#elrond half-elf 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.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Wanderer

Adar x reader | SMUT🔞

You meet an elf, a wanderer and quickly take him into your life, only to later learn he is no elf at all

That fix-it fix that's like, a month too late

Adar stood in the midst of the battlefield, Elrond at his feet.

But he paid the elven warrior no mind, for he had much greater things in his posession.

Nenya hung from a chain between his fingers, gleaming in the dim light cast over the fields of death.

Adar had what he required, and sounded the horns of retreat.

But across the borders of Mordor none his children had caught sight of their Lord Father.

No, for he had not returned to his lands. He had found himself in a state of fear upon the discovery of Nenya's powers as he sat at the river's edge where he took in his reflection that no longer matched him.

His hand lifted to his face and felt no scarring, only soft flesh. He retreated his hand and brought it into view and found a light pink hue where a dull gray was supposed to be.

With quick and frantic movements he discarded his gauntlet and revealed the lack of black charred skin. Next was his armor and chainmaille, together with the lift of his heavy cotton tunic. The ring on his hand glimmered in his sight and it clicked.

It had healed him.

Wounds that had endured ages, leftovers of torture and remainders of darkest days all were no longer. And thus he wondered.

His children had retreated further into the lands of Mordor, and the elves had fled Eregion. It meant the lands around him were cleared of threats, or at least he expected them to be.

He discarded the guards tied around his boots and hid them along with his armor, setting off in the direction of the fallen city where he raided homes for food and cloth.

Once fed and changed into clean, gorgeously embroidered elven attire, with his hair tied in a traditional style the reflection he looked at in the mirror was no longer Adar.

He could blend now, wander and exsist freely. All he had to do was keep the ring hidden.

And so he wandered. For weeks, months he traveled. Never staying in one place long and avoiding settlements where he could run into familiar faces.

"Ah, apologies sir." A thud against his side had Adar stop examining the arrangements of products in the market stall and look beside him where the kind voice spoke to him.

A woman stood beside him, the stall long forgotten as she stared in awe. It was strange, to be almost gawked at like this, but he would lie if he said that he preffered the looks doubt and distrust of others.

"Do you wish to see, my lady?" With a kind gesture he stepped aside and led the lady to his spot. He watched the exchange and was caught off guard as he was offered half of her purchase.

"Please, I cannot accept this." Adar held up his hands, he had money to pay for his own food. Taking from others was his way no longer.

"Then you come eat with me." You stood your ground against the elf before you. "I insist."

You were persistant, and while he preffered to stay on his own he could not deny the pull at his heart with how you looked at him and showed him kindness.

With a curt bow he accepted, and allowed you to lead him to a quiet area where you sat down and unpacked your basket.

"I haven't seen you around here before." You wondered out loud, hoping to get a little conversation out of the beautiful stranger.

"I travel. I wander around and never stay in one place for long. It is not strange you haven't seen me before as this is the first time I have come by this place." He picked at the fruit in his hands, taking off small chunks to eat.

The back and forth of casual conversation was a delight to Adar, all up to the point of you mentioning never having introduced yourself with a shy laugh. You offered your name and wished for his in return.

His mind panicked. He had never yet needed a name, seeing most folk left him alone and no one had indulged enough to ask him.

He needed an answer quick. He took to looking down at the table as if to take more food and his eyes fell on the silver embroidery of the moon phases on the edge of his sleeve.

"You may call me Raun. For the moon that has guided my path for many ages." He glanced up for a short moment before picking up an apple to snack on.

"Raun," You gave the name a try and smiled. "It suits you. The color of your eyes and robe match it as well." You had already noticed Raun's beautiful greyish blue eyes were easy to get lost in.

He enjoyed listening to you talk about things he should go see in the area, describing them with great detail. Your voice was like music to his ears.

Halfway into a sentence you stopped and let out a soft laugh, earning a confused look from the elf across from you.

Without another word you reached over to him, your fingers lightly touching his cheek as you brushed a piece of apple peel off the corner of his mouth. Your hand lingered with how it felt like Raun leaned into the touch and placed his hand over yours then, turning his head ever so slightly to press a soft kiss to your palm.

He was so touch starved his body acted on its own, quickly retreating once he realized his actions.

Stammering out an apology was all he managed before you were grabbing his hands into yours. "It's okay." Your touch calmed him and he dared lifting his gaze back up from the table.

The smile you held was genuine, it was as clear as day to him and he wished to hold your hands forever.

Adar had been deprived of kindness from anyone but his kin for as long as his memories let him recall, the softness of elven touch seeping into his veins and reviving his rotten heart.

"I do believe you deserve a genuine apology. My actions should have not be so sudden. I must admit it seems I have missed the touch of another for so long I reacted too strongly. " There was shame in his tone, and you wondered what caused him to feel such negativity. You'd set the question aside for later and opted for rubbing comforting circles over his knuckles. He missed touch, so you'd touch him.

Your gentle touches were clearly having an effect on him and you decided to give the interesting elf what he needed most.

"Where are you staying?" Your question pulled his gaze off your still connected hands. "If you want we can wander the area together? I'll pick you up at the inn."

The truth was a sad one. One he almost did not dare to speak aloud. With the fall of Eregion there were no inns left in the are that had space for travelers like him. But the thought of leaving again right after this delightful meeting felt like a stab to the chest.

"The inns are all full of refugees." Ones he had made to leave himself. He and his kin, too focused on taking Sauron's life that everything else became unimportant. His blindness had come to bite him in the ass.

"The elves who resided in Eregion traveled as far as here to find shelter, I forgot about that.." You sighed at the reminder of how cruel the world could be.

"You can stay at my place, if you wish?" It was a careful offer, unsure how the wanderer liked getting close to people on his stops. His raised brows and wide eyes came as a surprise to you, immediately agreeing with your plans was not something you expected he'd do.

Adar was intrigued to say the least. He normally would run at the offer, afraid his sherades would fall through but now he was getting excited to follow you instead.

It is how the two of you ended at your home. You showed him around and let him take in your collection of writing while you prepared a simple dinner.

You had denied Raun's request to help you cook enough times to have him give up and retreat back to your collection of books until you called him back to share dinner.

Only when you were finished you allowed him to help you clean up, he would not let it slide if you denied him again.

You had Raun put away the last plate as you wiped down the counter, not leaving your place a mess now that you had a houseguest.

The touches you had shared, and brushed off as accidental or bound to happen while cleaning together had Adar craving more.

On his way back his eyes were stuck you your frame, working to finish your task and loving how your garment sat on your frame so well. Adar let his heart win over his mind and moved towards you, his hands finding your hips and his lips finding the tip of your ear as you jumped at the touch.

"Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you." You melted at the sound of his voice. Feeling his breath against your ear had you lean into him entirely. His cheek rested against yours as you laid your head back against him, turning ever so slightly to look him in the eye. Again your touches were answered with the smallest peck, this time to the corner of your mouth.

Yet you found him a little too careful and turned around between him and the counter you leaned against, only to wrap your arms around his neck and pulling him into the kiss he had wanted to give you.

The intimacy of the moment seared all Adar's nerves, his tongue less than gently making it past your lips and hoisted you on top of the just cleaned counter. There was nothing elven in his actions, but you were enjoying his ministrationa too much to care. The way he skillfully undid your garment without an ounce of hesitation just added to the ever growing curiosity.

And in this moment your curiosity had set on finding out what was underneath his robes.

Shortly all parts of garments were all over the floor and your hands were grasping long strands of dark hair in bliss. You watched as Raun feasted on you, tongue alternating between lapping at your clit and pressing into you, his hands a tight grip on your legs. The rumble of his voice as he hummed in pleasure only had you whine louder, clenching your walls around nothing and begging. Begging for him to fill you, to stand up and let you please him as well. The pull at his roots only made him add more pressure to your clit, and with only a few more calculated flicks of his tongue he had you coming with a loud moan of his name.

"R.. Raun please," You weren't given a moment to catch your breath as his tongue was replaced by his fingers nestling deep inside of you, curling them to rub at your most sensitive spot.

The way his new name sounded, moaned out like that made him appriciate it. He suddenly no longer minded his panicked answer. If it was for you, he would be Raun for as long as you'd have him.

"Please what, my sweet girl?" His tongue found your lips and licked them before pulling you into another passionate kiss, having you taste yourself on him. "Tell me your desires.." The hand not currently pleasing you found your chest, softly kneading. "I cannot tend to your needs if you do not tell me."

You were beyond ready for him, he must know this. Then why was he teasing you so much? It was strange how he acted but it made the act so much more pleasurable.

"I.. I want you inside." Speaking your wants out loud was so unlike you, and Raun chose to make it worse. "But love, I already am." He spoke as another finger joined the two already toying with your walls.

With his palm pressing against your clit he made it even more difficult for you to speak. "Hahh.. you know whh.. what I mean.." Your words drew out into mewls and whines.

"My poor, shy Elleth. Am I to guess what you wish for?" You couldn't get enough of his voice, but in turn could not get yours to function. So with your hands you showed him what you desired. You pulled his hips flush with yours, snaking your hand inbetween your bodies and taking his length in hand to press the tip at your entrance.

Much to your pleasure Raun had taken your wordless actions and moved to lazily thrust into you, barely an inch at a time to ease himself all the way in until hiships were flush with yours at the edge of the counter.

To give you a moment to adjust to the fullness he pressed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, your tongues brushing along each other as large hands held you in place until you both ran out of breath.

Panting your foreheads rested together, a smile on your face that had Adar's mind beg him to stay just a little longer each time he saw it.

With his hands on your hips he set a steady rhythm that had you gasp and moan, clamping your legs around his waist which only made him go deeper.

"Hah.. Raunn.." You moaned against his temple as he had his mouth at your neck, biting and licking. Only leaving marks where he was sure only he would see them. With each scrape of his teeth your fingers tightened around the strands of hair you held.

"Do you wish to finish, my sweet?" His hips kept up their pace, the drag of his cock inside of you almost making you see stars. You nodded against him and he grunted in response. You could feel his thrusts getting sloppier and his panting picked up against your skin, making you tighten your grip on his waist and letting out soft moans right at his ear.

Oh how he loved your noises. And the way your legs clamped around his body felt so good. One of his hands left your hips to rub circles on your clit, to pull you over the edge with him as he finished, spilling deep inside of you with a groan muffled by your shoulder.

Your palm rested against the back of his head as you caught your breaths. You felt Raun's cock slide out of you as he stepped back to give you space to stretch your legs.

"That was.. definitely not elf-like." A tired smile was all you could give him as he laughed softly at your comment. "I suppose I shall take that as a compliment, yes?" He held his hands out for you to hop down the counter, but your legs failed you and had you tumble face first into Raun's chest. To answer his comment you just nodded into his chest, humming affirmingly.

"You look ripe for bed, shall I take you?" Another nod and a quiet "yes, please." left your wobbly self before you were picked up and took you to the bedroom, where you dis not want to let him leave. "Hmmno, you're warm. Stay?"

And so he stayed. He let you rest for a moment but eventually you ended up tangled under your sheets once again. Sleep didn't come until early that morning.

Over the course of weeks, you had the company of Raun wherever you found yourself. Holding hands out and about at the market or wandering the woods. At home there was not a room or surface left that hadn't been defiled. Raun had shown you everything he said he had picked up during his thousands of years among other races and communities. You loved his roughness in bed, the way he'd manhandle you on top of the dinnertable or make you cum on his tongue time after time before holding you in a bruising grip as he ravaged you.

Adar felt like he was risking way too much for one elf, but the longer he spent in your presence the less he worried. Nor thought of his old self.

The longer he stayed with you, saw himself as he was now the more he felt like his new identity. Raun was who he was now and how he introduced himself as well. No longer 'just a wanderer' or a dismissive answer to the question once someone cared ebough to ask.

Although some nights when he sat awake by himself he felt like he was lying to you, he was content as your elven lover. The worry was only a small negative compared to the large amount of positive you had brought him.

He even agreed to go see some event happening in the area. You stood together in the crowd, not entirely front row but you had a clear enough view of it all.

Royal elves came to see communities near Eregion where refugees had fled to, bringing assistance where needed. You found them to be a little late, but appriciated the gesture. While you were having a good time watching, you could feel Raun's restless energy. You had questioned him but all he blamed it on was the large crowd of people.

Adar felt sick, trying to hide his shaking hands as he watched the high king greet people. His worry of him somehow sensing another ring being in his presence was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

And then his hand was grabbed and soft pads traced over his knuckles. You grounded him for a moment. Just enough to get his breathing in check and calm his racing mind. He gave himself a moment to say thanks with a soft kiss to the side of your head, life was suddenly less anxiety inducing in that moment.

When he dared to look back to the event happening his world sank back into panic. The grip on your hand was almost bruising, pulling you from your excitement to see Lady Galadriel being her perfect self. You pulled your hand free from Raun's grasp with a quick look towards him and saw nlthing but fear in his eyes and on the other end of you you could see Lady Galadriel look directly your way.

No, not your way. She looked at Raun.

"My sweet, I need to leave. I'm not feeling well I'm afraid." There was a tremble in his voice. It was enough to convince you to leave with him instead of having him head back home by himself.

The second you alowed him he took long strides out the back of the crowd, his hand still in yours as to not lose you. He couldn't deal with that now, he needed you with him.

"Can you please tell me what's wrong?" You were catching your breath from having to kesp up with his long strides across the whole area. Raun had taken you to the other end from where the event was happening and no longer felt the stare af the back of his head.

"I promise I will explain later. Now I prefer to go home and calm my mind if you are okay with it. I had hoped to keep your calming presence at my side." You tried to pin any logic to the whole situation but all you saw was what reminded you of a young child clinging to his mother's dress for safety and comfort. So you let him hold on to you and carefully made your way home.

Raun convinced you to take a more scenic route trough the woods. To calm him, he said. You let him lead the way, nowadays familiar with the woods surrounding your home you knew he told the truth about wanting to go back to the house you shared, but the quiet stroll through the woods didn't last long enough to reach it.

"Hold it right there, orc." It was unmistakably lady Galadriel's voice that called out and made you look around in panic. Orcs? This close to your home? Had they truly become this ruthless, to start attacking settlements for no reason?

Your mind raced until the lady was right in front of you, a blade to Raun's neck and a sneer on her face.

"You believed you could run off without us finding you? Hand me back my ring this instant." The blade at the now elf's throat pressed hard against his skin, close to breaking it.

"Please." You called out to Galadriel, hoping she'd see her mistake. "I may not know who you are searching for, but I can assure you Raun is not him. He has been in my company for--"

"Let me guess, a short while after Eregion fell?" Her blade never left Raun's throat, even as she looked at you and your still intertwined hands.

"He has been deceiving you with this fair form. A trick he has no doubt learned from Sauron himself." Her angry stare moved back to Raun next to you, who's look turned from fearful to enraged in a fraction of a second. Witg a snap that had the blade at his thoat break the skin he barked at her.

"Don't EVER compare me to that filth. You know he has tricked us both with the one thing you accuse me of doing." The blood ran down the front of his garment and yet he showed no sign of discomfort.

You stood among them as if you did not exsist in this exchange, and it hurt you to be left out. You watched as Raun composed himself with a grounding breath.

"If I were to return your ring willingly, are you willing to let me roam free? I have no more desire to fight, in all my ages I have seen too much torture and death." His gaze landed back on you. "If you allow it, I'd prefer to live my in peace. I shall leave and asure our paths may never cross once more."

"You know she will leave. You have been lying to her from the second you met. Do you truly believe you deserve any better than execution?" The more you listened to Galadriel's words the more confused you became.

And then Raun's hand slipped from yours, the softest apology fell from his lips before he slipped the silver ring from his finger and held it out for Galadriel to take.

"Goneho nin." He could do nothing more than apologize. Adar's trembling voice made him despise himself. Lady Galadriel was right in all her accusations. He had lied to you, so much that it had slowly starting to morph into a new false reality.

The silver ring slipped from his finger and laid in his palm, waiting for Galadriel's hand. But that wasn't what your eyes were focused on even with how gorgeously it gleamed in the broken sunlight between the trees.

No, your eyes were settled on Raun, who's skin lost all color. His eyes dulled and scarred patterns knitted their wat over the side of his face. Against the palm of your hand you felt skin warp and you pulled back in horror. You tried to understand but you couldn't. The hand you just so affectionately held was blackened, burned beyond repair.

"R.. Raun?"

Without looking at you he shook his head. He did not dare to look you in the eye in fear of losing something genuinely good.

"Love," You weren't calling him by a name this time, unsure how he would respond.

"Will you please grant me a proper look at you. Do not listen to her words regarding me. I make my own choices and leaving isn't one of them, even with what I am seeing right now."

