your eyes and few dribbling down your cheeks while facing your husband - who was equally as emotionally distraught.

"What're you saying?" You spat. "That you intend to seek new living arrangements?"

"I need time, my star."

"From me?"

"For now, yes. Until this matter with the Rings is resolved, we'll only prolong this hurtful cycle against one another."

"So, your solution is to separate?"

"For a time - "

"How can that be your decision!?"

"How can you be so delusional!? These Rings are not what we think - "

"'Delusional'!? Oh, the nerve of you!"

"A poor choice of wording, but - where are you going!?"

"To live my delusions! By all means, Elrond, take all the time and use all the space you should need!" You snarled at your husband, storming away from the shared bedchamber as tears of frustration threatened to blind you. Rushing down the golden halls of Lindon, you relied on mostly muscle memory before nearly colliding with Commander Galadriel - who startled at your (rare) emotional state.

"Commander - "

"My apologies, my Lady," you rushed, trying to skirt around her in an effort to seek solace. But her hand extended to snatch your elbow, bringing you to a halt.

"My friend... If there's something wrong, I would hope you know, you might confide in me?"

You nodded, "Yes, my friend, I know."

"Then what's the matter?"

You did not intend to sound so condescending, but your scoff was now unrestricted as you sneered, "You've eyes to see with and ears to hear, surely, it is not a riddle."

"The Rings?"

"What else does my husband feud with us over?"

Galadriel sighed, releasing your arm only to drop her hand to yours and give a supportive squeeze. "I am sorry for the turmoil you experience at my hand..."

"I was as much at fault," you shook your head, "defending you to the King - going against Elrond... Surely, it did not help when Lord Círdan echoed us. Must've felt like everyone was against him - you, me, the High King, his - "

"He doesn't think we are against him - "

"Oh, no, merely that we are delusional."

"Well, that seems a touch harsh...?" You offered her a pointed look, making her gasp slightly, "Do not tell me - he has weaponized his words against you?"

"He's much practice."

"I will speak to him - "

"You would get farther talking to a tree, Galadriel... Just leave it be..."

You shook off her hand to make your escape, escaping the palace grounds and seeking solace by a quiet stream. You stared at the fish in the clear water, swimming in circles that your mind raced in; envious of the seemingly peaceful life the gilled creatures lived. You felt overwhelming guilt, hating that you were at odds with your husband, but hating the impending doom over Middle-earth more. The threat to humanity wasn't something you could morally ignore, but it wasn't something your husband could either; being why he was so adamant the Rings of Power were influenced beyond the pale by Sauron.

You argued the good of Galadriel and Celebrimbor and even himself outweighed Sauron's - by comparison - minuscule hand. Sauron was but a drop in the vast ocean of creation; and not even Sea Worms could overshadow the waves of benefit offered.

Elrond said the Rings couldn't be trusted.

You thought he was becoming paranoid.

When you refused to consent to his side, he proposed separation - thinking distance would give you both time to calm down. After demanding to know how he could've come to that decision, he accused you of being delusional; and, well, you know the rest, Reader...

Well, the separation never truly stuck because in the following days, High King Gil-galad dispensed Elrond's company; which resulted in Galadriel's capture and both the formation and deployment of the Elvish armed forces. At the helm, your husband, and amongst the ranks, yourself; along with kin, neighbors, and friends.

You soon rode to devastation and loathed the idea of riding away on such silent terms with your husband. So, you sought him out under the support of your closest companion and usual second-in-command.

"Elrond," you tried to speak to him before the final leg to Eregion; both mounted on war horses of great height and muscle. He was stood gallantly under one of the several surrounding trees, looking ever bit of a Commander as you had been appointed as in the decades past.

"Are you all right?" He asked stiffly, making your defenses go up automatically. The bustle of the preparing army drowned your conversation.

"Yes, I just... I do not wish to depart on such tense terms, husband."

He nodded, sending several curls bouncing as he readjusted his stirrup leather for a more suitable length. "All is forgiven," he eased.

"I don't remember apologizing."

Elrond sighed through his nose, looking up to meet your eyes for the first time with his thin lips set in a straight grimace you were unaccustomed to seeing. "Have you come to prolong this fight or make amends?" He asked tersely.

"Make amends for a fight I did not start?"

"Doesn't matter who started it, what matters is the means of our argument! The content behind it! The morals now in question and the foundations we base ourselves upon!"

"I'd have to agree," you snapped. "I came to offer words of parting and tidings before we ride into combat, but should this be the time we need to argue, then please, let us take it." Your horse snorted as if in agreement, tossing its head defensively. "You and I stand on opposite sides of the Rings, we will not see eye-to-eye on that, yet you hurled such distasteful words at me. How do you think we should proceed?"

Elrond sighed deeply, sounding dismissive, "With respect, beloved, we're about to charge into the unknown, right now isn't the time for our marital woes."

You scoffed, nodding, "Noted."

"Wait, I did not - "

But you had already spun your horse and encouraged the stallion to trot away. You passed the High King, nodding with respect before moving to the helm of your legion - still Commander of the Southern Armies, just not the active leader of this particular united devision of Elves. You surveyed your company with a small smirk, nodding in impression as your second-in-command rode to your side.

"What news?"

You accepted the helmet he handed over, nodding in thanks as you sighed deeply, "We march for Eregion, Erthon, there's no other news of discussion."

"Did you speak to Elrond?"

"Barely," you chuckled. "Come, let us not fret over such trivial matters such as my marriage. We ride to war today, my friend."

"To war then, Commander," he smirked, offering his hand for you to clap - which you did before the King called all to attention. You listened to the rousing speech Elrond wrote, not a single syllable sticking as your brain was far too occupied with the frustratingly trivial matters of your heart. However, when the first brigade of horses started after their commanders, you quickly followed suit as the procession moved out of the safety of camp for Eregion's aid.

It was a hard ride, but at long last, you gathered in ranks and charged at the opposing army; only to halt and wait for negotiations conclude, then charging (again) through the Orcish camp at Elrond's command. Your advantage was the use of horses, able to cover distances and barrel through both structures and bodies of your enemies. Yet horses still fell to the marshes and jagged arrows, to blunt axes and the ammunition of trebuchets. To enemies. To mistakes. To war.

Carnage surrounded you, whether your own forces or the Orcs or the beasts used in battle, death swept through all. You fought for hours, sun chipping away through the sky; losing sight of loved ones and loyal soldiers. "Elrond!" You sobbed in relief upon locating him across the field. You called his name twice more, catching his attention finally.

When he saw you, he called your name and hacked his blade to any surrounding Orc so he could move through the mud for you. "My love," he panted, reaching to take hold of you, "I-I think we need to retreat?"

"Are you asking me?" You questioned, holding onto him for balance; wincing when blood soaked into your boots.

"I think?" He sniffled, "There's too many of us falling, my love, I don't think we can - or should, I don't think we should - "

"I know," you nodded, reaching for his cheek.

"I'm not - I don't think I can - "

"Hey, look at me, look at me!" You had to shake his shoulders, holding him by his curls in a nonthreatening grip. "I know. But Elrond, hey, you command our forces, you command this army. Remember why we marched, what we're fighting towards, what this is all for. So sound the retreat if that's what must happen, or keep your soldiers fighting, but only you get to make this decision, my love; you're our Commander, we will listen to any command you give."

He nodded, tears gathering in his honied eyes. "I wish you weren't here, amongst this carnage; but I'm so grateful that you're with me," he muttered, foreheads finding each other in a show of silent affection. He pulled back, "About earlier - "

"Earlier wasn't the time, now certainly isn't either, my sweet," you laughed with a nod. "You need to go rally the others, I've got Orcs to kill."

"Stay safe," he pleaded, hands squeezing each other as you started to move apart.

"Stay alive," you replied, forced apart several yards, turning slowly when your husband called your name.

"I love you," Elrond reminded, watching your mouth pull in a smirk, opening to reply... Before his eyes widened when he saw the horse too late. It barreled into your back, knocking you into a muddy pit of active fighting to the desperate sounds of him crying your name.