It was Galadriel's turn to look at you with a look of surprise. "How can you stay after seeing proof of his lies?" She was convinced she was right, that her view was the only correct one but you knew the man you only knew as Raun to have been truthful in his words regarding you.

"I stay because I listen. You heard him say he is done with war. He wishes to be left alone and live quietly, as do I." Your eyes once more set on the now scarred man beside you. Your hand ever so carefully taking his scarred one.

"And I, for one, do believe people can change their hearts. And as long as his heart is good I do not care if he is not Raun the elf. You make it sound like I should be repulsed by him and I am not." You gave Galadriel one last stern glare.

"Leave us alone and we'll disappear. We'll find a place to live outside of elven lands and bother no one."

She ignored your words and looked to your partner for confirmation. And he spoke. On his own behalf and yours.

"If you do not believe her than that is your choice. If we cannot stay here then we shall leave and find another place to live. You know for a fact I have no trouble living in less than luxurious circumstances."

While the other two spoke your mind kept tossing questions your way. Ones you surely had to discuss later, after figuring out what your partner's name was, if not the one he had given you.

It seemed Galadriel had given the okay to move on away from elven lands, seeing she bid you farewell and left with her reclaimed ring.

You wanted to ask your partner to look at you, to turn around and look at you on his own accord and not jump in front of him to get a good look and bombard him with questions.

"I don't know what to call you, but would you please allow me to look at you?" Your hand found his again, gently carressing the scarring.

"I prefer to go home first, then discuss all you wish inside where I am not to be seen by others." He kept his gaze low to the ground and started towards your home at the sound of your okay.

You walked behind him in silence, letting him set the pace and respecting his boundaries still. Only once you were home you dared to glance for longer moments.

With a long drawn out sigh, Adar sat down in your reading nook, pressed against the pillows you so enjoyed laying against and beckoned you over. You followed his every gesture and sat down with him between where he had one leg propped up on the bench and the other rested off it.

Instead of allowing you to stare and touch he carefully maneuvered you with your back against his chest, pausing every move to make sure you were still consenting to be so close to him.

Way easier than he expected you were settled against him, arms raised and fingers tangled in his hair. You still saw nothing of him besides his hands. One covered in blackened scars and the other adorning a once large cut now healed over to just a raised line on grey skin. With his hands resting on your stomach he started to talk.

"The elf you saw before was my former self. One with a name long forgotten, and I no longer feel belongs to me." One of his hands trailed up to find your hand and softly guided your fingers to his scarred face.

"I am Adar, ancient compared to your fairly young self. No longer of the Eldar but now uruk." With his hand on yours he brushed along his temple.

"I have deceived you, using the ring to hide among the masses. But while my physical form changed, my heart and mind have not. My feelings toward you still remain."

Your hands retracted and you slowly made a move to turn around, onto your stomach to finally look at him properly.

"Adar.." You tested his name as you took all of him in much like you had that first day you met, and oh how the name left your mouth watering.

"So, you didn't pick up all those things on your ages of wandering." Your fingers were back to tracing the scars that adorned Adar's face, humming contently as he shook his head.

"I did not, no. That was all uruk." There was almost a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You then sat up, bunching up your dress and straddled him. Hands eagerly pulling at his garment to get it off.

"Let me see more of you, Adar the uruk." Your lips found his and moaned into the kiss as you rolled your hips.

Adar recalled Galadriel's words for a second and smiled into the kiss at how wrong she was. He deepened the kiss with a hand in your hair and his tongue down your throat.

His free hand found your hip, a bruising grip on it to assist your movements on his hardening cock.

"Are you asking to be ravished, my sweet?" His much raspier voice only made you groan out in pleasure.

"Please, Ada.." Your mouth was at his ear now, tongue lapping at the edge which only made his fingers dig deeper in your soft flesh.

With a growl he switched positions by rolling you off the bench and onto the floor with a thud, not caring about being gentle with his elven lady anymore.

The look in his eyes was one of a hunter having caught his prey, ready to devour it. He shoved a knee between your legs, letting you rub yourself on his thigh as he made quick work of your dress and undergarments, tearing them off your body. His mouth was on your chest within seconds, leaving dark red marks all over you along with deep bitemarks. He bit at your skin, following a path from your neck down to your nipple, taking it between his teeth and pulling until you cried out.

In a short moment of rest you watched him pull the decorative rope off your curtains, closing them entirely to dim the room and used the rope to tie your wrists together. With skill he had your hands above your head and secured the rope.

"Now you keep those up there like a good little elleth." His teeth dragged over your ears as he commanded you.

"Y..yes, Adar." Your eyes followed his every move as he sat up on his knees.

The way he now towered over you sent heat straight to your core, even more so when he delicately untied his robe and let it fall to the floor.

The scars that started at his temples ran down his neck and over his torso, along with one full arm and hand. Some disappeared down the waistband of his trousers that you were eager to take off if your hands weren't bound.

Adar enjoyed the way you stared at him with hunger in your eyes. How your legs wriggled their way from underneath him and you toed at his trousers to get them off.

"My, my little elleth." With a deep, throaty laugh he hooked his fingers around the ties that held his pants up and tugged at them, the fabric immediately sagging at the loosened tension and being held in place by his hard cock.

You ached for him so bad you could only whine at the barrier of fabric still being in the way. He was playing unfair, getting you so turned on and then not allowing you to do anything you so desperately wanted. You almost thought to disobey him and grab at the cloth of his pants and take the punishment but for now you knew better than to draw attention with screams and cries. That was something for when you were somewhere far away from others.

"Show me, please?" A hum of contemplation left him as he tilted his head a little, making a show of pretending to thinkabout it before uttering a quiet "No."

In an instant he was pressed flush against you, trousers gone and his body hiding his length between the two of you. His face was barely an inch away from yours, hair hanging loose around his head. "You don't get to make any choices.." His drool covered tongue lolled out of his mouth and lapped over your lips, forcing your jaw apart and licking into your mouth. You tried to follow when he moved back, but only got snapped at. "You are my little plaything and you will take what I give you like a good pet."

Adar pressed his lips back against yours in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue, biting till you bled and smearing it across your lips and painting them red. He separated from you for a short moment, only to guide his cock to your entrance and in that moment you willed your eyes down his body and got a scarred hand to the jaw, pressing your face away to the side and growling deep in warning.

"S.. sorry.." You mumbled against his palm, looking up at the ceiling and obey his rules.

With your gaze fixed upward your head was released and Adar continued on to press the tip of his cock between your folds.

He felt different than before, spreading you wider now with only the head past your entrance. He didn't give you a chance to adjust as he kept rutting into you, a growl leaving him with every thrust.

His shape differed so much from before. He curved to perfectly rub against your most sensitive spot each time and you could feel thick ridges pull at your walls each time he pulled back.

"Big.. Slow pleaseee hurts.." You squirmed at his rough intrusion and you could feel parts stretch painfully that no one ever reached before.

Adar didn't reply, instead pulling your hips flush agains his making you scream from the pressure and altered his position to fuck into you even better. He had you folded between himself and the ground, teeth finding your chest and biting, leaving no skin ummarked as he continued his assault on your cunt.

"N.. no choices." He stammered with his cheek pressed against yours. His scarred hand holding your hips in place and the other held your wrists above your head.

His deep, erratic thrusts let you know he was getting close as well, chasing his release with harsh thrusts and panting breath. With each of your sounds, mewls and pleas his hand dipped lower down your body and found your clit. His rough fingers and cock combined were what sent you over the edge, walls clenching with a drawn out moan. The feeling of you finishing all over his length had Adar spilling deep within you with one last thrust, stilling entirely atop of you.

Adar's rough actions turned soft. Kind, nuzzling kisses and gentle touches to help you sit up and soothe your aching wrists that he unbound with care.

"I have not hurt you too much, have I?" With your discarded clothing he helped you clean up, his rough self now hidden behind caring actions.

"I'm alright. Just enough to not be too much." You smiled, wincing as he helped you up and took you to find clean garments and pack for your travels.

Adar carried the largest bag and kept away from people while you spent your last moments in your lands buying food that would last a while as you traveled.

As you left the community, your old life was behind you now. But in front of you was Adar, and you would walk to the end the world at his side.

[shirefantasies]

hii! love your writings, I was wondering if you could do a reader x fellowship (plus eowyn and arwen) where reader is usually seen in armor and unkempt garments + dirty hair but then one day they show up (probably for an event) in beautiful fancy clothes, hair did and everything? Thanks!!!!

scREAMS I LOVE THIS YES. Warning: minor blood mention in two

LoTR Characters Seeing You Dressed Up For the First Time

Aragorn

Both of you had only borne witness to the other in times of battle and survival, not exactly the most formal of circumstances, but such had never even occurred to you until the night of celebration in Rohan. King Theoden invited you to the company of his family, offering his niece or nephew to take you to a bathhouse and present you with a new outfit. Aragorn turned your way the moment you stepped out, eyes positively glowing with reverent awe focused entirely on your form, your smile as your gazes met. He said nothing, simply drew closer until you could feel his warmth upon you. "The people of Rohan have been good to us," he said. "Yes," you agreed with a nod, "I wish we can give as much back. But perhaps we should start by enjoying their hospitality, hm?” “Indeed. Let us keep this night for ourselves. I fear if I stray too far, though, I may get lost in you.” “Don’t worry,” you whispered, lips quirking upward as you pulled Aragorn into the fray of dancers, “I’ll be here to pull you back, too.”

Legolas

Legolas managed to seem dressed up in nearly anything he wore, a feat you certainly envied! Your travels left you feeling like a drowned rat half the time or else just dirty and bedraggled. When the elves of Lothlórien offered you housing, bathing, even food and dancing for two nights, no had fled your vocabulary entirely. Taking their hands, you were swept off into a river of luxury, emerging clean and smiling and draped in the finest fabrics. An elf on either side, you made your way down to the lower flet upon which your hospitality lie, the way Legolas turned his head not once but twice unable to escape your notice. "What?" You teased, aware at least of his shock to see you clad so differently. "You didn't know what I looked like beneath my helmet?" "I didn't know you looked so nice beneath it," He conceded with a smile, stepping closer, "Perhaps we ought not to return it after this night."

Boromir

Had someone asked him, Boromir would never have said he wanted someone with blood under their nails and sword in hand. That was him, that was his job. And yet he felt something different when he clapped a hand to your shoulder after you saved him in combat. When you emerged at the party dressed up, though? His heart swelled five sizes. He should have known- you could do anything. “Putting everyone to shame here, aren’t we?” “What do you mean?” You asked, gaze flitting deliciously down to the hand Boromir laud upon your shoulder, all but challenging him. Accepting it, he rested the other on your hip, urging you out into a dance. “Looking better than them in both mail and finery.” “I suppose I’m just lucky.” “No, I am,” Boromir shot back, “For I am the one who gets to have you in my arms.”

Gimli

To use Gimli's words, around each other you two tend to remain "fully armed and filthy". It is Lord Elrond, of course, who offers an alternative state upon your entry to his homely-house, granting you the reprieve of your first bath in far too many days and even a new outfit. Elvish craftsmanship was like nothing else, delicately embroidered and soft and light unlike anything that has ever graced your skin. Reactions were something you hadn’t considered in the slightest, but as soon as you emerged you found yourself giggling at Gimli’s parted lips and removal of his helmet as if in some reverence you had not earned. “Now this,” he nodded with a smile of approval as he swept an arm over your entire form, “This is the one thing the elves have gotten right.”

Frodo

The tailors’ shop was busy this morning. Bilbo needed a new set of threads to replace some tugged-off buttons, but every working hobbit was rushing around before Frodo could even ask if they had a spool of forest green to spare. What were they- “Frodo!” He would recognize that voice anywhere. Turning, he caught sight of you in the middle of a fitting, the tailors having been flitting about your form as they worked on quite a fine outfit for you. “What do you think?” Spinning around and then striking a joking pose, you fixed him right in the eyes, and it was like an arrow struck him, taking the very breath from his lungs. Finally Frodo’s sense and words returned to him, bringing a smile to his lips. “It’s perfect.”

Sam

You had worked with Sam plenty of times in the gardens, so he had seen you countless times in things like overalls or pinafores or aprons and thought you looked fit for any king and castle. But then came Fatty Bolger’s birthday party, a bash all his friends were invited to…and plenty of other hobbits would find themselves at anyway. One such was you, and knowing you’d be dancing you got cleaned up quite nice, standing at the edges of the lantern-hung floor hoping you might be noticed. And noticed you were, for you caught Samwise Gamgee as he controlled his gaping expression and shook his head out before he approached you, asking if you’d honor him with a dance.

Merry

Gimli was teasing you as Merry entered the room, feeling his heart shoot into his throat at a mere glimpse. He caught a few spare words from the dwarf, including him asking you if you had someone you’d like to impress. “Hush,” you chastised him, “What if he hears you?” At that, Merry couldn’t resist stepping forward. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress,” he told you, eyes full of wonder, “But he’s an absolute fool if it doesn’t work.” “You really think so?” Your tone, your hopeful look, those beautiful eyes Merry could drown in. “I know so.” “Well,” you glanced away, “That’s good. Very good, since it was you.”

Pippin

Tired and bedraggled, you all but fell into the arms of the elves of Lothlórien, blissfully bathing and shyly accepting the fine garb they offered you. Tugging it into place, you emerged through the doorway, unaware the rest of your fellowship waited beyond the threshold. Soon as his eyes fell upon you, Pippin's jaw dropped, his lips slowly curling upward into a wide smile that had you mirroring it, gaze dropping from his. “Wow," Pippin breathed as you drew closer still, hands hovering in front of him in the space between your bodies, "You- you look- Wow. They’ve certainly given you a fine…wow.”

Faramir

On the battlefield you had fought side by side, faces obscured by steel and focus. Soldiers from two armies melded as one. Yet here you were simply citizens, representatives of your people. Diplomats even on the dance floor. All thoughts of such relations fled from Faramir’s mind, though, as your form filled his vision. “Never did I think I would be granted such a moment as this,” he confessed as you took his hand and gripped about his neck, body swaying against his.

Eomer

Theoden, Rohan's king, was giving a celebration all were to attend. Something of a victory revel, but you must confess that you just looked forward to the dancing. Stuffy as it may have been, it was also quite fun donning a nice outfit, your reflection beaming back at you. The expression carried on all the way into the great hall, shining into the hanging lights. You caught sight of a head turning the moment you emerged. A golden head. Eomer. With a wave, he dismissed the man he spoke to- a fellow soldier, you presumed- and strode before you. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "To the same thing everyone else does, I suppose," you teased in response, "This revel." "Well, remind me to thank my uncle later," Eomer replied with a wide smile, extending a hand in a clear invitation to dance as his eyes traveled up and down over your form, "Shall we?"

Eowyn

She had worn a smile of surprise when you even removed your helmet for the first time in her presence, let alone donning your finest. When it came time for a celebration with her people, a far different garb hung from your body, all in gorgeous fabrics and colors perfectly complimenting your own hues. As soon as you stepped into the light of Rohan's hall, Eowyn positively grinned, her eyes of soft blue alight. Taking up a cup from the table by which she stood, she crossed over to stand before you and offer you a drink, which you accepted. "The garb of Rohan suits you perfectly," she complimented, "Do you plan on dancing?" It was worth seeing the progression of shock and speechlessness melting back into a grin when you extended a hand and replied, "If you will have me."

Haldir

Working side by side meant seeing each other in some of the worst moments, sleeves slashed and blood seeping from wounds. Armor caked with dirt and quivering devoid of arrows. Body carried to healers with reddening bandages hastily tied around limbs. And yet this, this is what shocks him. Haldir’s breath is utterly stolen, not of concern or fear this time, but in the manner of one first seeing the falling stars. “Stay still,” he breathes, almost pleading, “Let me take you in for a moment.”

Galadriel

You were a warrior by profession. In a way, at least. One such that mail was your garb far more often than any dress or robe. Thus, when you made to visit the elves of Lothlórien, you were shocked to see the fine things they'd lain out for you, pulled gently onto your body as if you deserved servants. In fact you had tried to protest, but they had simply smiled and shook their heads as fine jewels were hung about your neck. That you had earned an audience with the Lady Galadriel, was a testament to your service you would not soon take for granted. Thus, as you stood before them, you made first to lower yourself in reverence. Before you could fully adopt your posture, though, you felt the grip of a soft hand beneath your chin gently pulling you back up. Soon you were raised to meet Galadriel's eyes. "You need not bow to me. I confess I wished very much to see you like this. Come with me, if you please."

Elrond

Some might say the Lord of Rivendell should not look upon a soldier such as he did. Some of those same voices might have spoken up of the love of man and elf that had brought forth his ancestors. Not that he would not have understood. Yet as it was every time you removed your helmet something stirred in Elrond that had not done so for some years. And then one night came the celebration, a festival to which all in his counsel were invited, you included. It was that very night, in fact, that he realized how little he had seen of you outside the patrols you took together, and the same in which he would confess to you how he felt beneath the moonlight, finally spilling forth every word of your beauty you deserved.

Arwen

Had you asked her, she would have thought not at all of your dress. Your heart was what she loved, the way you cared and the way you smiled whenever you looked upon someone dear to you. Yet the day of her birthday, you draped yourself in your very finest, emerging in the view of an Arwen who could not bear tearing her eyes off of you. Grinning her beautiful grin, the elf took your hand and immediately twirled you, viewing you from every angle with her expression never faltering. “You look amazing,” she told you, "For a moment, I thought I was dreaming."

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[criticallyinneedofadar]

Pls pls pls I have a request 🙏

Could you do (young) Elrond x fReader pls?

The reader is a Young Elleth who lives in Khazad-Dum and she's one of Diza's friends. Elrond meets her during a diner with Durin and he's kinda offended because Durin hide her from him for a long time. 👀

This was so fun to write! I would definitely be willing to continue the story of these two- maybe little one shots of cute moments? Let me know what you think!

A Flower Among Stone

The air in the dining hall of Khazad-dûm is thick with the rich scent of roasted meats, spiced roots, and the faint tang of molten metal from the forges below. Disa’s laughter rings out, a warm and vibrant melody that bounces off the carved stone walls, mingling with Durin’s hearty chuckles. You sit at the end of the long table, fingers idly tracing the etched patterns on the wooden cup before you, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

You’ve learned well enough that in Khazad-dûm, it’s best to let the Dwarves hold the spotlight. Your presence here has always been a delicate balance. Disa, with her boundless kindness, has made you feel more welcome than you’d dared hope. Durin, too, has treated you fairly, though his teasing often borders on exasperating.

But tonight is different.

The arrival of Elrond Peredhel, emissary of the High King, has shifted the mood. He’s seated across from you, his polished armor catching the warm light of the lanterns, his posture impeccable. His smile is practiced, though you can see the faint strain behind it. He has been nothing but polite to you, but not once has he addressed you directly.

It stings, though you try not to show it.

“I must say,” Elrond begins, his tone even but his gaze fixed on Durin, “it’s curious that in all our conversations, you never saw fit to mention the presence of another elf within your halls.”

Durin’s brow furrows. “Didn’t think I had to report every visitor to you, Peredhel.”

“Visitors are one thing,” Elrond replies, voice tightening, “but a representative of the Eldar? That seems… noteworthy.” His eyes flick to you for the first time, and though his words remain formal, there’s a shadow of accusation in them. “I trust your time here has been… informative”

Your shoulders stiffen. “It has,” you reply, meeting his gaze steadily. “Durin and Disa have been most gracious hosts.”

“And yet, the High King seemed unaware of your presence here,” Elrond counters, his words measured but pointed.

Disa’s fork clatters against her plate. “Oh, come now, Elrond,” she chides, her voice sharp but not unkind. “There’s no need for that tone. She’s been a dear friend to us, and if Durin didn’t mention her to you, that’s on him.”

Durin raises his hands in mock surrender. “You think I keep track of everything I say to the Peredhel? He’s lucky I remember his name half the time.”

Elrond’s jaw tightens, and you can see the effort it takes for him to keep his composure. “It is not a matter of names, Prince Durin. It is about trust and transparency.”

“And perhaps,” Disa interjects, leaning forward with a pointed look, “it’s about showing a bit of kindness to someone who’s done nothing to deserve your irritation.”

The tension at the table is palpable. You lower your gaze, wishing for the polished stone floor to swallow you whole. The rest of the meal passes in a strained silence, the usual warmth of Disa and Durin’s table replaced by a frosty discomfort.

You step lightly through the stone-carved corridors of Khazad-dûm, the tension from dinner still knotting your shoulders. The soft murmur of voices drifts from the dining hall behind you, and though you know it’s impolite to eavesdrop, you hesitate at the turn of the corridor.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Disa’s voice rings clear, her usual warmth sharpened into a reprimand.

“I beg your pardon?” Elrond’s measured tone holds an edge, though it lacks the hauteur one might expect from someone of his station.

“You heard me,” Disa retorts. “That poor girl has been nothing but respectful—more respectful than some, it seems.”

“I was merely—”

“You were rude,” Durin interjects, his deep voice gruff but not without humor. “Manners, Peredhel. Haven’t the elves mastered those yet?”

Elrond sighs audibly. “It was not my intent to offend. I was… taken off guard. I did not expect to walk into a situation so significant without any prior knowledge.”

“And that justifies putting her on the spot?” Disa presses. “She’s not some courtier at Gil-galad’s court, used to fancy words and sharp barbs. She’s young, Elrond, and far from home. You should know better.”

There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. When Elrond speaks again, his voice is lower, softer. “You are right, of course. My reaction was unworthy of her—or of me. I will apologize.”

“You’ll do more than that,” Disa replies. “You’ll mean it. And you’d better do it quickly, before she decides we Dwarves aren’t worth the trouble of enduring your bad behavior.”

A quiet chuckle escapes you before you can stop it. You press a hand to your mouth, feeling a guilty sort of satisfaction at hearing the great Elrond Peredhel, herald of the High King, being so thoroughly chastised.

Careful not to make any more noise, you step away and head toward one of the common areas, where the soft glow of lanterns and the steady hum of Khazad-dûm’s life offer a welcome reprieve.

The room you choose is warm and inviting, carved from the same sturdy stone as the rest of the mountain, with thick tapestries lining the walls to dampen the chill. A small fire burns in the hearth, its light dancing across the polished surface of a low table. A few Dwarves sit in quiet conversation nearby, nodding in greeting as you enter. You take a seat by the fire, pulling your cloak closer around your shoulders, and let the soothing atmosphere wash over you.

You don’t wait long.

Footsteps echo faintly down the corridor, precise and deliberate. You glance up to see Elrond appear in the doorway, his expression as composed as ever, though there’s a flicker of something almost sheepish in his eyes.

“May I join you?” he asks, his voice steady but less formal than before.

You incline your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “If you wish.”

He sits gracefully, resting his hands on his knees as he regards you. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his gaze meeting yours directly. “My behavior at dinner was unbecoming, and you bore the brunt of it without cause. For that, I am sorry.”

You study him for a moment, noting the sincerity in his tone. “Disa and Durin gave you quite the lecture, didn’t they?”

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a fleeting smile. “They did. And rightly so.”

You laugh softly, leaning back in your chair. “Consider your apology accepted, then. Though I admit, it was amusing to hear them scold you.”

Elrond lets out a breath, almost a laugh himself. “It is not an experience I am accustomed to.”

“Perhaps it’s one you needed.”

His smile widens slightly, though it carries a hint of self-reflection. “Perhaps.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between words. 

Elrond’s gaze, keen and thoughtful, settles on you with a quiet intensity as the firelight casts shadows across his features. “I find myself curious,” he begins, his tone gentler now. “What brought you to Khazad-dûm? It is… an uncommon place for an elf to reside.”

You take a moment to consider your words, the memory stirring a familiar ache in your chest. “Two years ago,” you begin, your voice steady despite the heaviness of the tale, “my mother and I were traveling to Eregion. We’d heard whispers of its beauty and hoped to visit the city.”

Elrond inclines his head slightly. “It is indeed beautiful, or it was the last I saw of it. Please, go on.”

You draw in a slow breath, the next part of the story weighing heavily. “We were nearing the borders when we were ambushed by orcs. They struck swiftly, without warning. My mother…” You pause, swallowing hard. “She did not survive. She gave her life so I could flee.”

Elrond’s expression softens, his sharp gaze clouded with sorrow. “I am sorry for your loss,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” You offer him a faint smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I was badly injured in the attack. I thought that would be my end, but one of the dwarves found me—not far from the mountain’s borders—and carried me back to Khazad-dûm.”

“The dwarves saved you?” His voice is tinged with surprise, though not disbelief.

“They did,” you confirm. “They nursed me back to health, though their methods were… slower than the healing arts I’d known among our people. Even now, I still bear the scar on my side.” You gesture toward your right side, feeling the faint pull of the old wound as you shift. “And my sword arm aches from time to time, especially in the cold.”

Elrond’s gaze drifts to your arm, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. “And yet you chose to remain here?”

You nod. “I did. I owe them my life, and I’ve come to care for them deeply. Disa and Durin have been like family to me. I’ve stayed as long as they would have me.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Elrond’s expression is unreadable, his sharp features softened by the glow of the firelight. Finally, he speaks.

“It is rare for one of our kind to form such bonds with the dwarves,” he says, his tone contemplative. “But perhaps it is in such rarities that the truest friendships are forged.”

You smile faintly, feeling the weight of his words. “The dwarves have a saying: ‘Stone endures.’ I think that’s true of friendship, too—if you’re willing to put in the work to shape it.”

Elrond’s lips quirk upward, the faintest hint of a smile. “Wise words. Perhaps I underestimated the lessons to be learned here.”

For a moment, the fire crackles softly between you, and you find yourself surprised by the ease that has crept into the conversation. Elrond’s demeanor, so guarded at dinner, has shifted, and you see not only the High King’s herald but a man of keen mind and deep feeling.

“Thank you,” he says at last, breaking the silence. “For sharing your story. It cannot have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit, meeting his gaze steadily. “But I’ve learned that some scars are worth bearing, even if they never truly fade.”

Elrond's gaze lingers on you thoughtfully, his expression warm but serious. “The pain in your shoulder—your sword arm—it lingers still, yes?”

You nod reluctantly, rolling your shoulder as if to test the ache. “Sometimes, especially when the air grows cold or I push myself too hard.”

“Then allow me to help,” he offers, his tone soft but insistent.

You blink in surprise. “Help? How?”

“I am trained in the healing arts,” he replies. “It is a skill I have honed over many centuries. Perhaps I can alleviate your discomfort.”

You hesitate, the idea of Elrond tending to you both unexpected and a little overwhelming. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” you say, your voice quiet.

“It is no trouble,” he insists. “Think of it as an apology—for my behavior earlier.”

His earnestness leaves you with little room to protest. With a nod, you agree, and he rises from his seat. “Come,” he says. “We’ll need a quieter space.”

Elrond leads you through the winding halls of Khazad-dûm, his stride purposeful but unhurried. You soon arrive at the guest chambers where he is staying, a spacious room within Durin and Disa’s home. The air inside is warmer, lit by a few softly glowing lanterns. A desk sits near the far wall, its surface neatly organized with parchment, ink, and a few books Elrond has brought with him.

He gestures to the chair by the desk. “Sit here,” he instructs gently.

You comply, settling into the chair as he gathers his thoughts. “The pain resides near your shoulder, does it not?”

“Yes,” you confirm, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It’s mostly where the orc’s blade struck, just below the collarbone.”

Elrond nods, his expression thoughtful. “I will need to see the injury,” he says, his tone careful and professional.

You take a steadying breath. “Of course.” With practiced ease, you reach for the straps of your dress, undoing them over your right shoulder and letting the fabric slip down to expose your back and shoulder.

The room is silent for a moment, save for the crackle of a distant hearth. You catch a flicker of movement in the polished steel that edges the desk—a faint blush rising to Elrond’s cheeks. He clears his throat softly, a sound that makes you smile to yourself despite the situation.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, regaining his composure.

His hands hover above your shoulder, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from them. He murmurs a few words in Sindarin, the lyrical quality of the language soothing in itself. Then, a gentle glow emanates from his palms, and you feel the magic begin to seep into your skin.

A soft gasp escapes you as the warmth spreads, soothing the tightness that has plagued you for so long. The ache fades, replaced by a sensation of lightness and relief you hadn’t thought possible.

“Are you in pain?” Elrond asks, his voice low and concerned.

“No,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… better. So much better.”

He works for a few more moments, his touch light but steady. When he finally steps back, the glow fades, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“The injury was deeper than I anticipated,” he says, his brow furrowing slightly. “But I believe the worst of it has been mended. The pain should trouble you less now, if at all.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, pulling your dress back into place. “Thank you, Elrond. I didn’t realize how much I’d grown used to the discomfort until now.”

He inclines his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “It was the least I could do, after my earlier misstep. I hope this begins to mend more than just your shoulder.”

You smile back, warmth spreading in your chest. “I think it does.”

For a moment, you sit in companionable silence, the bond between you subtly shifting—like a thread of gold woven into the fabric of stone and steel. The warmth of his magic still lingers faintly, and you feel a cautious sense of ease settling between you. Gathering your courage, you glance at him and speak.

“There’s something I’d like to show you,” you begin hesitantly. “If you have the time. The dwarves have cultivated gardens deep within the mountain. They use mirrors and lenses to bring in light—it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before, even in my own lands.”

Elrond raises an intrigued brow, his expression softening further. “Gardens, within stone walls? That sounds remarkable. I would be honored to see them.”

Your smile grows, tentative but genuine. “Then I’ll show you. I think you’ll find they’re worth the journey.”

He nods, the hint of a smile on his lips, and for the first time, you sense that his earlier guardedness has given way to something deeper—an openness to the possibilities that this unexpected connection might hold.

[gabrielemillers]

The Comfort of a High King

Gil Galad x Elf F!Reader

Warning: smut 18+

You cannot believe what you just saw. It has to be a dream. How else can your husband be cheating on you? Elves are supposed to be faithful towards each other. You just found out it's not true at all.

You run away from your house, crying and heartbroken. You don't care about the stares you get, you need to get away. You find a quiet spot under a tree near the waterfall at the edge of Lindon and sit down. You let out your pain at the betrayal. You really loved your husband.

You don't know how long you stay there. It seems your sadness is very deep. Footsteps coming your way catch your attention and you get up, hurrying to wipe your tears. Enough people saw you crying already.

-I'm sorry for taking the spot. I was leaving... your voice goes quiet and your eyes widen when you see it's the High King.

-My King! I'm so sorry I didn't know you were here.

He walks to stand beside you with a concerned look on his face.

-It's alright my dear you can stay for how long you want to. May I ask what happened that brought you so much sadness? asks the High King kindly.

Even if he is the High King and don't know you, you feel like you can tell him anything without judgement. But you still hesitate, not wanting to bother him.

-It's nothing important High King. Only bad news for me.

-It must be pretty bad in that case. I won't pressure you into saying anything but a good friend of mine told me it's important to tell things. It feels good afterwards. says Gil Galad looking at the horizon.

Convinced by his words, you tell him everything about your cheating husband. When you're done the High King looks angry but not at you. He was right, you feel a bit better.

-I apologize for what he did. We, Elves, are absolutely not like him. He doesn't deserve to stay here any longuer and he definitively doesn't deserve you.

You feel warm at his words. The High King is not only attractive but also respectful and gentle. If you're being honest, your soon-to-be ex-husband was starting to lack those qualities recently. A smile takes place on your face.

-Thank you my King. It must be boring for you but to me I needed to hear this.

-It's not boring at all. In fact, I would like to see you again when you'll feel better. If you want it too of course. says Gil Galad.

And that's how your story with the High King started. You saw him again and when he offered you a place in his court you said yes. Now you're in a secret relationship with him and it's the best thing that has ever happened to you. Your ex-husband is exiled from the city. It's a new beginning for you.

During the day you are helping Elrond with his tasks for the High King and you love it. He became a really good friend and he knows about your relationship with Gil Galad. During the evening and night however, you and the High King are lovers. And he is a very talented one.

It's been half and a year now that you are together and Ereinion has shown you how skilled he is in bed. He made you cum many times on his tongue, fingers and cock. He is not only a King outside the bedroom but inside as well.

You are now taking a break, enjoying the sun on your skin at the same spot you have met your lover. You are thinking about last night. It was the first time the High King let you pleasure him. The taste of him in your mouth...the way he grabbed your hair while you sucked him off...

The more you think about it, the more you grow wet between your thighs. Looking quickly around and see no one is here, you lean against the tree and slip a hand under your dress. You gasp when your fingers make contact with your wet folds. You close your eyes again and touch yourself at the memory of last night.

You are so lost in pleasure that you don't hear the person walking and halting in front of you. As you are about to cum, a strong hand covers yours and keeps you from cumming. Your eyes snap open and you blush in embarassement as you see the High King with a smirk on his face.

-My little insatiable minx... could not wait until tonight so I could bring you pleasure like I always do? he says desire in his tone.

-I'm sorry Meleth nîn... I was thinking about last night and couldn't stop myself...