"Commander!" Elrond heard behind him, but couldn't answer. He was viciously fighting towards where you fell; horse galloping away, but your body lost to chaos. "Commander, no! Please!" Erthon caught his middle, yanking Elrond backwards several steps only to shove both hands to his chest. "No! No, hey! You're needed at the front, Commander, they need you at the wall - "

"My wife just - "

"I saw, I know where she fell - I'll look for her, Commander, I swear. Please, you're needed! Go!"

Elrond had no choice but to flee. Erthon searched the field in vain.

"Commander?"

From the last of the group who had snatched you from the battlefield, you hacked the Orc's head from his shoulders with a furrowed lip, discovering Arondir where the fallen enemy once stood. "My friend," you mused casually, transitioning fluidly to use your bow and fire three arrows at distant Orcs before they could rush you. "While it is a joy to see you, I wish it were under better circumstances. Are you injured?"

"No," he sniffled, "are you?"

"Good. No, no, I am well enough. Are you currently under direct command?"

"No, my Lady. What do you need of me?"

"The people of Eregion need out of the city, I know the tunnels to get them to safety in the woods, but first, I need you to cover my way in."

"You can depend on me, Commander."

"I know I can, Aronidr," you smiled, clapping his shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. Find Commander Elrond after this."

Together, you and Arondir searched for the easiest path into the city, using aerial advantages to clear out the Orcs best you could. When your quiver ran dry, you thanked the solider of Mirkwood and scaled into the city under the protection of his watchful eye, skillful aim, and quick hands. Once inside, you crept around paths and alleys thoughtfully to get around any surplus of Orcs, happy to take out any stray few; quiet and calm as you navigated the city.

Checking where you could, it was a hard feat to discover any surviving Elves through the rubble and destruction until closer to the main settlements. When you found a group of few survivors, you encouraged them to follow you to safety and lead them through secret tunnels with dripping black blades. Nearing the end of the tunnel, you paused the group in the shadows to let you step out first; glad for it when a company of Orcs tried to ambush you, only to meet their brutal end. Though out of breath with minor injuries from the band of enemies, you still stood, victorious.

"This way," you directed, limping to lead into the woods. "Here, this way... Up ahead... C'mon, stay together, almost there... Step carefully, stay together... Just up there... This way, here, just up here, good, come, quickly now."

Up a subtle path of a hill, you trekked through wild foliage.

"Who goes there!?" A voice cried out in terror, making you halt the others. After a brief investigation through tree limbs, you discovered a small gathering of other refugees; all quivering in fear, looking at you with the hopes of salvation. "Who are you!?" A young man asked.

"Southern Commander of High King Gil-galad's Army," you named, twirling your twin blades in hand that sent a splatter of black blood to spray on near-by leaves. "Who brought you here?" You ask in return, lungs pinched.

"The Lady Galadriel..."

"Good," you nodded, waving your pack forward. "Stay here, stay hidden, I'm going to go back for others. When I return, we're going to move deeper into the woods to accommodate however many can be saved."

"You're leaving us!?" One of the Elleth's squealed. "But we are undefended, vulnerable! You leave us here for slaughter?"

"I understand your worry," You nodded to the young lass, petting her bicep. "But Lady Galadriel and I have both brought you here because it's safe. Safer than in the city, safer than wondering around - aimless and blind. Where we are is off the known path; on high ground, so it's not to be stumbled upon; and see those slopes?" You pointed to where you wanted them to see, "This wee place is slightly sunken, so it's hidden for your protection. Huh? Yes?"

You waited until she nodded in return to squeeze her arm in encouragement before releasing. There was a collective agreement to listen to you, letting the survivors gather tightly together before rushing back for the mouth of the secret tunnel. You spent over an hour searching for other survivors, gathering as many as you could and giving them cover and moving them out of the city; killing as many Orcs as you could in the process. Again, you moved out of the tunnel, checking for any enemy, finding none, and ushering the group into the woods. When you arrived at the others, you took a couple of the healthier Elves with you on the path further up to a more suitable, larger, still hidden cove for them to seek refuge in. They agreed to lead the others while you went back for more.

You only managed a few other trips before the Orcs fully sacked the torched city. You couldn't go back, even sustaining a stabbed thigh and arrow to your shoulder on your last escape; but while you couldn't save more Elves, you could help the ones you did. So, you ushered them further from the city, hiking into the mountains carefully with consideration to location and position of the enemy. Over ridges and fallen trees, around bends and away from the beaten path, you finally settled in a naturally protective cove to await others while providing medical aid to those who needed it.

Day broke. Durin didn't come. The city burned. Your tears wouldn't fall.

There were no more words. Elrond was past defeated.

Before night fell, he lost sight of his beloved wife just seconds after declaring his love - haunted by the cruelty of her being robbed the opportunity to reciprocate. As the fighting progressed, he had attempted to search the carnage - but war demanded his attention elsewhere. The urge to entirely give up was great, but the desire to punish any and everyone responsible for this pain overrode him; hacking, clawing, fighting into the night. Yet soldiers fell to the left and right, in front of and behind him; older, younger than he, friends, kin, peers, superiors, strangers, comrades alike.

There was an inkling they might've stood a chance when the sun rose, yet hope diminished when his emissary, Vorohil, returned with sustained injury and the message that Durin shut the doors of the mountain. Their forces had been decimated already, a lesser-than match in numbers to begin with, but without Dwarven aid, the surviving Elves were eviscerated mercilessly. No help was coming, and the Orcs were charging across the bloody battlefield for the last of them.

In the fresh light of a new day, Elrond's throat was seized in Adar's vice grip; lifted from his feet; the fight extinguished like a blown-out flame from his soul as blood and mud dripped from swirling armor. Adar's lips quirked, "Your wife put up... Such a fight, Commander," his hand tightened, crushing Elrond's windpipe. "And here you are, surrendering... You would so willingly let her sacrifice... Be in vain?"

Tears leaked from the corners of Elrond's eyes, glaring at Adar silently - though, it wasn't as if he could respond if he tried. Spying Nenya on a chain around Elrond's neck, Adar quickly disposed of him back into the mud, where the half-Elf did not move again until Orcs were taking few prisoners of war. Few, meaning Elrond, the High King, and Mirkwood archer, Arondir; after their Dark Lord Sauron commanded the Elvish leaders be taken alive and the rest be slaughtered.

Before interrogations or bodily harm could be inflicted, the Orcs were caught off guard by a Dwarven invasion rushing into the fallen city; giving the Elves an opportunity to rebel. Elrond watched Gil-galad and Arondir fight in tandem, debating for several moments if he cared enough to join their efforts, thinking all he had left to fight for was gone from these shores. Yet watching the Dwarves stream into the city posed as the kindling to light the fire Elrond needed under his ass to rise to his feet and defend his brethren and self; noticing what he thought to be a familiar Dwarf. Durin had not come, but still sent his forces as promised (but late); Elrond being informed the Prince was "in mourning", further confirming Sauron's dark hand had crept to different corners of the continent.

There was no victory. No celebration. No true relief, not even for survivors - the toll too heavy.

On his knees in the mud, watching Adar advance, mourning his wife and refusing to accept his Dwarven ally had abandoned him, Elrond bowed his head and silently demoted himself. Gil-galad saw this, could recognize the agony of defeat; neither saying a word as he assumed command, like a good king would. Now, Gil-galad ushered his people from the crumbling city just in time for a new wave of Orcs to begin razing it to the ground. Using the same hidden tunnels, the Elves found themselves isolated in the woods. Arondir had to keep personal hold on Elrond, who wanted to return to the city and search for his wife's remains for a proper funeral. He was assured you'd be recovered with the rest of the fallen forces, but it sent him into further distress.