You moan as he replaces your hand with his and slowly circles your trobbing clit. You feel on the edge of cumming again.

-Tell me about what you were thinking and I'll make you cum my love. he says lustfully.

You tell him everything and he fingers fuck you until you orgasm on his hand. He kisses you to keep down the moans you make.

-That's it love. Now are you going to be able to wait for tonight or do I have to fuck you right here? he teases you as he pulls out his fingers to lick them clean.

You blush at his words and the view he makes.

-Yes High King, I'll wait for you... I just needed a break from work.

-It's okay, I was looking for some peace too. But I think we should go back if we want the day to be over sooner. says Ereinion with a smile.

You nod and go back to each others duties. At the end of the day, he made you realize how much the wait was worth it.

[earthlybeam]

Could I please request headcanons of elves with a reader who likes to bite and leave marks on them? Elrond, Thranduil, and any other elf you like. Thank you! Have a nice day/night!

Thranduil x Reader Headcanons (Reader Likes to Bite and Leave Marks.) Nom nom on their skin 🤣

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Thranduil Version below. (Elrond and I added Gil-galad links to their too as quite lengthy) - Elrond Gil-Galad

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

(Your thranduil friend version)

His First Response to Your Affectionate Bites

𐂂 Confusion and Raised Eyebrow When you bite him—whether it’s a playful nip to his arm or a cheeky bite to his shoulder—Thranduil’s initial reaction is one of genuine confusion. His usual stoic composure falters for just a moment as he turns to face you, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Mellon-nîn,” he begins, his voice smooth but tinged with surprise, “What is this? Is this how you greet all your friends?” There’s no anger in his tone, only a hint of curiosity. He doesn’t pull away but takes a half-step back, eyeing you in that carefully controlled way of his, as if trying to figure out whether this is some jest or a deeper, more personal act. Despite the confusion, there’s a soft chuckle that escapes him, a rare display of warmth that shows his curiosity, though it’s still hidden beneath a veneer of amusement.

𐂂 Intrigued Playfulness As the initial shock wears off, Thranduil grows more intrigued by your unconventional form of affection. His royal demeanor remains, but there’s now a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “A bite, you say?” he teases, his voice calm but laced with playful curiosity. “What a curious way to show friendship.” He tilts his head slightly, inspecting the mark left behind, as if it’s a foreign concept to him. “Is this a custom of your people, or are you simply attempting to surprise me?” His tone is light, but the undertone of genuine interest is clear. He’s never been one to fully embrace spontaneous gestures of affection, but your approach sparks something new in him—perhaps even a touch of fondness.

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Your Playful Behavior vs. His Dignity

𐂂 Surprised Amusement and Subtle Discomfort Thranduil, being the regal and composed figure he is, finds your playful, bite-filled affection both amusing and a touch discomforting. He’s not accustomed to such spontaneous displays of affection, especially from someone he considers a close friend. When you bite him lightly on the arm or shoulder in a teasing manner, he initially freezes, his posture remaining tall and proud. His dignity compels him to maintain composure, yet there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes. The elf king is too proud to appear flustered, so he hides his discomfort behind a quiet laugh, though it’s not hard to notice the faint shift in his expression—a subtle wrinkle of confusion mixed with amusement. “Your ways are… unexpected, mellon-nîn,” he’ll say with a sly smile, always careful to maintain his regal air, even if his voice betrays a little warmth as he adds, “But I admit, you certainly keep things interesting.”

𐂂 Testing the Boundaries with Subtle Challenges As you continue to bite him playfully, Thranduil’s response evolves into something more playful but with a clear attempt to maintain his sense of dignity. Though he has been startled at first, he now regards your behavior with more amusement than annoyance. However, the king cannot let himself fully give in to such casualness without retaining some of his composed nature. “If you insist on marking me, perhaps I should return the favor?” he teases, raising an eyebrow as he steps closer, his voice cool and controlled, though there’s a challenge in the glint of his eyes. “I can’t help but wonder, will you find my mark as amusing as yours?” His regal composure returns as quickly as it falters, and he remains ever the proud elf, but beneath it all, he has begun to find your behavior somewhat endearing.

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When You Bite Him – Reactions, Sounds, and His Body’s Response

𐂂 Surprised Stiffening and Amused Chuckle The first time you bite him, Thranduil’s immediate physical reaction is one of surprise. His body stiffens, and his usual composed expression falters, though not enough for it to be considered a break in his dignity. He doesn’t pull away, but his posture tenses as he processes the unexpectedness of your playful act. His mouth opens slightly, and for a brief moment, he lets out a soft chuckle, a sound that is low and smooth, tinged with both amusement and slight bewilderment. The sound is almost imperceptible, but you can hear it in the way his breath catches for just a second. “What is this madness, mellon-nîn?” he’ll say with a raised eyebrow, but it’s clear from his reaction that he’s intrigued—this moment has unsettled his routine, and he’s unsure whether to laugh or scold you. There’s no anger in his tone, just the gentle amusement that bubbles beneath his usual reserve.

𐂂 Subtle Lean Forward and Intrigued Smile Once the initial shock wears off, Thranduil’s body language softens, though his movements remain precise and deliberate. He doesn’t shy away but rather leans slightly forward as if trying to gauge the situation with more curiosity. His hands remain at his sides, though his fingers may twitch, betraying a slight unease at the intimacy of the moment. His lips curl into a wry smile as he watches you, and there’s a subtle but undeniable twinkle in his eyes as he examines your boldness. “I see you have taken a liking to this… curious gesture of yours,” he might say, his tone teasing but not unkind, clearly amused by your antics. His movements are slow and measured, but there’s a faint relaxation in his body now, as he finds the dynamic you’ve created both perplexing and somewhat charming.

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Does He Hide or Not to Hide: How He Reacts to Visible Bite Marks in Public

𐂂 Amused Indifference with a Touch of Resentment If you’ve left visible bite marks on Thranduil, especially on his neck or arm, he initially acts indifferent to them, though there’s a slight tension in his posture when they are noticed by others. He’s a creature of pride and dignity, so when someone points out your marks, he’ll probably raise an eyebrow and make a cutting remark, but his amusement is clear. “It seems I’ve been… claimed, hmm?” he might say, his tone laced with sarcasm but also a touch of humor. However, beneath the amusement, there’s a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a small discomfort at the attention they bring. He is the King of Mirkwood, after all, and he holds a certain expectation of control in his image, even among friends.

𐂂 Subtle Concealment and Deflecting Focus While he doesn’t outright hide them, Thranduil does tend to cover or shift the focus of attention elsewhere. If you’ve left a particularly noticeable mark on his neck, for example, he might adjust the collar of his cloak or shift his posture to shield the area from prying eyes. He’ll try to appear unaffected, but there’s a slight unease when it comes to public display. If someone dares comment on the marks, he’ll probably respond coolly, saying something like, “It’s a… mark of a friendly gesture. Nothing more.” He might even steer the conversation quickly away from his skin, redirecting it to the matter at hand—anything to keep attention away from what might be considered too intimate for public eyes.

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Marking His Neck, Collarbone, Shoulder, Wrist, Pointy Elven Ear, and Other Areas

𐂂 Neck: Thranduil is a king of composure, and while the neck is a vulnerable area for most, his reaction to a bite there is surprisingly minimal at first. When you bite his neck, there’s an initial jolt of surprise, and he may stiffen for a brief moment, but he quickly regains his composure. He’ll likely give you a curious, slightly amused glance, eyebrows raised in silent questioning as if asking, What are you doing? His neck is not a place he enjoys being touched casually, and the marks there—while not unbearable—will likely provoke a brief discomfort, making him feel a little exposed. “You know this is a most unusual greeting, mellon-nîn,” he might mutter, yet the flicker of intrigue in his gaze is undeniable.

𐂂 Collarbone: The collarbone is a more neutral area for Thranduil, so a playful bite there would catch his attention. His usual composed demeanor doesn’t waver much here, but you’ll notice his posture stiffens slightly at the pressure of your teeth, as though he’s trying to gauge the situation. Thranduil’s smile would be wry, a little amused, but more reserved. “I see your aim is to leave marks on me everywhere, hmm?” He might remark, trying to deflect any embarrassment with his usual regal air. He doesn’t enjoy it, but it doesn’t hurt him either.

𐂂 Shoulder: When you bite his shoulder, Thranduil’s reaction is a bit more noticeable. It’s a strong, well-built area, and when your teeth sink into it, his muscles tighten in response, and he might let out a quiet exhale of surprise. It’s an area that he doesn’t mind too much—he’s not overly sensitive there. His posture may shift slightly, as if he’s bracing himself for the unfamiliar sensation, but he won’t retreat. “Curious… I didn’t realize such affection came with teeth,” he might tease, though the light in his eyes betrays an underlying curiosity. He’s intrigued, even if he doesn’t fully understand the behavior.

𐂂 Wrist: A bite on the wrist would definitely make Thranduil pause. His wrist is not often a place that’s touched, so the act would be surprisingly intimate. He might slightly pull his hand away, unsure how to process this unexpected display of affection. His reaction would likely be mild irritation but mixed with confusion, and perhaps a hint of interest at the personal nature of the mark. “What do you think this will accomplish?” he might ask, but his tone is still cool, even if there’s an underlying curiosity in the way he looks at you.

𐂂 Elven Ear: When you bite his elven ear, Thranduil reacts immediately, and the response is far more intense. Elven ears are sensitive to both pain and pleasure, and for an elf, a bite in this area can be extremely intimate. Thranduil’s usual composed nature slips, his eyes momentarily narrowing with a blend of surprise and something more—perhaps enjoyment, though he tries not to show it. His breath hitches just a little, and he instinctively tries to pull back, though not so quickly that you can’t see the blush creeping to his ears. “Do you always bite so… intimately, mellon-nîn?” he asks, his voice far more vulnerable than he would like to admit.

𐂂 Other Areas (Inner Thighs, Chest, etc.): Any other area you decide to mark would likely receive a mixed reaction. Thranduil is a very proud and controlled being, so having his body marked in more intimate areas would provoke more discomfort, though not necessarily pain. He may seem indifferent on the outside but internally, he’s conflicted. His usual bravado might falter, giving way to a slight defensiveness. “I do not understand why you insist on marking me this way,” he might grumble, but even as he speaks, there’s a flicker of intrigue in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment that perhaps he doesn’t mind it as much as he lets on.

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When He Notices a Mark Later – How He Reacts to Finding Unseen Marks

𐂂 Initial Reaction: Surprise and Amusement When Thranduil notices a mark that he didn’t realize you left on him—whether it’s a faint bite on his neck or shoulder—his first reaction is likely one of mild surprise. He might catch sight of it in a reflection or feel it while adjusting his cloak or attire. There’s a moment of pause as his fingers gently trace the mark. “By the Valar,” he murmurs softly to himself, as if realizing you’ve left a more permanent impression than he thought. His lips curl into a faint smile, not quite pleased, but certainly intrigued. It’s a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “So, you do take your bites seriously, mellon-nîn,” he might say aloud, perhaps to no one in particular, his voice carrying that wry, playful tone.

𐂂 Quiet Reflection and Subtle Self-Awareness After the initial shock, Thranduil may reflect on the mark, especially if it’s somewhere visible or in an area he’s normally protective of. If the mark is on his neck or collarbone, he might touch it absentmindedly, his gaze turning distant for a moment as he thinks back on when you bit him. While he’s still not entirely accustomed to your form of affection, the mark serves as a reminder of your playful nature—and the curiosity it stirs within him. He’ll likely make a teasing comment to you the next time he sees you, though there’s no malice in his tone—just playful curiosity. “I must remember not to turn my back on you. You leave marks without me noticing.”

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Gentle Bite: How He Reacts to Your Soft Teeth Against His Skin

𐂂 Initial Surprise, but Softened Amusement When you press your teeth gently against his skin—whether it’s a teasing graze on his arm or a delicate nip on his shoulder—Thranduil’s initial reaction is often one of surprise, but it’s quickly softened by his amusement. He’s not accustomed to such a tender form of affection, and his usually composed nature falters for a moment. He may glance at you with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, his brow raised slightly. “What is this, mellon-nîn? A bite so… gentle?” he’ll ask, his voice soft but laced with playful intrigue. His tone is teasing, yet there’s a warmth beneath it as he realizes it’s a unique way of showing affection.

𐂂 Intrigued, but Trying to Maintain Composure As the initial surprise fades, Thranduil becomes more intrigued, even if he’s still slightly unsure of how to react. His gaze softens, and his usual air of aloofness falters just a bit. He stands still for a moment, allowing the sensation of your soft teeth to linger against his skin. He may even try to brush it off with a teasing comment, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at you. “You are a strange one, to bite so gently… but I suppose I can tolerate it.” There’s a quiet warmth in his voice, a signal that he’s not displeased, but rather intrigued by this subtle expression of affection.

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Biting Him in the Heat of the Moment

𐂂 Surprise and Controlled Reaction In the heat of an argument or a passionate conversation, when you bite him out of frustration or to assert your point in a playful yet intense manner, Thranduil’s immediate reaction is surprise. He’s usually the one who controls the situation with his regal calm, but when your teeth connect with his skin—whether it’s a playful nip on his arm or a sharp bite to his shoulder—he falters for a moment. His regal composure cracks, and his mouth opens as if he were about to scold you, but the shock of your action stops him. His lips press into a thin line as he looks at you with a mixture of disbelief and bemusement. “Is this how you express your displeasure, mellon-nîn? By biting me?” He may step back for a brief moment, assessing your intentions, but the look in his eyes betrays a deep curiosity. Though the bite catches him off guard, there’s no anger. Instead, a flicker of respect for your boldness surfaces. He straightens, trying to regain his composure, but the trace of a smile may still linger on his lips, signaling his intrigue.

𐂂 Teasing Response and Softening of the Stance After the initial shock wears off, Thranduil begins to understand that this is your way of showing affection or getting your point across. He may lean into the bite or give a quiet chuckle. “You are quite the fiery one, aren’t you?” His voice holds a subtle teasing edge, but there’s no anger in his tone—just the acknowledgment of how your actions have stirred him. Though he’s tempted to maintain his lofty air of dignity, the tenderness in his eyes reveals that, even in moments of tension, he finds your playful side endearing. His body language softens, and he steps closer again, less concerned about the bite and more focused on your energy. The bite may have thrown him off balance, but it certainly hasn’t deterred him from respecting your spirited nature.

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When He Sees You Admiring Your Marks on His Skin

𐂂 Initial Surprise and Amusement When Thranduil notices you gazing at the marks you’ve left on his skin, whether they’re small bites on his shoulder or lingering traces from your playful nips, his first reaction is surprise. He had assumed that the marks were something you’d leave in private or only in moments of deep affection, but when he catches you inspecting them with fascination, his brow quirks in curiosity. “Do you find them… appealing, mellon-nîn?” he asks, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and intrigue. There’s no real anger or discomfort in his tone; instead, there’s an edge of playful amusement as he regards you with both fondness and slight perplexity. He may also raise an eyebrow, wondering if you’re marking him as a way to claim him in your own subtle way, even if it’s simply for fun.

𐂂 Teasing Response and Lighthearted Banter After the initial surprise, Thranduil’s reaction grows more teasing and lighthearted. “I never knew you were so… artistic,” he remarks with a smirk, his eyes scanning the marks you’ve left. He’s not at all perturbed by the marks themselves—if anything, he finds your behavior endearing in its own mischievous way. “Do you always admire your work this much?” His tone is smooth, and though he’s a king, he’s not above indulging in a playful moment. His eyes twinkle as he watches you, and though his regal composure remains in place, the amusement he feels is palpable. If anything, he feels a strange pride in knowing that you’ve left your mark on him, a sign of your friendship and the closeness that has grown between you.

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Biting Him During Moments of Stress

𐂂 Surprise and Initial Confusion When you bite Thranduil during a particularly stressful moment, his first reaction is likely surprise. The weight of his responsibilities and the pressure he faces as king are often immense, and when you bite him—whether it’s a gentle nip on his arm or a sudden, playful bite on his shoulder—he freezes for a moment, his mind temporarily distracted from his worries. “What are you doing, mellon-nîn?” he asks, his voice a little sharper than usual, but not with anger—more a mix of confusion and curiosity. His brow furrows, and he looks at you with a hint of bewilderment, trying to process how such an unexpected gesture can interrupt the tension clouding his thoughts.

𐂂 Gradual Relaxation and Softened Demeanor As the initial shock of your bite fades, Thranduil begins to understand the intent behind your playful, yet affectionate gesture. His face softens, and his body relaxes slightly, as though your bite has grounded him in the present moment. “Is this your way of reminding me to take a breath, mellon-nîn?” he asks, his voice now lighter with amusement, though the weight of his responsibilities remains. Though he doesn’t always seek comfort in others, your actions help him release some of the stress he carries. If he’s truly close to you as a friend, he may even lean into your presence, appreciating the grounding effect your touch—your bite—has on him. The connection you share, even in such a simple moment, allows him to feel momentarily at ease.

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His ‘Punishments’ for Over-enthusiastic Biting

𐂂 Playful Scolding with a Touch of Amusement When you bite Thranduil too enthusiastically, especially if it’s a little too hard or in a particularly sensitive area, his first reaction is likely surprise, followed by a light-hearted scolding. Though he is a king and values dignity, Thranduil can’t help but see the humor in your over-zealousness, particularly when it’s in the name of affection. “By the stars, mellon-nîn, do you always bite your friends this hard?” he teases, his voice warm but with a hint of mock sternness. His hand might gently touch the spot you’ve bitten, his fingers tracing the mark as if inspecting it, though there’s no real anger in his eyes—just playful amusement.

𐂂 Gently Correcting Your Behavior Thranduil’s reprimand is never harsh, but there’s a certain level of nobility to the way he subtly redirects your behavior. “If you must bite, I’d appreciate it if you showed a little more restraint,” he says with a slight, indulgent smile. It’s clear he isn’t truly upset, but rather trying to guide you to respect his boundaries, if not his dignity. He may even take a step back or adjust his posture, a gentle reminder that there are ways to express affection without leaving marks that draw attention. His actions convey that he values your friendship too much to let small things—like over-enthusiastic nips—stand in the way of the light-hearted connection you share.

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(Your thranduil lover version)

His First Response to Your Affectionate Bites

𐂂 Surprise and Lingering Heat The first time you bite him, Thranduil’s reaction is a mixture of surprise and an undeniable surge of heat. As your teeth graze his skin, he inhales sharply, the tension in his body a clear sign that you’ve awakened something deep within him. For a moment, he seems frozen—his gaze locked on you, the intensity of the moment mirrored in the deep, heated look in his eyes. “Meleth-nîn,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with something more primal than the careful elvish calm he’s so known for. His hand finds the mark you’ve left, his fingers tracing it with a mix of confusion and a burning desire to understand this new form of connection. The regal mask he wears is briefly cracked, his vulnerability shining through for just a heartbeat before it’s replaced by an intensity that sends a shiver through his frame.

𐂂 Playful and Possessive After the initial shock, Thranduil’s response shifts, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he absorbs the sensation of your teeth on his skin. “You seem determined to mark me,” he says, his voice rich with amusement and something deeper—something darker. “Shall I be concerned, or… flattered?” His smirk is subtle, but there’s a possessive undertone that edges its way into his words. His fingers ghost over the mark, seemingly mesmerized by the reminder of your boldness, a reminder of the unique bond you’ve begun to forge. Thranduil, the ever-composed king, now finds himself keenly aware of the intimacy you’ve brought into this space, a vulnerability he’s unused to. Yet, there’s a flicker of craving in his gaze, one that suggests your bites have awakened something he hadn’t even realized he wanted. He leans closer, his lips brushing your ear as he adds, “Perhaps I, too, will leave my mark on you, meleth-nîn. To match yours.”

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Your Playful Behavior vs. His Dignity

𐂂 Fierce Control and Internal Struggle When you bite him in an affectionate, playful manner, Thranduil’s first instinct is to control his reactions. His dignity as king and his usual calm are challenged by your boldness, and there’s a moment where he struggles to balance his intense desire with his need to appear composed. A soft hiss of surprise escapes him as you bite his neck or shoulder, but he quickly schools his features to maintain his dignity, not wanting to appear weak or overly affected. “Meleth-nîn,” he murmurs, his voice low, with a tinge of both confusion and desire. “Do you enjoy tormenting me in this manner?” His words are thick with emotion, but his posture remains unyielding, even if the fire in his eyes betrays his growing longing. Thranduil finds himself in conflict: he’s drawn to you and the intensity you bring, but he’s unwilling to lose control. Yet, despite his struggle, there’s an undeniable yearning behind his composed mask.

𐂂 Embracing Desire with Subtle Playfulness As your playful bites continue, Thranduil begins to respond with his own brand of subtle teasing. His regal nature may never fully fade, but he starts to lean into the intimacy you create, allowing himself to enjoy the little moments. He takes it as a challenge to keep his composure while indulging in the warmth you’re offering him. “Is this your way of claiming me, meleth-nîn?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as his hand slides over the mark you’ve left. There’s a flicker of something darker in his gaze—a possessive streak he’s not used to. The king, who once prided himself on his control, now finds that his desire and affection for you are stronger than his desire to remain completely dignified. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against the spot you’ve bitten, his kiss lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Perhaps I, too, should mark you in return,” he says, his voice thick with longing. His playful challenge is clear, but the genuine affection in his tone reveals that he’s starting to let go of the need to always be the composed ruler, savoring the tenderness you’ve brought into his world.

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When You Bite Him – Reactions, Sounds, and His Body’s Response

𐂂 Sharp Inhalation and Subtle Shudder The first time you bite him, Thranduil’s body reacts intensely despite his best efforts to remain composed. As you nip at his neck or shoulder, his breath catches sharply, a quiet but noticeable intake of air escaping his lips. His body momentarily stiffens, and his hand instinctively reaches up to touch the spot where you’ve bitten him, though his fingers don’t quite make it—caught in a moment of internal struggle between his desire for you and his need for control. His lips part slightly, a low, guttural sound escaping from deep in his chest, not unlike a soft growl or an almost imperceptible moan. His body shudders faintly, but it’s enough to show that, beneath his regal composure, you’ve sparked something powerful within him. “Meleth-nîn,” he murmurs, the words thick with desire, but there’s also a sense of vulnerability in his voice, the first sign that he’s truly reacting to you.

𐂂 Slightly Biting Back a Moan and Leaning Into You As you continue to bite and mark his skin, Thranduil’s reactions grow more pronounced. He’s not used to feeling this much desire, but it seems to awaken a deep longing in him that he cannot ignore. When you bite him again, his breath catches once more, and he lets out a low groan, unable to fully suppress the reaction this time. His body shifts closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he wants to fully experience every sensation you’re offering. His fingers curl slightly into your skin, a subtle sign that he’s allowing himself to feel the intimacy of the moment, even though it shakes the foundations of his usual composure. “You test my control, meleth-nîn,” he whispers against your skin, his voice rough with both warning and affection. His body leans into your touch, inviting you to continue, and despite his usually unwavering authority, there’s an openness in his posture—a sign that your actions have completely disarmed him. The vulnerability he’s feeling is met with a flicker of possessiveness, his hands gently cupping your face as he pulls you closer, the kisses he gives you becoming more demanding and deep.

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Does He Hide or Not to Hide: How He Reacts to Visible Bite Marks in Public

𐂂 Proud Defiance and Subtle Possessiveness When you leave visible bite marks on Thranduil, especially in more private or intimate spots, his initial reaction in public is a complex blend of pride and subtle possessiveness. While he remains regal and composed, there’s an unmistakable gleam in his eyes as he catches your gaze, a silent acknowledgment of your mark on him. If someone notices the marks, he’ll maintain his cool demeanor, but there’s an air of quiet defiance about him, as though he’s saying, “Yes, this is my chosen bond.” He might let out a soft chuckle, responding with something like, “I have no care for your opinions on my appearance,” dismissing the topic altogether but in a way that signals he’s more than willing to wear the marks of your affection, even if others aren’t privy to the full story. There’s an almost imperceptible pride in how he holds himself, as though claiming your bite marks is an act of strength, not weakness.

𐂂 No Shame, but Subtle Control of Exposure While he’s not one to openly flaunt the bite marks in the public eye, Thranduil certainly isn’t one to hide them entirely. His reaction is more one of subtle control—he doesn’t go out of his way to conceal them, but he’s aware of his position as a leader and king. If the marks are on his neck, he might wear his cloak or mantle in a way that slightly covers them without being overly obvious. However, the mark is there, and he’s not ashamed of it. Should someone point out the marks, he’ll address it with a calm and somewhat possessive tone: “I suppose I’ve been marked as yours, have I?” His voice holds an underlying possessiveness, making it clear that these marks are more than just marks—they signify something important, something that only the two of you share. If someone challenges or questions the marks, he’ll make no effort to hide his affection for you, his gaze lingering on the person for just long enough to convey that he’s not bothered by their opinion.

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Marking His Neck, Collarbone, Shoulder, Wrist, Pointy Elven Ear, and Other Areas

𐂂 Neck: A bite on Thranduil’s neck is an intimate and tender experience. His initial reaction will be one of surprise, but as soon as the feeling registers, his breath catches, and his back stiffens ever so slightly. He doesn’t pull away, though, allowing you to mark this sensitive part of him. His eyes might flutter closed as the sensation of your teeth against his skin intensifies, a soft groan escaping his lips. “Meleth-nîn… You leave your mark on me so easily,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky with a tinge of possessiveness. His usual restraint falters just for a moment as he lets you claim him in this way.

𐂂 Collarbone: When you bite his collarbone, it’s clear that he’s starting to enjoy your playful, possessive behavior. His muscles tighten, and there’s a visible shiver that runs through his body. Thranduil doesn’t resist your touch at all here, his eyes darkening with desire. “You mark me so boldly… and yet, you still tease me with such little regard for my dignity,” he says, his voice filled with both amusement and the quiet hum of appreciation. The sensitivity of this area heightens the intimacy of the moment, and he’s very aware of the mark you’ve left on him, wearing it like a badge of affection.

𐂂 Shoulder: Biting Thranduil’s shoulder gives you access to an area he’s not used to being marked, and his response is both possessive and passionate. His breath catches in his throat, and a soft sound escapes him—half groan, half gasp—as you press your teeth into his skin. He won’t pull away this time; instead, he lets out a quiet, deep chuckle. “I see you’re trying to make your claim on me,” he teases, but the heat in his gaze speaks volumes. His shoulders tense slightly as you leave a mark, but his lips curve into a soft smile, almost as if he’s pleased by your gesture.

𐂂 Wrist: Biting his wrist elicits a deeper, more possessive response from Thranduil. The sensitivity of this area, combined with the intimacy of the bite, makes him pause, his breath hitching in a quiet intake of air. His body may tremble just slightly, and he may instinctively pull his wrist closer to you, as though inviting you to mark him further. “You find such pleasure in marking me in the most delicate of places, don’t you?” he asks, his voice heavy with the mix of curiosity and arousal. The bite to his wrist deepens the connection, a small, intimate mark he doesn’t mind at all.

𐂂 Elven Ear: The bite on his elven ear elicits the strongest reaction from Thranduil. Elven ears are incredibly sensitive, and when you bite his ear, his response is immediate and intense. His body shudders in delight, and his breath catches audibly. He might even let out a quiet moan, his fingers gripping your arm tightly as he fights the urge to pull away. “Meleth-nîn… this is a line you’ve crossed,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with the unexpected pleasure. His usual regal composure falters as he leans into the mark, his eyes fluttering closed in the depth of his reaction.

𐂂 Other Areas (Inner Thighs, Chest, etc.): If you mark Thranduil in any other intimate area, his reaction would be one of raw vulnerability. His usual stoic, composed nature falls away, replaced by deep appreciation for your touch. A soft groan may escape him, and his body will instinctively lean toward yours, wanting more of your marks. He may even try to return the affection, gently caressing your skin in a silent request for you to continue. “You mark me as if you own me, mellon-nîn,” he murmurs, a possessive smile curling on his lips as he gazes at the marks you’ve left on him, the evidence of your intimacy marking him in ways he cannot hide.

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When He Notices a Mark Later – How He Reacts to Finding Unseen Marks

𐂂 Initial Reaction: Intense Awareness and Desire When Thranduil notices a bite mark later, especially in a reflection or as he’s removing his clothing, his response is far more intense than he might let on. His gaze sharpens as he notices the mark, his fingers lightly grazing the spot where your teeth once were. There’s a sharp breath that escapes him—an involuntary reaction to the intimacy of it. He might run his fingers over it, taking a moment to admire your handiwork. “Meleth-nîn…” he murmurs, his voice low with an unmistakable undertone of desire, as if the memory of your bite floods his senses again. He doesn’t remove his eyes from the mark as he stands still for a moment, savoring the sensation it evokes.

𐂂 Internal Conflict and Intimate Reflection A second reaction comes as he contemplates what the mark means. It’s a symbol of your intimacy, and Thranduil, despite his pride, feels a subtle vulnerability stirring within him. His usual regal air softens as he traces the mark with a thoughtful expression. For a moment, he may pause and become reflective, as though questioning how this small act of affection has affected him. He’s torn between his desire for composure and the undeniable pull of wanting to be marked by you. “So you do this to claim me, then?” he mutters under his breath, his voice thick with something between amusement and something far more vulnerable.

𐂂 Teasing, But Flattered Once he finds the mark, Thranduil will often turn to you with a teasing smile and a playful tone, though there’s a deeper, more private affection in his eyes. “I see you’ve left me a reminder of your affection,” he’ll say with a knowing grin, his voice laced with both amusement and desire. He might lean in close, allowing you to see the mark up close, his gaze both possessive and playful. The idea of you marking him in this way stirs something protective in him—he wears your mark as a symbol of your bond, and while he would never admit it openly, he secretly takes pride in it. The next time you’re alone, he might return the favor, marking you in his own way, his eyes smoldering with the same desire that your bite invoked in him.

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Gentle Bite: How He Reacts to Your Soft Teeth Against His Skin

𐂂 Unexpected Tenderness and Desire When you gently press your teeth against his skin—whether it’s a soft bite on his neck, shoulder, or collarbone—Thranduil’s response is immediate and powerful. The subtle, intimate nature of your bite sends a rush of warmth through him. At first, there’s a sharp intake of breath as he feels the pressure of your teeth, a mix of surprise and something deeper. His body goes still, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that betrays his internal struggle. “Meleth-nîn…” he breathes, the sound a mixture of pleasure and desire, his voice low and laden with emotion. The soft bite makes him feel vulnerable in a way he’s not accustomed to, and yet, it ignites a fire within him, pulling him closer to you.

𐂂 Soft Sighs, Relaxed Body Language After the initial wave of surprise, Thranduil’s reaction shifts into something more sensual. His body relaxes, a soft sigh escaping him as he feels the lingering sensation of your gentle bite. The more intimate nature of your touch—so different from his usual world of formality and control—stirs something within him. His hands may move to cradle your face or brush through your hair, his fingers trembling slightly as they explore the intimacy you’ve initiated. He doesn’t resist, allowing his emotions to wash over him as he gently pulls you closer. “You mark me so… softly,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender gesture. “But even this… drives me wild.”

𐂂 A Deeper Connection and Affection Your gentle bites make him feel both cherished and vulnerable, a combination he’s not accustomed to, but one he’s willing to embrace. Thranduil’s normally controlled demeanor softens when you show this tenderness. His hand may trail down your back as you remain close, his touch slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. “You make me feel… things I rarely allow myself to,” he admits, his voice low and sincere. The act of you gently biting him doesn’t just stir physical desire—it deepens his emotional connection with you, making him more vulnerable and open than he’s ever been with another. In these moments, his walls break down, and he finds himself lost in the tenderness of your affection.

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Biting Him in the Heat of the Moment

𐂂 Sharp Inhalation and a Lingering Glance In the heat of passion—whether it’s a heated argument or an intense moment of affection—when you bite him, Thranduil reacts with a sharp intake of breath. The sharpness of the bite seems to cut through his carefully maintained control, his chest tightening in reaction to the sudden burst of sensation. His body goes still for a heartbeat, his gaze locking onto yours with a mixture of surprise, desire, and something deeper—almost as if he’s uncertain how to process the vulnerability that comes with the bite. His mouth parts slightly, and he mutters under his breath, “Meleth-nîn…” His voice is thick, laden with the mix of pleasure and confusion that only your actions seem to provoke. The bite has unsettled him in the best way—pulling him out of his usual composed state into something raw and more instinctual.

𐂂 Growls, Soft Moans, and the Breaking of His Control As you continue to bite him in the heat of the moment, Thranduil’s reaction grows more visceral. A low growl rumbles in his throat, his body reacting to your touch with a sudden shift of desire. His hand instinctively moves to grip your wrist or to guide your body closer, the force of his grip a mixture of need and dominance. “You drive me mad,” he mutters, voice hoarse and thick with emotion, his breath quickening as he moves closer to you. His muscles tense as your bite sends waves of electricity through his body, the subtle pain turning into pleasure, and igniting something more primal within him. In these moments, he’s no longer the composed king you know—he’s fully immersed in the passion that your bite evokes.