The King and Arondir had witnessed Galadriel's fall from the cliff, being where they first thought to go. It was there Elrond found Nenya, holding it in hand as if weighing the weight of the world; and to him, he was. The Ring twinkled and chimed, begging him to be used; his sad, defeated eyes glancing at his fallen friend, debating what was morally correct. Did he turn and run to find the other half of his very being, a presumed corpse, or did he stay and heal Galadriel, who still, before him, had a fighting chance?

"We're losing her," Arondir worried to the King.

"The darkness is too powerful," Gil-galad worried. "I cannot save her."

"I can," Elrond announced quietly, sure of his decision, but feeling disappointed in himself. His eyes lifted to Gil-galad's, declaring, "We can."

Elrond pushed Nenya definitively onto his finger and knelt to the King's side. They worked together to withdraw Sauron's poison festering black and bubbling in Galadriel's open shoulder wound, Arondir watching with wide, tear-filled eyes in sheer awe. It was a strange sort of process, Elrond never having wielded such a powerful token before; doing his best to focus on the optimal outcome as Gil-galad chanted in both Sindarin and Quenya. Elrond's eyes shut, keeping his emotions at bay; hand trembling in exertion until the King decided enough was done for now and it was up to Galadriel to come back to the light. The half-Elf dropped back to the dirt, deflated and exhausted, looking to the two other Elves.

"What now?" He pondered. "Where do we go from here?"

Gil-galad had no answer, but Arondir's brows furrowed in concentration. "My Lords?" He asked from the other side of Galadriel's unconscious body. When the King and his Herald looked up, the archer nodded, "Is the Ring supposed to do that?"

On Elrond's hand, Nenya seemed to pulse like a beating heart. "My King?" Elrond asked, moving his hand closer, which made the light twitch. He jerked back, the light changing again; confusing the three. "It's... It's communicating, I think," Elrond whispered in wonder.

"Listen to it," the King encouraged softly, watching Elrond closely in fascination.

Slowly, Elrond lifted to his feet, hearing something distant that grew louder by a single degree. "It's twinkling," he narrated, the light steady now that he was stable. "I think it wants us to do something." It took a bit of assessment, but eventually, Elrond was able to decipher, "The light glows brighter when I hold it to this path, I think we're meant to follow."

"To safety, perhaps," Gil-galad agreed. "Arondir, how fairs your health? Are you able to carry Commander Galadriel?"

"Of course, my King."

"And Commander Elrond, you will lead us," the King directed, leaving no room for argument. He paused to help Arondir lift the injured Elleth, Elrond just having enough time to confirm their path before they were following after him.

It felt supernatural: depending on Nenya after leading such a hardcore smear campaign against the piece of jewelry. Yet even Elrond could not deny the drench of light he felt flood through him as he began to understand the Ring's language; now, effortlessly navigating the woods. Over ridges and fallen trees, around bends and away from the beaten path, Elrond pushed the branches from view to discover a protected cove dotted with injured, but surviving Elves of Eregion.

It was incredible, the sheer number of survivors, and few more milled about; obviously in better shape to offer aid and comfort to those not quite as put together.

From meters away, Elrond saw a flash of familiar armor and froze. He heard Gil-galad speak his name, yet could not react or respond as surely, his eyes played some devious trick. He stuttered your name in earnest confusion, wondering if by some stroke of fate, by doing good and choosing to save Galadriel, the Ring of Power then lead them here... To their people... Lead him back to you.

"The Valar are blessed," he told Elrond when he noted you in the slight distance, watching his Herald stumble forward with another call of your name.

This time, you heard him; springing up as if waiting for his return. In reality, you absolutely were.

Tears sprung to even the most stoic of dry Elvish eyes, witnessing such a reunion as one between two spouses after battle after-after a petty marital feud. You hadn't shoved anyone from your path, per se, but you hadn't exactly been polite in getting around them to sprint at full speed across the distance until there was simply no choice but to barrel into your husband's arms. There was just enough time to fit together like dirty puzzle pieces, where your arms magnetized around his neck, his around your waist, before crashing into the dirt.

You both helplessly sobbed, holding onto the other in suffocating fashions; an issue, if you both weren't so overwhelmed with post-war fantasia. Elrond sat up first, yet did not dare relinquish his hold on you for a fraction; maneuvering to fit you on his lap for a mutually easier hold. Your noses nuzzled ears, cheeks, and each other; hands caressing both unblemished and torn, bloodied flesh; hearts beat erratically, but in sync.

Nenya gleamed in approval with steady light.

"You're alive," Elrond gaped, at last finding his ability to speak.

"So are you," you breathed with sorrowful relief. "I was so worried, love, I - "

"You!? My star, y-you - you went down in front of me, I-I-I thought you were dead, injured at the very least. I tried searching; at different intervals, even, I tired searching for you. I sent Erthon after you, too, but you were - you were just gone! I could not find you - how? How did you - How did you escape? How did you survive?"

"My love," you breathed, foreheads kept together by either hand on his cheek, "I will answer you, but remember: we are alive, we are reunited, we are together. I need you to breathe."

"No, no," he refused, tears drowning him, this time lifting his hand to hold your cheek in anchor, "please, my star, do not try to pacify me now, I will have my moment, I am beyond the bounds of relief. I thought you died, my wife, I watched you go down and could not reach you, could not find you. All I managed to think of all night was my Rúmil, how we rode to war in such anger and were separated. We had all this missed time, spent being angry, and losing you on the field, I thought it was forever. Relief does not describe what I feel now, to hold you in my arms. I'm so sorry, my star, please - "

"I forgive you, for everything, anything, and nothing at once. So long as you extend me the same curtesy?"

He sniffled and nodded against you, quieting to just exist together as one. To recharge. To apologize without the words that are sure to come later. To relish in each other's still-warm flesh and understand that in order to vanquish this accursed evil from the land, there could be no more division, only solidarity. Softly, you answered Elrond's inquiries, explaining to him what happened to you; how you had spent the latter half of your fight tunneling survivors from the city, laying in wait when the city was sacked.

"And then, my love," you hushed, "there was-was-was this procession of-of Dwarves! A whole entire legion, all in formation, moving with incredible speed, if I may say myself."

He half-smirked in return, "Durin sent a company to our aid. Though, I wish it came sooner."

"It came not a moment before it was supposed to. Tell me, how is it you found us? Did Erthon find you first? We sent spare soldiers out to scour for survivors, few have straggled in." Elrond shook his head, retracting his arm to display his trembling hand between you. You gasped softly, admiring, "Nenya." Then, realization hit you, looking to Elrond with wide, bewildered eyes, "You used the Ring?"

"To heal Galadriel, then to find you," he nodded, tears returning. "We can argue about it later - "

"There's nothing to argue over, Elrond," you promised, catching his cheek to softly caress his skin with your thumb. "Thank the Valar you found it. Thank you for finding us... For finding me."

"In every lifetime, I would find you," he promised in Sindarin, foreheads naturally falling together again.

"Now," you sniffled, pulling back to survey the group, "our people grow by the minute... We cannot linger, we'll be found. We should move along, away from the city; by nightfall, these hills will be swarming with Orcs. But - " You cut yourself off, staring at Elrond with brows lowered in concern.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Your husband worried, but you only pinched his chin and directed his attention to the side.

"You're cut."

"Oh, uh, it's nothing - "

"No, it's not nothing, it's a cut. It's a cut, Elrond!"

"It's just a scrape."

"It still weeps!"

"There are greater injuries to those around us."

"That may be, but you are of the greatest importance to me, and therefor, should receive - "

"My love - "

"This will scar!"

"Then it scars," now Elrond chuckled patiently at your usual fretting, relieved for the familiar heat of endearment to his veins. "Let me a moment longer to bask in the glory that is my wife, I have missed her gravely," he begged quietly, taking both of your hands in his and bringing you close for a long awaited kiss; still sat in the dirt of the beaten path you would soon trudge to find salvation.

While usually a hopeless romantic, Gil-galad was forced to step forward, "I hate to break apart this moment." He waited until Elrond turned to meet his eyes, "But we need to move on, it's not safe to dwell here. We need refuge."