𐂂 Tenderness After the Bite, But Still Possessive Once the moment subsides, and the bite has passed, Thranduil’s eyes soften as he looks at the mark you’ve left on his skin. His lips curl into a possessive yet affectionate smile as he gently traces his fingers over the bite, as if claiming it as his own. “You like to mark me, don’t you?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with admiration for the intimacy you’ve shared. Though his outward demeanor may return to a sense of calm, there’s a possessive edge to him that remains. His touch is gentler now, though no less intense, as he runs his fingers along the spot you’ve bitten, savoring the reminder of your presence and the powerful way your touch—whether it’s passionate or playful—has transformed him.

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When He Sees You Admiring Your Marks on His Skin

𐂂 Gentle Amusement with a Hint of Possessiveness When Thranduil catches you admiring the bite marks you’ve left on his skin—perhaps as your fingers graze over the tender spots on his neck or shoulder—his initial response is a mixture of amusement and something more possessive. His regal demeanor softens for a moment, and his eyes darken as he watches you, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curling his lips. “You seem pleased with your work,” he comments, his voice low and laced with a hint of something more primal. He doesn’t mind that you’re admiring the marks; rather, he feels a stirring of pride in knowing that he is the one you’ve chosen to leave your mark on. There’s a possessiveness in the way he looks at you, as though he is silently claiming those marks as a reflection of your intimacy. He steps closer, his body language subtly protective, and gently touches the spot where you bit him, his fingers lingering there. “Do you like seeing me marked, meleth-nîn?” His voice is soft but thick with a mix of pride and desire, indicating just how much he treasures the marks you’ve left on him.

𐂂 Desire and Soft Teasing As you continue to admire the marks you’ve left on his skin, Thranduil’s expression shifts slightly, becoming more intense, more focused on you and the way you linger over his skin. His eyes darken with desire, and he steps forward, brushing his thumb over the mark you’re inspecting. “Do they please you?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with a soft, teasing tone, as though he’s enjoying how much they’ve affected you. There’s a heat in his gaze, a silent question of whether you’re enjoying the marks on him or if you’re fantasizing about adding more. His lips curl into a slight smile, and his hand moves from the mark to your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. “Perhaps it is not just my skin you’re admiring,” he murmurs, his voice filled with the deep, throaty undertone of someone who is both possessive and deeply in love. In this moment, he treasures not just the marks but the intimacy they represent—your desire for him, your claim on him, and your shared connection.

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Biting Him During Moments of Stress

𐂂 Startled but Appreciative, with a Subtle Tension When you bite Thranduil during a particularly stressful moment, the reaction is immediate, though not quite what you might expect. His body goes tense at first, the sharp sensation of your teeth against his skin pulling him from his intense thoughts. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and his breath catches slightly. “Meleth-nîn… What are you doing?” he murmurs, his voice still heavy with stress, but there’s an undertone of both surprise and curiosity in his words. He doesn’t push you away, though—he actually finds himself grounding himself in the sensation of your bite. For a moment, the pressure of his kingdom, the weight of his crown, feels a little more distant. The bite, though playful, has a deeply intimate effect, pulling him out of his mind and back into the present with you.

𐂂 Relief and Deepened Connection As you hold your bite on his skin, even briefly, Thranduil’s body begins to relax, his posture softening. His hands, which had been clenched or fidgeting with the tension of stress, fall to his sides, and his gaze softens as he looks at you. “You know, meleth-nîn, you always seem to know how to handle me,” he says, his voice deep and warm, though there’s still a hint of exhaustion in his tone. The bite you leave, though intimate, serves as a release for him, a way to momentarily escape the burden of his responsibilities. As you pull away, you can see the weight lifting from his face, his eyes no longer as strained. There’s an unspoken thanks in the way he gazes at you—a mix of affection, relief, and a deeper connection that he doesn’t always express verbally. In those quiet moments of stress, your bite serves as a reminder that he is not alone, that there’s someone who understands the need to be grounded and loved in a way only you can provide.

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His ‘Punishments’ for Over-enthusiastic Biting

𐂂 A Quiet, Dominant Correction If your biting becomes a little too enthusiastic in intimate moments, Thranduil’s response is less about verbal reprimands and more about subtle, dominant correction. The first time you bite him too hard, he might flinch, the pain sharp but brief. “Meleth-nîn…” he murmurs with a hint of a warning, his voice a low growl, though there’s no malice in his words. His hand may gently, but firmly, grasp your wrist or shoulder, pulling you back just a little. The correction is gentle, but there’s an unspoken authority in it—he’s showing you that he enjoys your affection, but there’s a certain level of control and understanding he expects in moments of intimacy.

𐂂 Intimate Correction with a Promise of Pleasure After the initial gentle rebuke, Thranduil will usually take the opportunity to teach you in a much more intimate way. “If you’re going to bite, meleth-nîn, remember that there’s pleasure to be found in restraint,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. His fingers might gently caress the spot you’ve bitten, as if to remind you of the delicate balance between affection and pain. “Don’t think you can get away with this so easily, but…” His lips curve into a faint smirk, and he leans closer. “If you insist on leaving marks, you’ll find that I can make it very rewarding for you when you do.” His ‘punishment,’ then, becomes less of a correction and more of a subtle promise—if you follow his lead and find the right balance, the rewards will be far greater than any mark you might leave on him. The moment becomes both a lesson in boundaries and a deeper connection, rooted in the trust and intimacy you share.

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[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Full article: here.

This connects with the Elrond = Sauron theory, here and here.

Melian of the Valar and Anger Issues:

In his interview to Decider, explaining the kiss, Robert Aramayo also talks about this:

Specifically, Adar namedrops Melian, one of Elrond’s most important ancestors. Aramayo explained how hearing this father of the orcs talk so intimately about Melian was meant to perfectly unsettle the young(er) elf. “It shows a real deep understanding for the history of Middle-Earth. You know, there’s something about Melian, isn’t there? The ‘Girdle of Melian,’ the sort of the protective sphere that she [creates], the power of her, and what she sort of represents in the lore and stuff,” Aramayo said. “So it’s impressive that he would bring it up in that moment.”

Why is this strange? Firstly, Elrond and his future daughter Arwen never get compared to Melian herself in the lore, but rather to her Half-Maia daughter, Lúthien (Arwen is pretty much described as “Lúthien 2.0.”, and even her love story with Aragorn is Lúthien x Beren, part 2).

According to Rob, the mention of Melian by Adar is what triggers his anger, and what causes Elrond to act OOC in that scene. Which doesn't make any sense, because Elrond would be proud and honored by such a comparison, actually (and it has nothing to do with his beauty).

The only character who would get this triggered by the mention of Melian is Sauron himself, because:

1) His fellow Maia was a thorn in his side (and Morgoth's) for pretty much the entire First Age and the War of Wrath;

Beyond lay the wilderness of Dungortheb, where the sorcery of Sauron and the power of Melian came together, and horror and madness walked. Of Beren and Lúthien, Part I

2) Melian's daughter (Lúthien) was responsible for Sauron's most humiliating and spectacular defeat by bringing Huan (the Hound of Valinor), with her to Tol-in-Gaurhoth (Isle of Werewolves, where Finrod, Galadriel's brother, died protecting Beren from the werewolves). This is when Sauron shapeshifts into a giant werewolf to fight Huan, and gets defeated.

Halbrand/Mairon: Whose dagger was it, Galadriel? Who is it you lost? Galadriel: My brother. Halbrand/Mairon: What happened to him? Galadriel: He was killed. In a place of darkness and despair [Tol-in-Gaurhoth]. By servants of Sauron [werewolves]. Is that enough for you? Galadriel tells Halbrand about her brother’s, Finrod, death, 1x05 

(Sorry not sorry, I had to). 

In the lore, Sauron disappears for a very long time after this defeat, and “Rings of Power” already mentioned how he was tortured beyond belief by Morgoth (this implies that, after losing a strategic stronghold to “a girl and her dog”, Sauron most likely was imprisoned and tortured by Morgoth somewhere). 

Lúthien/Beren parallel:

The "tent/kiss scene" itself, in 2x07, is a parallel to Beren and Lúthien, and the quest to retrieve one Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, which would lead to their fight with Sauron (and Finrod’s death later on):

But Thingol looked in silence upon Lúthien; and he thought in his heart: 'Unhappy Men, children of little lords and brief kings, shall such as these lay hands on you, and yet live?' Then breaking the silence he said: 'I see the ring, son of Barahir, and I perceive that you are proud, and deem yourself mighty. But a father's deeds, even had his service been rendered to me, avail not to win the the daughter of Thingol and Melian. See now! I too desire a treasure that is withheld. For rock and steel and the fires of Morgoth keep the jewel that I would possess against all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms. Yet I hear you say that bonds such as these do not daunt you. Go your way therefore! Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown; and then, if she will, Lúthien may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel; and though the fate of Arda lie within the Silmarils, yet you shall hold me generous.' Thus he wrought the doom of Doriath, and was ensnared within the curse of Mandos. And those that heard these words perceived that Thingol would save his oath, and yet send Beren to his death; for they know that not all the power of the Noldor, before the Siege was broken, had availed even to see from afar the shining Silmarils of Fëanor. For they were set in the Iron Crown, and treasured in Angband above all wealth; and Balrogs were about them, and countless swords, and strong bars, and unassailable walls, and the dark majesty of Morgoth. But Beren laughed. 'For little price,' he said, 'do Elven-kings sell their daughters: for gems, and things made by craft. But if this be your will, Thingol, I will perform it. And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown; for you have not looked the last upon Beren son of Barahir.' Then he looked in the eyes of Melian, who spoke not; and he bade farewell to Lúthien Tinuviel, and bowing before Thingol and Melian he put aside the guards about him, and departed from Menegroth alone. Of Beren and Lúthien, Part I

Here, "Thingol" is Adar, who presents "Elrond" (Beren) with the choice of handing over the Silmaril (Nenya) in exchange for Lúthien (Galadriel): "The Ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be?"

Which means, the comparison with Melian is odd ("You [Elrond] have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar"), because there is no direct parallel between Elrond/Melian happening here.

Then, why is Elrond parallelling Beren in this scene? He’s a Half-Elf who decided to retain his immortality (Half-Elves get to do that, and that’s why Arwen chooses mortality to be with Aragorn). He’s not a mortal man like Beren, nor is he in love with an she-Elf of legendary beauty and power.

There is another character who can make sense in this context, and that’s Halbrand (Sauron’s human form). Mostly now that the executive producers of the show, Charlotte Brändström, revealed that Galadriel was in love with Halbrand (direct parallel with Lúthien x Beren).  

Morgoth’s crown is also nearby (we know that Adar not only has it, but actually show it to Galadriel in this very tent, in 2x06), and the Balrog is also there (at the mines of Moria, in Khazad-dûm).

Interestingly enough, Sauron is the one who mentions Beren in Season 2 of “Rings of Power” (and he must have been dying inside talking about it): 

Yes. You are right. Of course. Men are capable of great frailty. But when the darkness falls, there are always some who rise forth and shine. Eärendil, Tuor, Beren, son of Barahir. Sauron/Annatar tries to persuade Celebrimbor to forge the Nine rings of power, 2x05

And the plot thickens because Eärendil is Elrond’s father, and son of Tuor (Elrond’s grandfather who married Elwing, Lúthien and Beren’s granddaughter). “Rings of Power” Season 2 pretty much went through all of Elrond’s genealogy, in scenes with Sauron and Adar.

After Beren and Lúthien rescued a Silmaril from Morgoth's Iron Crown, this was later given to their descendant Elwing, wife of Eärendil. Both took it to Aman, and the Valar decided to rise it as a new star. In a vessel appointed by Elbereth, Eärendil rose in the horizon as a sign of hope for Elves and Men. And this is the light that shines in both Galadriel’s mirror and the Phial of Galadriel (which she gives to Frodo to help him in his quest to destroy the One Ring = Sauron).

And to further strength the parallel between Nenya/Silmaril in the “tent scene” of 2x07, the fate of Fëanor’s Silmarils is also connected to the Three Elven rings of power: 

“Fire” = Maedhros threw himself into a fissure of fire in the earth, carrying his Silmaril with him. “Narya” is the “Ring of Fire”, and its current ring-bearer is Círdan (but it will pass onto Gandalf, later). 

“Air”: connects to Eärendil becoming a star in the skies. “Vilya” is the “Ring of Air”, and even though, his current ring-bearer is Gil-galad, it will belong to Eärendil’s heir: Elrond.

“Water”. Maglor casted his Silmaril into the sea, and wandered along the shores of the world singing laments over the loss of the Silmaril. “Nenya” is the “Ring of Water”, and will be forever held by Galadriel, herself. In time, she’ll, too, suffer with “sea longing” (which many assume it’s only the desire to return to Valinor, but there might be more to it). Like Maglor, she’s also known for singing laments (“Namárië”, also called “Galadriel's Lament”).

In “Rings of Power”, Galadriel met Halbrand (the “mortal man” she fell in love with) in the middle of the sea.

[hetalianskywalker]

Waiting

Pairing: Gil-galad x fem elf reader

Summary: I listened to “Would You Fall in Love with Me Again” from Epic the musical and went I need Gil-galad to say Penelope’s lines in Valinor.

Authors Note: I would be willing to write a version based on the whole song, but I couldn’t think of an equivalent for the marriage bed question that Gil-galad could ask the reader. So if anyone wants more, feel free to help me brainstorm. This is also my first time writing for this fandom even though I love Lotr and RoP so sorry if it’s rough.

Warnings: fluff. Spoilers for the end of his story line from The Silmarillion and other middle earth works, but based off his characterization in RoP. Referenced passed death. Kissing. Very self indulgent.

Music:

Word Count: 861

“Only my wife knew that.” Gil-galad uses that soft relaxed smile he saved for only those closest to him. His palm rests gently on the side of your face; his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. You relish in the sensation of the warmth of his hand mixed with the chill of his many rings on your skin; something you hadn’t even realized you missed. “So I guess that makes her you.”

Suddenly you're not in Valinor anymore, standing in the gardens of the Noldor palace in Tirion; you’re back in Lindon long ago. When the cities were bustling with elves and peace felt like it would last forever. Before Sauron had returned and it all went to hell. When it became so much harder to wash away your husband’s worry for just a moment. Before Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor and your husband, died.

The you of the early second age sneaks out into the surrounding forest at night for a moment of peace and quiet with your husband. You playfully half drag him along by the hand beneath the starlit sky and tree branches; his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he indulges you. You both know Elrond will say something along with giving one of his half teasing judgmental expressions in the morning, but you both decide to cross that bridge when you get there.

You feel like a completely different person now. There is hatred and pride intertwined in your feelings about that. But right now you feel so much lighter than you have at any point in the over three thousand years of being apart from Gil-galad. Maybe, you are still that lovestruck elven queen somehow.

He’s really here; I’m really here. Those thoughts and realizations continue to spiral through your mind and soul. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you watch his glossy eyes hold you in the moonlight.

“I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine.” The whisper slices into your very being: warm, desperate, and full of the same longing you had felt for him across the sea. He had stared east just as much as you had stared west. Waiting.

His forehead leans against yours as his hands move to your shoulders; he gives a soft squeeze, reassuring himself you are really there. Gil-galad takes a shaky breath and you notice yours is the same. His eyes close and you can’t help but smile as tears trickle down your face. You know that expression all too well: that look of concentration when he was praying he’s going to say the right words. You had so deeply missed seeing these little things.

“Don't tell me you're not the same person.” Your husband begs in the smallest voice you have ever heard him use. Your hands move to cup his face, unsure of how to give him comfort after so long apart, but needing to try. He leans into your touch as he opens his eyes again; a couple tears escape.

“You're always my wife and I've been waiting…” His voice is stronger now, summoning the High King you had followed into battle on more than one occasion and would do so still, but you are thankful to never have to again.

Gil-galad lets that word hang in the air between you for a long time. It carries so much weight and far too much sorrow. He swallows and you smile fondly up at him. He basks in the joy of you not pushing him to be faster in conversation; you always cared enough to wait for his genuine thoughts, not just what the king’s word was to mitigate the next disaster.

“Waiting…” He tries again, scarcely believing said wait is finally over. You are finally here with him.

“Ereinion.” The encouragement makes him grin as you wipe away a few more of his tears. The love you expressed in the singular use of one of his birth names makes him smile and his heart feels full, complete.

“For you.” You both linger in that moment, wanting it to end and never end at the same time. Your eyes flicker to his mouth and back to his eyes. You begin to slowly pull him toward you, but his mouth surges for yours before either of you can really process it. It’s warm, messy, and real. When you finally pull apart, his arms have wrapped tightly around you and your hands cling to his robes.