"We'll push on," you agreed softly, the King agreeing. You waited for Elrond to stand before offering your hands, making him snicker. When you stumbled from your stab wound, Elrond caught you quickly - all traces of humor wiped away.

"What happened?" He demanded, seeing your torn tunic used as gauze around your thigh.

"Got hit on the way out of the city, my love, nothing severe," you promised. "The Orc died - painfully - and I had it looked at already, it's bound for now. It will be cleaned when we can make camp."

"Good, all right," your husband accepted with a sniffle, looking around as the King was rousing his people to stand and begin their trek. "Where do we go from here? Where are we leading these people? Their salvation or doom?"

You were close to shrugging when your eyes caught sight of softly blinding twinkling light, pulling Elrond's hand to display. "I think we follow you, my love," you whispered with a smirk, sounding definitive, "to salvation."

Together, you aided refugees to their feet and down the southern path Nenya seemed to agree with. Eventually, your people streamed from the hillsides on their own, allowing Elrond to seek you out among the traffic and wrap his arm around your waist.

"Let me help you," he insisted when you tried to wriggle away.

"I'm not broken, my love."

"No, just stabbed."

You were ready to argue, but a particularly gusty puff of wind blew the unmistakeable scent of char into your nostrils; the trees clearing on a small, passing overlook to reveal billows of black soot. Plumes of smoke. The source of sprinkling ashes. You did not say anything, no words able to ever fill this mournful space; pausing to stare at the devastation and destruction you had both escaped. You held your husband's hand and leaned gently to his shoulder, mourning one of the greatest losses all of Elvendom would ever know.

With dejection, Elrond rounded from the sight and asked, "What're we to do now, my star? Where do we lead these people? How can we fix this?"

You swallowed thickly and shifted so you stood side-on, squeezing Elrond's hand. "You know, I don't think I've ever told you about when I was a child, after I lost my family... Before we met," you smiled gently, his intrigue piquing, turning to face you, "for a time, I was under the care of an Elf named, Faithor."

"What?" He asked in shock. "You mean, the warrior?"

"Hm," you nodded, "the very same. He was everything you've ever heard of and more, but that's not the point, the point is, when my family first perished, I struggled with acceptance. This made me... A devilish child, I'll admit," you shared a smirk, "but Faithor was patient, dedicated, and pragmatic. He told me that this world is so much bigger than any of us that sometimes, we lose sight of perspective; that the wind is always gonna blow against us, and sometimes, it'll simply be too strong and we just have to accept it. There's no changing the wind. That no matter how hard we fight, how much it hurts, what we wish and want and pine for, how much our hearts yearn," your head shook and voice teetered to a hush, "some things that break, cannot be fixed; what's lost, is lost forever. To put back together that which shatters," you gestured towards Eregion, both heads turning to watch Celebrimbor and Durin's tower topple, "cannot ever be made whole again. Cracks, even in porcelain, will leak, so... In these moments..." One hand held Elrond's, the other lifted to caress his cheek and encourage his attention back to you, "The best any of us can do is try and build something new."

Your husband's lips twitched slightly, offering a soft huff through his nose in appreciation. "C'mere," he mumbled almost inaudibly, tugging you closer while simultaneously stepping into your space. His arms came around you, taking a moment to bask together before he pulled back and nodded, the tears in his eyes never receding. "All right, starlight," he whispered, "let's go try to build something new."

"Together," you agreed, dropping a quick wink before latching back onto his waist and rejoining the thin stream of refugees marching the unknown path. You were stable enough that you and Elrond could walk at a slightly quickened pace alongside your people; encouraging some who lagged behind and assisting those who needed it along the way. Despite his good nature and inability to refuse to help others, Elrond never strayed (far) from your side the entire hike; the separation finally officially concluded - as if it never happened to begin with.

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[sinflowersugar]

I want to grab this and clutch it tightly to my chest and scream!

( credits to the incredible @goodsirs for this beautiful gifset ! )

✵ — OF HALF-WITS & FOOLS !

summ.  You & Elrond have been at odds for as long as you both can remember. So when did it all start to change? or: Everyone’s sick & tired of Elrond’s lovesick denial. pairing.  elrond peredhel / f!reader w.count.  5.5k (oops) a/n.   pre-s1 (implied AU) , time-jumps galore , established elven name , loose neo-Quenya translations , childhood rivals-to-lovers , Elrond is less serious here & more of a little shit , ‘unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object’ trope, but it's literally just stubborn!reader & bratty!Elrond update: I drew fanart for this fic!

PERHAPS, ELROND SUPPOSES, it had started when he’d accidentally bucked you off your horse on a race. 

That would come to be centuries ago by now, when you were both children; and he can even recall your face still— drenched in lake water, tangled in a bramble he couldn’t quite pull you out of because he’d allowed the most unbecoming laugh to ever grace himself first before bothering to help you.

You’d been humiliated, and you never allowed it again since.

Payback comes tenfold just a season after, however. (Spring had yet to be in full swing— Elrond should have known better than to trust your claim of rare Niphredil blooming early by Lindon’s border.)

“Was it worth it?” he snorts, letting the rain wash the muck from his hair and wincing at the crumple of his scrolls under the hooves of your horse. “Your petty endeavour for retribution?” 

“Indeed.”

“...You say this, after having fallen in the same bog you yourself have led me to. Incredible. Your pride rivals that of Man.”

A beat. You huff.

“...I admit, I had imagined this to go far more smoothly on my end—”

Elrond rolls his eyes.

“—But it is satisfying, nonetheless.”

“How childish.”

“You’re one to talk,” you snap, narrowly dodging a dirty pebble thrown your way.

“You ought to apologise!” Elrond hisses.

“Apologise to the likes of you? Never.”

“Fool!”

“Half-wit!”

And so was sown early the seed of a rivalry between you both.

The High Elves watch it bloom through centuries of the Age.

The Valiant-hearted Maiden against the Vault of Stars; Locking horns by every way of competition and prowess— be it academic brain or athletic brawn, or in inanities of conversation, where every answer is met with a petty counter or a provoked jab. 

A constant dance of bickering, bantering, barbing. 

“Of us two, I’m the better scholar,” Elrond states once upon a time, during a practised-combat, amid one of your shared tiffs. 

You side-step and knock him to his feet; catch the stroke of his blade with a hard swipe of your own. It sings— metal against metal— and pierces into the earth a pace away where Elrond crumbled defeated.

The smile you wear is triumphant as the tip of your steel hovers at his throat. “And I, the better swordsman.”

A curl of his hair falls between his eyes, and he blows it with a scoff. “Even if the High King blesses you one day as Marshal of your own Cavalry,” Elrond narrows his gaze up towards you. “I hazard I could fell more damage than you ever could, with a quill and my tongue alone.”

“Bold. Why ever need an army, then?”

“Betimes, a sword must still be drawn.”

“Or not drawn,” you counter. 

As if in emphasis, you sheathe your sword and bent to offer him a teasing, albeit, helpful hand. “Hard to tell with ‘just a quill and your tongue’, I imagine. No?”

Quick-witted shrew you are, he thinks to bite. But you are right, after all, and Elrond is clever enough to know when to yield.

“The maiden thinks herself o’ so wise,” Elrond bristles, after you’d steadied him to his feet. 

You laugh. 

It’s bright and resonant— startles something deep in his heart far, far more than the kind hand you’d offered him. Elrond struggles to shake it off.

“Fool,” he gripes.

“Half-wit,” you volley.

And the familiar exchange follows again, wherever forth you go throughout the Age. Between field and fallow, lake and stream, and Kingdom to Kingdom.

Oaf to dullard. Troll-headed to lame-brained. Runt to mooncalf. Dimwit to—

“Aulë’s beard!” Durin cries aloud, following a stormy aftermath of you and Elrond’s brief visit to Khazad-dûm. “I’ve never seen his patience crumble as swift as soapstone! They despise each other, Disa!”

“On the contrary,” she dissents, amused. “Why would Elrond allow it, that his so-called ‘bane of his existence’ meet you, Durin— one of his greatest friends— if he didn’t trust her at least one bit?”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean he cares for the girl.”

“Aye, ‘til you remember trust is the naked stone of love.” There’s a twinkle in Disa’s eyes like that of pure quartz. “And I wager that Elf hasn’t the slightest idea of that yet.”

She’s right, of course. Elrond hasn’t.

Not even a decade later.

Or the one after that.

And to the next.

Until, slowly, something begins to gives way.

“Elmendëa,” Elrond hears you swear, exasperated. “Ává tuluvanyë! I know you are a fool, but even an idea as rash as this is beyond you.” *

“That has to be the kindest words I have ever heard you utter in regards to me,” he muses, unable to stop from grinning.

Elrond is intelligent. Cunningly so. He’s gleaned exactly how to push your buttons because he’s the only one well-versed to your short temper, buried somewhere under the sunshine of your adoring face, and the bell-like sound of your laughter he’s grown to—

“Remind me what it is your name stands for, again?”

The grip on your horse’s reins tighten. “Beríniel. Maiden of Valiant heart.”

A terrible move, in hindsight. You should have never entertained his question. 

“Hm. I always admired it. A mighty name,” he agrees, shrugging lazily. “For a coward, that is.”

You scowl, fight a scathing remark. Elrond always gets childishly riled up whenever he tests your nerve; you’ve known him long enough to know it would not do to satisfy him with a reaction.

“Five stone-trolls against one lone elf in the blackest of night is not cowardice, it’s folly.”

“These creatures have eluded us too many seasons long, laying waste to these lands. The General said this himself,” he says, spurring his horse with excitement. “Now’s our only chance! Besides, I am far from alone, no? Come now; I have you, and you have me!”

Your heart stutters.

You might’ve had the time to mull that last line of his comment over, including that unexpected bloom of something in your chest, even, had he not bolted off straight into his demise.

“Elrond! Valyë—!” You snarl out a curse. “Wait!” *

You’re drenched.

So is Elrond.

You may have laughed at the sight if you weren’t so busy with being humbly contrite at the wrath of your Cavalry General. 

And maybe if you weren’t drenched in literal troll-blood.

“Taking on five of those foul creatures,” comes the disapproving hiss. “At the height of the night!” 

“General—”

“You are lucky, thick-headed colt that you are, Belírien, that I have decided only to suspend you of your rank.”

You flinch. 

Elrond snaps his bowed head up in surprise.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, General,” he defies, much to your absolute horror, “But if you wish to exorcise your anger, I beg of you to do so against me—”

“No,” you override, furious. Call it competition if you must— but Elrond will not take a punishment from and for you. You had far more honour in you than to let anyone take your blame, even if it comes in the form of your childhood nemesis.

The glare you shoot that reads, Quit attempting to be a damn hero, goes unnoticed, however. (Or perhaps, more likely, now that you remember this is Elrond Peredhel, wilfully ignored.)

“—Belírien defied your order, but she did so only to protect me from my own folly. It was I who went after the trolls, and in doing so forced her hand—”

“I made my decision, you fool,” you protest. “Of all people you should know best that you could never force my hand to do anyth—

“If you would just let me speak, you half—”

“Dínen!” The General snarls. *

Both of you snap to attention. 

“Must you two always argue like whelps?” he thunders. “I will speak with Elrond myself. Meno!” *

You practically deflate in your armour. “General, please, lá asanyë a—” *

“Every second you tally standing before me thins my patience, Belírien,” he says, voice strained with finality. “Do not test it.”

You grit your teeth, your breath a sharp exhale.

“Dúro di,” Elrond whispers, before you can say anything rash. He can recognise all too well that tide of stubbornness in you— the same one that always rises ashore towards trouble. Then, gently: “Ilqua nauva mára.” *

You relent, only to surmise much, much later that evening, when the sun bled dusk over Lindon’s citadel, that it had not, in fact, gone ‘okay’.

“Manan nîn rehtanë tye, Elrond?” *

You can imagine the cheeky smile in his face for yourself, from where he’s peering up the gleaming stars, “Must there be rhyme or reason?”

“I’ve been informed that my rank as Marshal still stands,” you say, sidling to his side on the stone allure. “Was that your doing?”

“Yes.”

It’s said so easily. Sometimes you wish you could curse that slippery, literary tongue of Elrond’s.

“Then why is it I hear they’ve withheld yours as Herald?”

“Merely an abeyance,” he dismisses, but you can hear the disappointment in his voice nevertheless, even if his eyes are cast away from you.

It pains you more than you’d expected it would have— Elrond has spent centuries working towards the role, and just when it’s come within reach, he’d chosen to let it slip to defend you instead. 

“Save your despair. In time, h—”

“Ánin apsene.” *

Elrond blinks in surprise.

Unbidden, an old memory resurfaces: of mud, and crumpled scrolls, and a pebble thrown your way, after which you’d claimed: I would never apologise to the likes of you!

You’d both been children then. Has so much time passed already? What a gift, he finds he couldn’t stop himself, That you are still by my side.

“There is nothing to forgive. I defended you, because I—” he falters. Something passes in his eyes you cannot decipher. “—I believed it just. On this I am certain.”

“You need not have, regardless,” you retort. “Especially with the price you pay now.”

“I know,” he shrugs. Shrugs. As if you hadn’t just been the potential end-all to his hard work. “But, alas.”

Alas? How stubborn you are, you resist. You silver-tongued, nonchalant, handsome little—

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” he adds, pointedly. “Marshal.”

“I don’t,” you say. “I would never.” There is no way to turn back time nor the decree, afterall, so you settle with, “Just don’t get used to it. Defending me, I mean.” 

Or, in plain: Thank you.

The corner of his lips tug closely akin to a smile. 

“I would never,” he parrots.

That is to say: You’re welcome.

--- C R A C K !

Deep in another pass of Summer, in the fields of Lindon west where the capital towers stand, an arrowshaft splits perfectly down its middle, from the shot of another.

A bullseye on a bullseye.

You ready; take aim to fire, again—

“I gathered you would be here,” comes Elrond’s voice. “You always found solace in target practice.”

—and miss your mark.

The arrow splinters wood off the edge.

With a scowl, you turn to where Elrond sits by the root of an old tree, fidgeting with something in his hand.

“Endë intyë,” he recites Rúmil. “You draw your bowstring with anger. It needs conviction, to fly true.” *

The familiar sound of a nocked arrow reaches his tipped ears. Elrond lifts his head, meets your steel gaze behind your loaded bow, set dead-straight towards him. 

“And would you like to test my conviction, Elrond?”

I would, is his instinctive jab of a response, for I’d wager you’ll miss. 

But he can spot the slightest of tremor in your hands; the unseen waver in your voice. You’ve been gravely unsteadied— he recognises the suffocating weight of grief, rolling from you in waves.

“No,” he says, sincerely. “Not today.”

“So you’ve come to patronise me for one erred shot, then. Charming.”

“You know why I’m here,” he says, watching you patiently as you pluck your arrows and tidy the target. “Don’t—”

“Be a fool?” You finish for him, annoyed. 

A breeze passes. It’s silent.

There’s no caustic remark, no spiteful words. It’s almost unsettling to not hear half-wit being said in reply. Even then, though, you find way to fault him even for that.

You curse him for his… his inherent patience. For bothering you here and now. For his damn face; that always makes it so hard to stay mad, and so easy to forgive.

“Don’t push me away,” he corrects. “Is what I intended to say.”

A piece of you cracks. For someone who’s claimed to be irked by the very sight of you, Elrond could be frustratingly gentle to you when need be.

“What does it matter to you?” 

You reach for your quiver. Focus, you tell yourself. Focus. If you looked in his eyes again you might just shatter.

“The village sent word,” he begins, striding towards you and standing by your side. “They plead for you to come and plant a seed in their land, in Îdhendiel’s name. A token of gratitude to her memory, and to you, the Marshal, who led the cavalry to save their lives.”