The wait is over. Finally.

“How long has it been?” His voice brings your thoughts back in order. You give a soft chuckle as you both pant, knowing you both know the answer already.

“Three thousand. One hundred. And forty one years.” The sorrow lingers in every word even as you hold on to one another for dear life. You had been on one of the last ships to leave for the undying lands, but there isn’t time to regret that now. What’s done is done and you are together now.

“I love you.” Your two voices say as one.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

King of the Forest-land

Elrond x reader. The name Taurdôr literally means forest land in Sindarin - or at least I hope!

This fic was previously titled Behind closed eyes I see you just the way you were.

*****

It was strange, Elrond mused as the carriage proceeded along the muddy terrain, how one could look forward to a certain event, after years spent hoping it would indeed take place one day and having counted the weeks and even the days leading to it, and at the same time feeling so nervous, anxiety mounting to such a degree the person in question couldn’t even sit still, that part of them would have wanted nothing better than turning around and forgetting the whole matter. 

This is how he felt as, peeking out of the horse-drawn vehicle and looking beyond the heavy rain curtain that surrounded him and his escort, he saw the gates of Taurdôr’s royal palace tower in front of him. 

As Elrond imagined, they were -well, he was- expected. He and his escort had passed the borders of the kingdom soon after dawn that day, and as a sign of trust towards the envoy of a kingdom their ruler was to hopefully establish diplomatic relations with soon, they had been allowed to proceed without Taurdôr’s soldiers accompanying them, but the captain of the border patrol had promised to send a dispatch rider to the palace to announce the ambassador’s imminent arrival. The messenger must have promptly carried out their task, because a small assembly had gathered in front of the gates to welcome them: a dozens of soldiers, their captain in the front, and five silk-robed courtiers, huddled under the canopy a pair of servants were holding above their heads to protect them from the rain. 

“Hail and well-met; we escort lord Elrond Half-Elven, ambassador of King Gil-Galad of Lindon.” the captain of Elrond’s escort announced formally. It had rained continuously since they had passed the borders of the kingdom, and the captain had begged Elrond to let them rent a carriage for him in one of the towns they had passed, because it wouldn’t do to have their King’s ambassador present himself to his host soaked to the bone and shivering for the cold. Elrond had acquiesced, recognizing the need to make a good first impression on his first diplomatic mission, even though he couldn’t help feeling guilty for the soldiers, who had been forced to brave the rain for hours, riding on as he sat, comfortable and dry, inside the small vehicle, reading the scrolls and letters he had brought from Lindon.

“Of course; welcome to our court, the ambassador was expected.” one of the courtiers answered courteously, the sound of his voice barely rising above the soft murmur of the rain. A moment later the door of the carriage was open, and the captain bowed to the passenger.

“We have arrived, my lord.”

“Thank you, captain.” Elrond answered; he smiled gratefully to her, and the other Elf answered in kind before stepping back, allowing him to dismount. Almost instantly, a second canopy appeared, allowing Elrond to take refuge under it without even having to lift the hood of his cape. 

“Welcome to our court, lord Elrond.” the same Elf who had spoken earlier greeted him; he was a blonde, relatively short individual, who bowed deeply before stepping back, an open smile on his face “I am lord Gwestor, part of Taurdôr’s council. We are grateful for your presence here.”

“Thank you, lord Gwestor.” Elrond replied, already put at ease by his interlocutor’s friendly disposition. Of course, the person he had to hope would be well-disposed towards him was Taurdôr’s king, not simply one of his councillors, but despite his nervousness, Elrond felt he had reason to feel optimistic; after all, according to the letters he had exchanged with Gil-Galad, Taurdôr’s new ruler was better inclined than his predecessor, and he had been the one to request the envoy of an ambassador, in order to build a diplomatic and hopefully military alliance between the two kingdoms. Whatever the King’s actual intentions and plans were, he wouldn’t have Elrond embark on a long journey, and send a representative of his to welcome him, just to refuse collaborating. Or would he?

“You must be exhausted; such a long and difficult journey.” Gwestor commented as he, having quickly introduced him to the other courtiers, led the guest towards the gates, the canopy fortunately large enough to cover both of them from the deluge that gave no sign of slowing down “And it has rained incessantly for days; truth to be told, we were relieved to learn you had reached our borders safe and sound.”

“That is very kind of you; we encountered no troubles along the way, and I was well-protected.” Elrond admitted, sighing inwardly as he felt himself stepping in a puddle, large and deep enough to drench his boots. The truth was, he was a more than competent warrior, capable of holding his own against most foes, but the absence of bandits ready to ambush them along the way had meant he had one less thing to worry about “Will you please make sure my escort is housed for the night? They deserve to rest much more than I do, and our horses as well.”

“Of course; the King has asked me to make sure you and your retinue have everything you need.”

They soon passed the gates, the other courtiers and the soldiers following them, and Gwestor led Elrond across a large circular courtyard, high buildings of white and pink stone surrounding it; in front of them stood an imposing staircase leading to the main entrance of the palace, the double doors surrounded by a small crowd of servants and courtiers.

Elrond’s heart leaped in his chest as he observed the many Elves arrayed in front of him; there were many females among them, both maids and ladies of the court, and he anxiously searched for a familiar faces among them -a pair of kind, expressive eyes, a smiling mouth, thick hair that eschewed any attempt to tame them- but to his disappointment he found none, strangers’ faces staring blankly at him. 

It wasn’t surprising, he had to admit in his heart. He and the person he had hoped to see had lost contact years before, he wasn’t even fully sure she still resired close to Taurdôr’s palace, perhaps she had even left the kingdom altogether; perhaps the friends she had made at court would be able to help him, tell him where he could write to her and propose they meet, but the person he was looking for, and hoping to see whom he had undertaken that long journey, was more than likely lost - safe and sound, hopefully, but beyond his reach, having probably forgotten about him altogether. She was probably married as well, with a devoted and loving spouse who had been quicker than him in realising their feelings and courting the object of their affection… 

Of course, he had much more pressing matters to attend to, Elrond reminded himself; it was his first mission as Lindon’s ambassador, and Gil-Galad had entrusted him with the task of building a closer, mutually beneficial relationship with Taurdôr, a remote kingdom famously jealous of its independence and that had long looked with suspicion at Lindon -and any other realm-’s offers for an alliance. 

Heartbreak and disappointment had to be put aside, for the moment at least; he had to focus on his duties, on making a good impression on the King of Taurdôr and convincing him that a military pact, or at least a trade agreement, with Lindon was in his people’s best interest as well. His mission was more important than any private matter; he would do his utmost to accomplish it, and then, at least, he could be satisfied with his work, even though he would never have the chance to confess his feelings to the person who had aroused them in him. 

“Shall I have the opportunity to meet your lord soon?” he inquired as he and Gwestor reached the top of the staircase, and the small crowd in front of them bowed as one before parting to admit the guest inside “I… fear I need to change my clothes, but…”

Gwestor looked at him kindly. “Our King looked forward to meeting you, and begs for your forgiveness, but unfortunately a conference with the kingdom’s guild masters had been scheduled for this afternoon. A room has been prepared for you, and you’ll have plenty of time to rest after your long journey, and our lord will be happy to meet you at dinner tonight. I hope this arrangement doesn’t displease you.”

Quite the opposite, it was perfect, Elrond decided, since a few hours to himself gave him the chance to take a rest, make himself presentable and gather his thoughts before the meeting with the King. “Dinnertime is more than convenient, thank you.”

Gwestor smiled; Elrond suddenly wished there were more Elves like him at Gil-Galad’s court. “I’m glad to hear that. Allow me to accompany you to your rooms; I very much hope you’ll enjoy your stay here in Taurdôr, my lord.”

Having crossed the palace’s large doors to a well-lit chamber, Elrond was finally safe from the pouring rain, even though a line of wet footprints followed him. He moved to follow his guide towards a long corridor, its walls covered by rich tapestries, and a moment later he hesitated; after all, in a sense, his mission wouldn’t officially begin until he met the King, so… “May I ask a question?” he inquired of Gwestor “Have you been residing here at court long?”

“Four or five centuries at least, even though I have admittedly lost count; I was cup-bearer to the previous King in my youth. Why do you ask?”

Elrond bit his lip, suddenly shy. “Well… it may sound strange, but I was wondering if you knew a person I was acquainted with, long ago; an Elf of Lindon, who moved here in Taurdôr years past, by the name of (name). She was a hunter, an Elf-woman with (hair/colour) hair, and a capable archer.”

If Gwestor found his question strange, or if he disapproved of the ambassador more focused on searching for his old friends than on the mission he had been sent to carry out, he didn’t betray his feelings. For a moment, he even seemed to smile.

“I do, in fact. I have met (name).” he answered “In fact, she still lives here, at court.”

Elrond’s heart leaped. “Are you serious?!” he inquired, unconcerned that any servant or lord of the court could hear him; he felt ready to embrace the other Elf.

“Quite serious, I assure you.” 

“Where is she? I… I know I’m here on official duty, but it would mean the world to me if I could talk to her…”

This time, Gwestor’s smile was open, almost amused. “You’ll meet her soon, I assure you.” he said “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

The lodging the King of Taurdôr had had prepared for him was more spacious and refined than Elrond’s rooms at home, with a bedroom large enough to accommodate the whole Lindon party, an almost equally ample washroom and a study with a bookcase full of tomes and scrolls; a young servant was waiting for Elrond when Gwestor accompanied him, ready to serve him in any way the ambassador requested. Flattered, the Half-Elf decided to interpret it as a sign of the good-will of the King who, beside fulfilling his duties as a host, was perhaps equally anxious to make a good impression on Gil-Galad’s envoy.

A hot bath had been prepared for him, and Elrond thoroughly enjoyed it, warming himself in the large tub while the servant took care of his bags, retrieved from the carriage, and damp clothes. He felt better already, he reflected as he used a scented oil to wash dirt and dust away from his hair and skin, more lucid and sure of himself, ready to meet the King and negotiate a treaty that would benefit both realms; there were a few documents Gil-Galad had entrusted him with that he wanted to review again before dinner, and maybe then he’d have time for a short nap on the almost ridiculously soft-looking bed in the adjoining room…   

Yes, everything would go well, and he’d soon return to Lindon having secured a stable alliance with Taurdôr. Resting his head against the brim of the tub, Elrond allowed himself to smile, joy and excitement filling his heart for reasons that went way beyond the prospect of the successful conclusion of his first diplomatic mission. 

He had found (name)! He still couldn’t believe it. Gwestor had said he would meet her soon, and Elrond felt he could trust him, even though the councillor had told him nothing about the Elf-woman he had missed so terribly, beyond confirming that she still lived at court. Were they friends? Or more than friends? Discovering that (name) had an intended, or worse a spouse, would have broken his heart, even if the Elf in question was a kind and friendly individual like Gwestor, but he couldn’t blame his friend for having pursued a relationship. Elrond was also aware that, with the two of them now living in different kingdoms, there was little chance (name) would accept his offer of courtship, even if there was no one in her life at the moment and he found the courage to tell her what he felt. 

Elrond sighed, his joy imperceptibly dimmed, as he lifted an arm from the water and contemplated the tiny drops falling from the tip of his fingers. Overall, the secret hopes that still burned in his heart, so many years after he and (name) had said good-bye, seemed unlikely to come true, he reflected, and the fault was entirely his. How could he not realise his feelings for (name) went beyond friendship, in the centuries they had spent together, meeting almost every day at the court of Lindon and happily spending their time in each other’s company? How could he think that there was nothing romantic about the way his heartbeat accelerated every time she took his hand or rested her cheek on his shoulder as they pored over a scroll or a book together?

It had been only after she had left, to move with her relatives in Taurdôr, that Elrond had felt a part of him was missing, and soon realised how special (name) had been for him - that he was in love with her, and would carry that affection in his heart forever. Galadriel, the only person he had confided his feelings in, had urged him to go after her, to travel to Taurdôr himself to tell her what he felt, or at least write her a letter, but the Half-Elf had decided not to; after all, (name) had moved away to help her sister, left alone with her children after the death of her spouse, and he would have felt the most egotistical Elf in Arda in asking her to return for him. 

Still, he would be happy to see her, even if she had already a spouse and a brood of children of her own; they hadn’t seen each other for so many years, but Elrond felt, in his heart, that (name) had not forgotten him, and the deep friendship and affection they had once shared. That night, after he had dined with the King and hopefully begun discussing the alliance, he would ask discreetly around for her, preferably if he happened to meet Gwestor again. And then he and his old friend could spend some time together, reminiscing about the years they had both spent at the court of Lindon, and perhaps promise to write to each other from then on.

While he couldn’t help wanting more, Elrond knew that would be enough to make him happy.  

Once Elrond had been chosen for the diplomatic mission to Taurdôr, the tailors and seamstresses of the court had prepared a whole new wardrobe for him, with rich tunics, capes and other garments suited for his new role of ambassador; the Half-Elf had never cared too much about the latest trends, content with his elegant but simple tunics and comfortable boots, but he did know that presenting himself appropriately dressed could help him make a good impression on the King, not too mention to express Lindon’s power and affluence and, consequently, its value as a commercial and military ally. 

As he regarded himself in the mirror, clad to head to toe in the precious velvet the tailors had chosen specifically for the first meeting with his host -there were also garments expressly for a meal with the court, for a ride in case the King honoured him with an invite, for a conference with the council and even for a walk in the gardens; as he contemplated the long list of instructions left to him, Elrond had felt lucky he had been allowed to bring his own nightgown at least- and the servant had retrieved from his bags and quickly freed from any wrinkle, Elrond reflected that he would need more than an elegant cape or an embroidered tunic to convince the King an alliance with Lindon would be advantageous to his realm. 

Still, it couldn’t hurt. And he did look good in blue, if he said so himself…

“I can accompany you to the King, my lord, if you’re ready.”

“Of course.” Elrond answered, turning from the mirror. He briefly contemplated bringing his most important scrolls with him, but he decided that opening and reading from them at dinner would be considered impolite, and he better simply rely on his memory until a more formal discussion, scheduled for the next morning. Fortunately, he had read most of the documents so many times during the carriage ride he could almost recite them by heart.

The servant bowed low before leading him out of his rooms, and along a maze of corridors and vast chambers. The maids and pages they met along the way were quick to bow and give way, but a few of the courtiers openly stared and exchanged whispered words; Elrond wasn’t able to assess whether those comments were of blame or support. 

Their short trek ended at the door of an elegant but surprisingly small dining room, the circular table at the centre large enough for perhaps six commensals, and only set for two. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, illuminated by tripod-mounted torches; the only Elf present in the room was busy observing one of them, their back turned. 

“Lord Elrond of Lindon, your Majesty.”

“Of course, let him in.”

Elrond, tenser than he ever remembered he had felt, didn’t notice the pitch of the voice that had answered to his introduction; he knelt, his head bowed low. 

“Your Majesty.” he greeted his host; he had to swallow twice “I am Elrond Peredhel, at your service.”

He heard the rustling of fabric, the noise of soft-soled shoes covering a brief distance.

“Arise, lord Elrond; welcome to Taurdôr.” the King greeted him, voice solemn but not devoid of a touch of amusement. The Half-Elf obeyed, raising his gaze to meet the one of his host… and he was suddenly relieved he hadn’t brought his scrolls, not to mention the precious and fragile gifts he had been entrusted with by Gil-Galad, to dinner, because otherwise they would have fallen from his hands.

He gaped; he tried to speak, but his words failed him, and all he could do was stare while the King dismissed the servant after instructing him to have dinner served as soon as possible.

Then, the Elf turned to face Elrond once more, smiling broadly - the smile Elrond had carried in his heart ever since he had seen it for the last time, but then she bit her lip, suddenly shy. “Hello, I… I am not sure you remember me; how could you, after so many years? We… we were acquainted when I lived in Lindon, I am…”

“(name).” Elrond murmured; he couldn’t be mistaken, the Elf in front of him, wrapped in sumptuous garments, was undoubtedly his old friend, who he had said good-bye to years before and then never stopped caring for, and he did know she had moved to Taurdôr and still lived at court, but this… her, here, now… was unexplainable, and made him fear he was walking in a dream, soon to awake and feel more lonely and dejected than ever… “Is… is it really you?”

(name) grinned; relief seemed to fill her like clear water in the cupped hands of the thirsty. “It is me; I… I was afraid you had forgotten about me…”

“I haven’t; I never could.” Elrond reassured her; he was still struggling to make sense of the unexpected revelation and its implications -where was the King of Taurdôr? Why was (name) here instead of him?- but he didn’t care. He had found her; (name) was here and still remembered him! Elrond’s heart was singing, and as he struggled to decide what to say, he decided that he had kept his feelings hidden for far too long; waiting even just one more moment was unbearable “I… I am so happy to see you again. Truth to be told, I hoped I could take advantage of my journey to Taurdôr to look for you; I have missed you so much.”