Something potent roars in your veins. A flame; A fire— burning white-hot behind your eyes, kindling them with tears; stoking a bloodthirsty anger in your heart.

“What worth is their gratitude? The person they ought to thank is dead,” you say, vicious. “It’s because of their recklessness that they roused the wrath of the beasts sleeping in that forsaken cavern. Îdhendiel’s life was—”

Wasted, you couldn’t bring yourself to say, as you draw and take aim.

But your vision is swimming, blurred by memory and unshed tears, taking the heart of the target along with it. 

“They are innocent, you know this.”

Your shot will be poor. Likely, it would embed the stand. Maybe you should shoot Elrond, instead.

(You could never.)

“If you are here to argue with me, Elrond,” you whisper, a pained breath escaping you as you lower your bow. “Please, leave.”

“I am here to convince you.”

“And I will not be convinced,” you grit.

“Do not let your grief blind y—”

“Please!” 

Your voice cracks. The arrowshaft in your grip snaps.

Elrond seizes.

“Please, just… Just go.”

You wait for it. For one last reproach from him. But instead, he unravels something with his fingers.

“I will not tell you your anger is misplaced,” he says, gently, stepping forward to place the object in your palm. “For that, I have no right. But I am certain of one thing—”

It’s a seed. An acorn. Cradled in threadbare cloth, weathered and worn. 

“—Îdhendiel would have wished only for peace.”

It would grow to be an oak tree that can outlive mortal men by a thousand years. Elrond had been purposeful with where he’d placed the seed: right next to the broken arrowhead in your palm.

A proverbial choice. Grief, he seems to say, or peace? 

“I hate you,” you answer, uselessly. 

But a Herald's very art is to read between words, and better yet— Elrond has come to learn every lilt and cadence in your voice. It’s hollow. There is no malice meant in what you’ve said.

“This is but one seed, and yet it feels the heaviest thing in all of Middle-Earth.”

He softens at that. “Such is the weight of grief.”

Something knots in your throat. Stricken. You’re stricken. It’s the kind that reminds you of all your other, untreated hurts; of everything you’ve lost and can never forget, and would never be reunited with again until the Undying Lands.

“You—” Your hesitant voice calls out. 

(You are the only one I trust. Would you bear this weight with me?)

“Would you accompany me? To the village?”

Your words are small. Almost fearful. As if he could ever possibly be so cold as to forsake you at a time like this. 

He reaches out, settles his hand atop yours. It may very well be the kindest, most tender thing you’ve ever felt from him your entire life. 

“I would never abandon you,” comes Elrond’s answer. 

Then, to himself, candidly: I’d go anywhere with you by my side. He’d thought it. Realised. Swore. It had brought no surprise, no hesitation. My place is with you.

Elrond Peredhel had never been so sure of anything.

And he stays true to his word.

He journeys with you for a sennight North, with the acorn in his hold; had kept you steadfast all the way to the tilled grounds of the village.

And alas when the time had come: If your fingers didn’t shake neath the earth; if you didn’t falter your grip on seed and soil as you planted— 

It was because Elrond was there, standing with you.

“I was a fool to think I can escape without Herald Elrond himself having one last word in.”

“That you are,” he huffs, breathless from the full gallop ride he’d taken downwind to the kingdom gates. The Winter season means the Northern air blows colder from the snow-capped mountains of Ered Luin. 

It means more time between you two has passed, yet— 

“And a half-wit,” he finishes.

—nothing’s changed. Or so it seems.

Astride the saddle of your own steed, you cock your head at him. “Well, what did you come here to say? Let me guess, you’ll enjoy the silence while I’m gone?”

Elrond almost grimaces. If you’d noticed, though, you didn’t appear to show it.

“No.”

“Or perhaps—”

“Why did you not tell me you were leaving?”

(He says, instead of something unforgiveably sentimental, that is: Do I matter to you so little?)

And. Well. If his tone hadn’t startled you, the flash of betrayal in his eyes certainly did. 

“I…” You blink. “I assumed you knew.”

“I didn’t,” he says, uncharacteristically sharp.

Your brows furrow. “Well, I’ll be gone a mere blink. At best only six Sun-years, not an entire yén. Galadriel sent me to scout aways to the South before reporting my findings back to Lindon for our archives. I will not apologise for serv—” *

“I seek neither an explanation nor an apology,” he says, curt enough that your company sneaks a wary look from the gates; enough that his own very horse shifts uneasy.

“Then be plain. Why have you come here?”

The fight leaves his body. 

“I…” He trails off. Blinks as his gaze darts across your face. 

(I think— ) 

“…To bid you farewell.”

A lie. Blatant. Plain as daylight and as clear as the stars in their courses to your discerning eye, borne from the long years endured beside him. Dúath whinnies below you. He must have sensed the unseen discord, too.

Elrond purses his lips to smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“And to you too, Dúath. Keep h— Yourselves— safe.”

Then, with only a nod and a fleeting glance, as if the effort to watch you depart might cut too deep—

“Elrond—”

—he steers his horse away and spurs into a leaping gallop before your sentence could take shape.

And he doesn’t speak of that day, not a word; not until Galadriel had brought it up herself.

“I have noticed,” Galadriel begins, after the season had finally ended, and the last of the snowflakes had come to fall. “You have never been more distant since the company left. If my sending them away has offended you someh—” 

“No. Never,” Elrond says, cut to the quick. His gaze tears from the forests to his best friend. “I am merely… pensive.”   

It’s the truth, and yet somehow he’d delivered it embarrassingly unconvincingly. So much so that Galadriel raises her brows him. 

“Over?”

He flounders.

“...Lore.”

Galadriel deadpans. “Ah, of course. Lore. Then why have you been—” She’s careful to pick her words. “—Sulking?”

“I am not,” he insists, and manages to swallow back the instinctiveness of saying fool, or half-wit. (These are… words reserved solely for you.)

“It is unlike you to lie, Elrond,” she says, levelling her stare. “Was it not Rúmil who said absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“Speak plain, Galadriel.”

“Your Marshal. You miss her,” she states. “You like her.”

“You are delusio—”

Galadriel pins him with a look.

“—Mistaken,” Elrond amends.

She tilts her head. “Your brooding says otherwise.”

“First and foremost, she is not my anything. Secondly, I do not brood,” he says, turning up his nose. “And lastly, I am confident I do not harbour anything but simple courtesy for her. She is insufferable.”

She hums, amused. “I see.” 

“Truly!” he insists. (Too hasty, almost, to hide the obvious lie.) “Unbearably prideful, too.”

“And terribly impulsive?” 

“As a colt in full gallop.”

“And distracting?” offers Galadriel.

“Endlessly.”

“Because she’s beautiful, yes?”

“Frustratingly so.”

A beat.

Elrond blinks, aghast.

“No, wait—”

Galadriel’s laugh is bright. 

Reunion aligns perfectly with Mereth-nuin-Giliath.

The celebratory feast has the verdant halls and forest of Lindon’s Kingdom alive with moonlight and lantern; laughter and song. Elves alike are clad in their best: silver wreaths braided into hair; golden trims embroidered into robe.

And— you.

There’s you. 

Donned in the finest cloths and the brightest garlands, seated at a small table spread with some of your closest companions, where Elrond quietly watches you laugh— Singing something of soldiers, poets and kings; how you’d been taught it from a migration of halflings you happened across during your time in the wilds. 

But then there is Glórieldir. 

Golden-one. Shouldered next to you, with his yellow hair and his glinting smile and his gilded garments. Everything that could possibly live up to his name, even in attitude. A perfect soldier. A perfect friend. A perfect Second-in-command. 

Specifically, your Second-in-command.

“Any longer and you might burn a hole through his head,” comes a voice. It’s Gil-Galad, ever the omnipresent gravitas that comes with him. “Do be more merciful. Glórieldir has quite the talent for bowmanship.”

Elrond straightens in an instant. “High King.”

“At ease,” he waves, behind a sip— no, a gulp— of wine. “I am trying to escape from Círdan and his frivolous attempts to pester me so. Do humour me, why the withering glare? Glórieldir is no threat to your rather peculiar bond with Beríniel. Despair not.” 

It’s said with such casual precision Elrond nearly buckles. He couldn’t have possibly been measured that swiftly?

“I do not— despair.”

A snort. 

“Do you know why Glórieldir is only Second-in-command?” Gil-Galad says. “Because he bends too easily to higher authority. Much unlike your Marshal, who would not hesitate to question anyone and anything even under duress. I hazard maybe even toward myself.” 

“She is not my— anything,” he blusters, recalling his conversation with Galadriel those winters ago.

“Ach. She is the only elf in Middle-earth who could shake the very foundation of your being free from conviction,” he says, nonchalant, “Do you think me blind to your longing gaze and clandestine trysts—”

Elrond chokes. “Trysts?!” 

(Had he not been burdened with the crown and its status, Gil-Galad may have allowed his Kingly demeanour to crack for a moment, just to laugh at Elrond’s scandalised look.) 

“There have never been trysts. We are furthest from lovers. She is my— friend, at best. You are mistaken.”

“Of course,” Gil-Galad hums, wholly unimpressed, after which he sets his goblet down a passing tray and grabs two fresh cups, and hands them both to him, much to his confusion. “I whole-heartedly believe you.”

Then, to Elrond’s horror: the High King beckons Glórieldir from the table, and Elrond pieces together the cunning scheme too late as Gil-Galad sweeps the Second-in-command away for an oh-so-interesting discussion over archery.

That sly fox of a—

“Thank you,” you say, once the both of you are alone, out of sight and earshot from the festivities, and Elrond had handed you one of the cups of red wine.

You should thank Gil-Galad, he thinks. And his horribly wicked sense of humour.

“Seems you enjoyed your adventures to the South,” he says instead.

“I did. It gave me plenty of time to… think.” Of you. Of us.

“Must have been peaceable without me around,” Elrond muses.

You set your cup to the stone wall of the parapet overlooking the rivers. “Quite the contrary,” you say, and Elrond has to try to convince himself he’s only imagining that tone of wistfulness in your voice out of self-indulgence. Surely.

“The seasons ran surprisingly long. Summers less kind, less sweet. Oftentimes, it was too quiet. And I’d seek for your voice in conversation.” You pick idly at the filigree of the goblet. “…But no one in my company tests my nerve like you do.”

A sense of pride curls around his heart. “Is this your long-winded way—” 

“Oh, here we go again.”

“—of saying you missed me?” he taunts, lips cut into a genuine smile. (Because I did. I missed you so; Never thought it possible that my heart could sing so longingly when I saw light upon your face again.)

You roll your eyes, but your laugh betrays you. It’s musical, dizzying. Has him stirring into another smile as he watches you muffle it into your palm, and the moonlight catches the jewels of your crescent eyes; the shining tresses of your hair he’s been fighting the urge to tuck behind your ear.

You’ve always been so beautiful. He couldn’t think of any other grand prose or way to describe it. You’re the only one who’s ever rendered the Herald speechless.

Elrond hadn’t known what to do with himself, really, when he first faced this revelation unravelling before him. He’d spent his days reflecting when exactly the tides had changed; at what hour he came to love, instead despise, the prick of every thorn and thistle that came with the flower that you are.

He’d thought perhaps something else was sown the day Îdhendiel’s seed was planted in the earth. Something between you two that was more gentler. Kinder. Fonder.

Or perhaps, Elrond supposes, it has always been there.

Yes, had come the realisation. Foolish of him, indeed. To have been remiss. To have been blind. To have tarried so long. 

“You’re right, I missed you,” you finally relent, sighing theatrically. “I owe you that much, after… after the way I left things before. I suppose it’s high time I ask for your forgiveness.” 

It’s said so sheepishly, he has to bend to chase your timid gaze. 

“Elmendëa. The journey truly has changed you… I hazard this is the second time I’ve ever heard you apologise in my life, Berílien, you should be quite proud—”

“The audacity!” you bat at him, bursting into a laugh. “Thick of you to keep tally. You and Glórieldir are irritatingly alike.”

Elrond’s mouth clicks shut. He tries to hide the hard press of his tongue against his cheek; the sudden bout of sour and ire. “Ah. Right. Your knight in golden, shining armour. Tell me, has he plucked the courage to court you yet?”

You’re almost winded. “What?”

He shrugs. “Word goes he’s head over heels for you.”

“Word is word. We— I— We’re not, no. He is more my charge, if anything,” you wrinkle your nose, disapproving. 

He tries to tamp down the relief secretly bleeding through him. “Oh? Why, you’ll break his golden heart.”

(This time, it’s you trying to convince yourself that you’re imagining that note of jealousy in his voice out of self-indulgence.)

“Besides," you wave, "I’ve been told he’ll be settling all the ways to Eregion, by the end of the season. I imagine we would hardly ever be feasible. ”

And then, in a slip of his tongue, or in new-found confidence (foolishness?), or perhaps because Elrond simply cannot help it anymore—

“Why not? I have loved you from further.”

A beat.

The world stills. 

Your heart stutters. 

Even the stars seem to hold their breath to bear witness.

Manwë help me, he freezes. This is not how I meant for this to go. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips. He catches it in a glimmer of hope. Was that confession? he wonders. Admission? Concession? 

“Your wine is… speaking, Elrond.”

“I have had but a quarter of a cup.” 

“It is First Age wine.”

“I digress. It would take more than that to master the tongue of an elf. Especially mine.” 

“You're half-elve—”

“Must we dance this age-old dance?” he blurts, half-desperate, half-terrified. Elrond isn’t like Galadriel, who could probably make flowers grow by sheer dint of belief. He doesn’t have it in him to pretend. Not anymore. “Just. Tell me I am wrong. That I’m mistaken. Tell me if— Tell me I have overstepped.”

Eärendil’s star is blinding in the momentary silence. 

The wind blows bated with white-winged birds. It breathes a strand to your cheek, compelling, almost. Reach for her.

He does. Slowly. Elrond gathers, finally, the conviction, to reach for that stray tress of hair, to tuck it behind the high-tip of your ear. 

Then he lingers. In one hand his wine, and the other ghosting across your cheek; As if he fears this an illusion, as if he’d touch you and you’d fade into a ripple.

“Tell me to walk away,” he says from where he stands a foot from you, voice so quiet it nearly fell into nothing. “And I will.”

I will do anything for you.

Your answer is barely a whisper, and drowned in affection. “Stay.”

(Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.)

“And is your wine speaking?” he dares.

You shake your head honestly. 

Concession. “I’ve not had even a taste, yet, this whole night.”

A taste? “I see.”

And then, as swift and smooth as a breeze, Elrond moves to finish the last swallow of his wine, and let slip the goblet to clatter onto the floor, so he could hold you wholly in both hands— 

And ducks his head to kiss you.

It’s like the world sighs in song. 

You’re melting as he kisses you, urgent— a talisman of a kiss; fierce and unhesitating and like a wick lit aflame. It’s sweet, cloyingly so, laden either from the red wine or the weight of all the unsaids between you two, or maybe both.

“Melin tye,” he pants, when he pulls for a chaste breath. "I've always—" *

But then you’re leaning up to him again, running your hand up his nape and into the locks of his curly hair, and tugging him back down to meet him halfway. Words can come later. There’ll be time. You’ll weave it into existence, if you must. 

Right now you’re content with this. With seeing his eyes slide shut and feeling the press of his palms and thumbs on your cheeks; with letting him fold you tight into his arms, and kissing you so desperately it feels as if he’s cleaving his very soul apart so he could tuck you into it forever. 

You exhale his name. A thin, reedy sound, when he sidles you to a plinth. “I thought me the ‘bane of your existence’?”

He bumps nose and forehead to yours, eyes half-mast and pupils blown in naked admiration. “You misquote me, surely.”

“Oh?” you murmur, low and close.

He doesn’t bother with an answer. Just dips to kiss you, slower this time, relaxed— Like a tender apology for the wasted centuries, like he wanted to carve into memory the seam of your lips and the slope of it; trace every crack, crevice and curve of your face; memorise the warmth of your skin and the shuddering feel of you in his searing touch.

It’s slow and steady and careful and painfully endearing. You have half the mind to just stay like this with him forever, eclipsed by Elrond's lips, hands and shadow; and translate everything you’ve ever held back from saying into this one fervid kiss alone—

“High King?” comes an approaching call. 

Both of you fly back from each other in alarm, just as a figure turns the corner.

(The sound produced from the both of you pulling apart that ardent, sealing kiss is damning.)

“Círdan!” Elrond greets just in time, voice a strangled, breathless rasp. 

He clears his throat to try again. “Ah, I’m— afraid the High King is not here.”

You pray to the Valar Círdan doesn’t notice the harried way both of your chests rise and fall, or the way the circlet on your head has gone distinctly off-kilter, or the windswept tousle of Elrond’s curls.

He does, however, notice the empty goblet that’d been rolled to a stop, right at his foot. “…Are you two alright?”

“Very,” Elrond drags, and shoots you a there-and-away glance that leaves your cheeks hot. “We were just—”

Círdan toes the cup. “Having another petty row, I assume?”

“Yes,” you agree hastily. “Arguing.”

“As always,” the shipwright assents. “Right, well, don’t let me interrupt.”

Then, Círdan turns to face you and narrows his eyes curiously. Your lips are glaringly stained red. 

“Do go easy on the First Age wine, Marshal,” he suggests, before finally disappearing around the corner.

Elrond fights back from barking out a laugh.

“Yes, go easy,” Elrond croons your way, once you sink in relief. “Tell me, was I enough of a taste for you?”

“Snide little—” You swat with a laugh, but he catches you easily by the wrist, wearing that tight-lipped, boyish smile, and bends down to nudge you into another kiss once more.

You give in, ofcourse. 

“Fool,” you whisper somewhere inbetween.

You can practically feel him smiling against you.

“Half-wit.”

Fanart by yours truly!

Footnotes:

Under the suspended belief that the spoken English is translated from Sindarin, any Elvish dialogue in the story is Quenya unless stated otherwise.

*Rough translations as followed:

Elmendëa  =  Wonder/Amazement. Ává tuluvanyë!  =  I will not follow you! Valyë—!  =  Don’t—! Dínen!  =  Silence!  [a/n. Sindarin] Meno!  =  Go! Lá asanyë a—  =  I do not wish for— Dúro di  =  Obey him.  [a/n. I believe this is Sindarin] Ilqua nauva mára  =  It’ll be okay. (Lit: All will be well.) Manan nîn rehtanë tye  =  why did you defend me? Ánin apsene  =  I’m sorry/Forgive me. Endë intyë  =  Center your heart. (Lit: Center yourself.) Melin tye = I love you. Yén:  an Elven unit of time, amounting 144 solar years.

Sindarin names:

Beren — Valiant/Bold Ind — Will/Heart Wen — maiden (alternatively: -iel/-il/-el) Therefore, Beríniel > Valiant-hearted Maiden Îdh — Peace -(n)dil — Friend/Lover Therefore, Îdhendiel > Lover of Peace.  Glóriel — Golden -dir — name suffix Therefore, Glórieldir > Golden one Dû —  night Gwath —  shadow Therefore, Dûath > Night shadow Mereth Nuin Giliath > Feast Under Stars. (As lifted from the Mirkwood Elves in The Hobbit movies)

[anetherealpoetess]

it's vital for my mental health that the show introduces celebrían and we get to see this man fall in love with his wife

[the-fiction-witch]

After Dinner

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (wife) Rating - 18 + kissing/ nudity/ Word Count - 596

Elrond and Y/n arrived back at their elegant home in Lindon, a sense of contentment lingering from the memorable and eventful dinner with the high king, Prince Durin, and themselves. The clock had struck late, and the tranquil night was alive with the gentle flickering of fireflies in the garden just beyond their balcony. Y/n gracefully approached her ornate mirror, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating her features, and began the meticulous task of unravelling her long, lustrous curls from the meticulously crafted, jewel-encrusted updo she had fashioned for the esteemed royal gathering. With each delicate movement, her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the jewels glinting in the moonlight as they were carefully removed.

Elrond came up behind her and began massaging her shoulders. He worked out the tension there and began his hands slipping down and unlacing her gown.

she chuckled rather amused, "Yes?" She raised her eyebrow looking at him in her mirror

he leaned over her shoulder and nipped at her neck. “You looked so beautiful tonight,” he murmured against her skin. His hands continued to work, stripping her gown from her body then slipped inside and caressed the soft skin beneath. His lips trailed over her shoulder, down her back, his hands caressing her waist.

"Well I wanted to look nice. Not everyday we get to have dinner with the king. Much less so with Durin." She explained as she worked allowing him to work on her gown as it gave her one less task to do,

he reached down and finished untied the laces, the dress pooling around her feet. He pressed into her, his hands pulling her hips back against his, molding her body against his. All of her bare flesh against his still clothed body, “And you did.” he breathed against her neck, burying his face against her skin, inhaling her

when the dress and slip hit the floor she was bare but her star necklace that she’d worn since their wedding, "Did I do something to arouse such attention?" She chuckled,

he chuckled when he saw it still around her neck

Hardly. he replied, his hands roaming her body, tracing her curves. He moved her hair aside so he could lavish her neck with kisses. “You didn't have to do anything.” he murmured against her skin, his hands gliding up her stomach, stopping just below her breasts. “I always want to ravish you.” he turned her around to face him, his hands roaming her body, his eyes dark with lust. He pulled her flush against him, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue darting out, seeking entrance to her mouth,

she kissed back and allowed him entrance gently sucking on his tongue when he did as had long known the affected it had on him,

that small action was enough to drive him to the edge, his breathing deepening into a moan. His hands gripped her hips, needing something to hold on to. He walked her backwards to the bed, gently pushing her to sit on the edge of the mattress

she giggled as he almost tossed her on the sheets, she playfully kicked her feet before elrond crawled between them

he chuckled, grabbing her ankles to pin them down. He knelt between her parted legs, his body towering over hers, “You are too playful for your own good my love,” he captured her wrists with one hand, holding both above her head, “Now… let me show you what happens when you parade how beautiful you are in front of me all night.” He growled pinning her to the bed with his harsh and lustful kiss, 

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Masterlist

All of my fics are available on AO3 under the same username Criticallyinneedofadar! AO3 Link

Rings of Power

Elrond (interconnected one shots)

A Flower Among Stone

The Price of Compassion

Among Friends and Enemies

A Jewel in the Garden

Adar

Starlight Jewels - One Shot

Beyond Hope - One shot

A Life Lost in Time- One shot, can be read with Beyond Hope.

Alliance of Shadows- Series (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10) (Chapter 11) (Chapter 12) (Epilogue)

Across Time- (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)(Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10) (Chapter 11) (Chapter 12) (Chapter 13) (Chapter 14)

Berries- One Shot

Yuletide Joy- One Shot

Elendil

Together in Grief - One Shot

A Grave Homecoming- One shot

The Valar's Blessing - One Shot

Summer Rain- Ask

Cargo Barrels - One Shot

Errands- Ask

The Banks of Edhellond- Ask

Gil Galad

The Weight of the Weary - One Shot

Lovely Thorn (Part 1 ) (Part 2 )

An Unexpected Joy- One Shot

Royal Duties- One Shot

Beside You - One Shot

Celebrimbor

An Artist's Gaze- One shot

Lemon Cakes and a Melody- One Shot

Male Reader- Ask

The Princess of Lindon- One Shot

Steel and Song- Ask

Lord of the Rings

Faramir

Ask

The Hobbit

Thorin Oakenshield

A Song of Home- One Shot

Public Relations(hips)- One Shot

House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark

The North

Game of Thrones

Benjen Stark

The Ranger and the Wildling