 “And I have missed you, Elrond. I am so glad Gil-Galad sent you, and that we have the chance to talk once more.”

“As am I. But now, tell me… where is the King?” Elrond inquired; even in the midst of his and his friend’s joyful reunion, he couldn’t forget he had come to Taurdôr on an official mission, and he couldn’t focus on (name) -specifically, on confessing that he was more than a little infatuated and had never stopped thinking about her for years- before at least presenting himself to his host, and hopefully starting to discuss the new alliance between their kingdoms “I was supposed to meet him here. Were you sent to receive me? Are you part of Taurdôr’s council as well?”

“No, I… well…”

(name) sighed; suddenly she seemed… tense, almost worried, as if she were about to reveal some shocking truth and had no idea how her interlocutor would react. “No one sent me; rather, I sent for you.” she said, taking Elrond’s hands in hers, as if afraid he would disappear into thin air - or run away “Elrond… I am the King of Taurdôr.”

“It all happened only a month after I had moved here to be close to my sister after the death of her husband. There is a dense forest a few hours’ ride from the palace, and one day I decided to bring my nephews there, so that we could hunt game for dinner, and also to distract them from the thought of the loss of their father. We had just arrived when we heard sounds of a struggle; I told my nephews to hide, and peeking through the bushes I saw a group of armed Elves on horseback attempting to kidnap another, dressed as a lord.”

“He was the King.” Elrond guessed, a still untouched chalice of wine in his hand; the servants who had served dinner had been dismissed, leaving him and his host alone, which was good, because while not a secret, that conversation was too private and delicate to be carried out in the presence of witnesses.

(name) nodded; she was sitting in front of him, almost apologetic but already more relaxed, as if reassured her revelation would not make her old friend run for his life “He was, even though I had no idea; I had never met him, since I had moved to the kingdom only recently, and my sister, the court’s librarian, had never brought me with her when she worked. Still, I realised what was happening; the Elf was fighting desperately to defend himself, but the guards who had accompanied him had been killed, their bodies lying on the ground.” she went on, and shuddered; as a capable hunter, and having served in Lindon’s army as captain of the archers, she knew death up close, but she had never gotten used to it, and she had once confided in Elrond she feared she never would “We would have been outnumbered even if I had intervened to defend the lord, not to mention I only had a hunting knife at my belt, and I was still responsible for my nephews; so I remained hidden, and used my bow and arrow to kill the kidnappers from afar.”

“So you saved his life.”

“Apparently I did. When I could finally reach him the Elf was barely awake, so I loaded him on my horse and brought it back to the court to entrust him to the healers; you can imagine my surprise when they recognized him, and told me who he was.”

The King had wanted to meet her to thank her personally as soon as he had recovered, (name) went on explaining; he had gone hunting with his escort, as he was wont to do, and a lord who was secretly conspiring against him had sent his guards to kidnap him. Hadn’t (name) been there, he would have been captured, taken hostage, and perhaps even killed. The King, grateful, offered to reward (name) in any way she wanted, and gained even more appreciation for her when his saviour, admitting there was nothing she especially desired, ended up asking for her nephews to be admitted to the court’s school, so that they could benefit from a good education. Learning she had been captain of the archers at the court of Lindon, the King had asked for a test of her abilities, and then, more than satisfied, had asked her to join the same corps in his own army. In time, he had developed a deep affection for her, coming to regard (name) as the daughter he had never had; because of this, no one had been surprised when, only a year before and in conjunction with his long-discussed decision to abandon Taurdôr and sail to Valinor, the King had asked (name) to let him name her his heir and ascend him to the throne after him.

“Well, no one but me; I’d like to tell you I didn’t need to sit because my legs were shaking, but that’d be a lie.” (name) sighed as she toyed with the pendants of her necklace, an instinctive gesture Elrond had seen her made often when she was tense - even though now, for the first time, those pendants were of solid gold, probably precious enough to ransom a lord “I told him I was the worst choice he could make, that I had none of the abilities required of a ruler, that I was too blunt, too outspoken and rigid on my principles to deal with the courtiers and the lords and all those who constantly came to him requesting favours and concessions; I was not a diplomat, and all I could say was what I thought, nothing more and nothing less. The King smiled, and told me this was exactly why he wanted me to succeed him on the throne.”

Elrond had never met Taurdôr’s previous ruler, but he found himself appreciating the older Elf’s wisdom. “And so, you became King.” he recapitulated as he placed his chalice back on the table “King and not Queen, I seem to gather.”

“I know, it’s odd. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but Taurdôr has never had a ruling Queen before, and Kings’ spouses do not really have a role beyond child-rearing and hosting parties. This wasn’t obviously the sort of ruler I wanted to be, not to mention I had started receiving marriage proposals less than ten minutes after my predecessor had announced his decision to name me his heir, so I declared that even though I am a woman I wished to be styled as King, and not Queen, to make it clear that the throne was mine and mine alone, and I’d let no one take it from me or use me as a puppet for their own purposes. I meet with the council once a week and I have a number of advisors, but you’d be surprised to learn how many Elves seem to think I’d be easily influenced simply because I wear a skirt.”

“Well, those Elves don’t know you as well as I do.”

(name) shrugged. “No, they don’t.” she acknowledged; her eyes shone with pride and happiness, and Elrond had never wanted to kiss her as much as he did then “Or at least, they didn’t when I ascended to the throne, even though I am proud to say many of them quickly changed their mind, and had to recognize I have a will as strong as any male Elf if not more.” 

Elrond smiled. “I’m sure you are a capable ruler, whatever title you use.”

“I try my best.” 

(name) rested her chin on the palm of her hand. “You know, had many other Elves here at court told me those words, I’d at least suspect they were trying to adulate me.” she said “With you, instead… I know you are being sincere; that you actually think that.”

“I have always been sincere with you, (name). And I always will be.” Elrond answered; it was not fully true, since there was a single but important matter he had kept from his friend, but given the context of their conversation the Half-Elf was confident his little lie could be excused… especially considering he planned on filling the gap as soon as possible. The fact that the object of his affections was now the ruler of a powerful kingdom, and he was simply an herald that many looked down to because of his mixed heritage, could change things, since no one was less free to follow their feelings than a King, but he had promised himself he would tell (name) how he felt, and he would - even if he had already prepared himself to have his heart broken “You… you look splendid, really.”

He strongly doubted he was the first to pay that sort of compliment to her, but he was surprised to see her blush. 

“Thank you.” she murmured, clearly flattered; she smiled, and he smiled at her, and suddenly the few days he had been promised to plead his case at the court of Taurdôr felt not enough - not enough by far “Now, why don’t we enjoy dinner? I want to know everything about Lindon, and what you have done since we last met.”

They did. Since (name) had dismissed the servants, Elrond offered to serve dinner to both, but she assured her there was no need, and was perfectly capable of filling her own plate and goblet. They spoke at length, their old familiarity still vivid after the long separation. (name) asked after Gil-Galad, more concerned for the King she had once faithfully served and trusted than in a peer she was supposed to negotiate with, and her old friends; more than anything, she wanted to know about Elrond’s life, and he gladly answered all her questions, secretly flattered by the attention. In turn, he asked his old friend about her life as King, and was pleased to perceive she was happy, confident in her capacity to reign and fulfilled every time she was able to carry out her duties, settling a dispute between two courtiers or allocating the necessary funding to support a feud stricken by famine. She was still close to her sister, who had not remarried but had been able to overcome the pain of her loss and was now focused on raising her children; (name) even found the time to practise archery, and to go hunting in the woods, even though it pained her that she had to formally retire from the army’s archery troops before ascending to the throne. 

She never mentioned whether there was someone special in her life, either privately or through a formal betrothal, the sort Kings often used to seal an alliance or put an end to a conflict; the matter didn’t concern him, but Elrond allowed himself to find some comfort in it. Unless, of course, Gil-Galad, who was also unmarried, decided an union was exactly what Lindon needed to seal an alliance with Taurdôr, and tasked Elrond with proposing to (name) for him…

At the end of the meal, a comfortable, pleasant silence fell on them; the soft light of the torches made the stately room look homely, almost, Elrond thought, as if they were still in his quarters at Lindon’s palace, enjoying a simple meal alone as they talked about their day and joked about the court’s latest gossip. He already loved her back then, even though he wasn’t aware of it; but still, he had cherished those moments, the simple and innocent intimacy they afforded, when he knew he could be himself, without fear of being judged or blamed. (name) wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind, and would freely tell him she didn’t agree or thought Elrond had made a mistake, but the Half-Elf knew she never ceased supporting him, and caring for his well-being, and being ready to defend him.

Was that love? He didn’t know; but just looking in her eyes was enough to perceive (name) still cared for him and had not forgotten everything they had gone through together, and Elrond was happy for it. Happy, and grateful.

“Was everything of your liking, Elrond?”

“It was delicious; the best meal I have had for a long time.” he replied; the compliment was due more to the good company he had been enjoying than to the admittedly good food, but the Half-Elf thought it would have been too forward to say it “You needn’t have worried so much for me.”

“Of course I needed to; and I wanted to. I…” (name) began, and then hesitated, biting her lip “... I wanted you to feel welcomed here; not just as the emissary of a King, but as my guest. Lindon and its people will forever be part of me, but Taurdôr is my home now, a great kingdom full of beauty and kind people; I hoped you would come to love it, just like I did.”

“If the people here are good to you, I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“No one could beat you in goodness, Elrond. This is what I have always liked about you the most.” 

(name) smiled; she had stopped touching her necklace. “Shall we walk in the gardens for a while?” she proposed “Unless you want to retire, after the long journey.”

Hadn’t he slept for a month, still Elrond would have gladly walked with her. He offered her his arm, which the Elf-woman gladly took as she led him out of the banquet room and along a new series of corridors. A couple of courtiers who crossed their path attempted to talk to the King, but (name) quickly stopped them, postponing the discussion to the audience already scheduled for the next morning, or instructing them to talk to someone else.

“Sometimes I feel guilty.” she confided in Elrond as they finally stepped beyond a stone arch, the lush vegetation enveloping them under the trees’ canopy “So many people depend on me, but I can’t be available to talk and do things at all times day and night. I need some moments for myself, otherwise I’ll lose my mind.”

“Of course. You told me you still have time for your archery.”

“For that, and for spending time with my friends.”

(name) smiled; she took Elrond’s hand in his to pull him towards the heart of the large greenhouse surrounding them. “Come.” she invited him “I want you to see all of my favourite places.”

Elrond let himself be led among the trees and bushes, his heart heavy with joy and anticipation. 

The next few days saw Elrond and (name) spend as much time as they could together. The King was comprehensibly busy, but the alliance with Lindon was an important enough matter that less urgent duties and tasks could be postponed or delegated, and the Half-Elf soon realised his friend had prepared herself in advance and renounced the little free time she had for herself, for him. When she was otherwise occupied, with audiences or other obligations that kept her in her study or away from the court, she always made sure Elrond was entertained, tasking either lord Gwestor or other courtiers she was close to and trusted to accompany him to visit the most beautiful places of the kingdoms or organise some diversion to occupy his time.

They were old friends who had not seen each other for a long time, and he was the emissary of a powerful King (name) needed to make a good impression on; but Elrond allowed himself to feel flattered, and even hopeful, for such care. 

They went riding in the woods, followed by a contingent of bodyguards who hung back, giving the King and his guest all the space they could while still watching over them; they lunched alone in the gardens, sitting on a blanket as they poured their own wine and laughed to tears remembering some small adventure of their youth; they danced in the ballroom of the castle, under the watchful eyes of the court, and (name) wondered in her heart whether Elrond’s hands had been so warm on her hips, and the beauty of his smile so blinding, when she still resided in Lindon and he saved her from being the only Elf-woman who had not been invited, gently twirling her around and making her feel as if no one else existed in all of Arda. 

In those moments, they both regretted wasting so many years without each other, and hoped in their heart things could change in the future - for the better, hopefully. 

Nor the King nor the ambassador had forgotten Elrond was not in Taurdôr on vacation. They started discussing the alliance on the day after his arrival, and the Half-Elf was relieved to learn his old friend was more than favourable to the idea, at least as far diplomatic and trade relations between the two kingdoms were concerned.

“My predecessor, and all of Taurdôr’s Kings for centuries, have been highly protective, even jealous, of our land’s independence.” she explained to him one afternoon, after they had moved their audience to the King’s own apartment, enjoying a bit of peace and quiet as they sipped a goblet of wine “Many Elves, both here at court and in the kingdom, view with suspicion the simple presence of foreigners within our borders, to say nothing of their interest in our affairs. They wouldn’t even ask for help in case of aggression or famine; it sounds absurd, but I think the Elves of Taurdôr are so proud of the strength and prosperity of their kingdom, they instinctively believe others only wish to steal them.”

Elrond was not surprised, since (name)’s predecessors had constantly refused any sort of friendly pact with Lindon and other kingdoms, at one point -Gil-Galad had shown him a letter received two years before- proudly declaring Taurdôr needed no support or protection from its neighbours, and therefore saw no reason to get embroiled in their business.

“But you are different.” he stated as he moved on the high-backed chair he was sitting on, searching for a more comfortable position; for a moment, he felt (name)’s thigh press against his “I mean… you are of a different opinion.”

“I am. I have sworn to protect and defend the well-being of Taurdôr and its people, and I will; I simply believe that shutting oneself away, and believing everyone else is an enemy ready to steal from us, is not healthy, let alone intelligent. Both I and my sister have been looked at with suspicion after we moved to the realm, as foreigners bearers of who knows what trouble, even though all we wished was to remain close to the people we loved. This is not good, Elrond; if we erect barriers all around us, even only to protect ourselves from danger, we will end up suffocating.”

(name) sighed; she had already confided in Elrond that, while she had been able to earn the trust and respect of many at court and in the kingdom, there were also those who still treated her with hostility because she had lived in the kingdom for a relatively short period of time, and vocally disapproved of her intentions of opening the borders of Taurdôrs to other realms.

“No one can succeed alone; no matter how strong, or wealthy, or wise.” she muttered, once again playing with the heavy necklace she wore; for a moment, Elrond wondered if she were actually talking about her kingdom, or rather herself “United we are stronger, in the face of war, famine or any other danger; and even if a place is completely self-sufficient, we could all benefit from close contact with our peers, exchanging ideas and working together for a common goal. Even the wisest can still learn; and while we cannot always be sure of the intentions of others, and it is proper to defend ourselves and what we own, suspicion, contempt and fear can bring nothing good. I hope the alliance with Lindon will only be the first of many; that one day, I can show even the most suspicious Elves of this kingdom that even if we remain protective of our autonomy, our rights and the treasures of our land, we can still help others and, in turn, receive support when we need it.”

Elrond didn’t doubt she would succeed, no matter how difficult the goal she had set herself was; she had nothing but the well-being and the security of her land and her people at heart, and while good intentions weren’t always enough to ensure success, they had to count for something. 

“It will take time.” he pointed out, and his friend sighed before nodding; as King, she had formally the power to take decisions by herself, without having to consult or ensuring the approval of anyone, but Elrond knew perfectly how difficult, potentially even dangerous, the situation of a ruler who could not count on the support of their people could be. (name) had to make sure the most influential nobles of her court, the members of her council and probably also the chief officers of the army, were on her side and supported her project, otherwise she could find herself isolated and potentially even deposed by those who preferred that Taurdôr’s borders remain closed to strangers and potential allies “I know this realm has been isolated in itself for centuries; this state of things is everything many Elves have ever known.”

“I know, unfortunately; I think many Elves here are simply afraid, and worry that forming an alliance with another kingdom will lead foreigners to lord over our territory and steal our riches… which of course I plan to avoid. And fortunately we are immortal.” (name) mentioned, and smiled “I have all the time to win them over.”

They laughed together; (name)’s foot touched Elrond’s. He smiled at her, and then looked down, suddenly shy; his face felt as if it were on fire, and he was pretty sure the Elf-woman next to him could see it despite the dim light. He had nothing to feel embarrassed for, especially in (name)’s presence, but suddenly his resolution of confessing his feelings to his friend, especially when they were working on changing centuries of tradition and opening Taurdôr’s borders to the rest of Arda, felt ridiculous, even egotistical. What if she didn’t return his affection? Would the awkwardness make things difficult between them, both at a personal level -which would be painful enough- and making it harder for him and his friend to work jointly for the alliance between their kingdoms? Could he put his own feelings ahead of the mission he has been entrusted with? Perhaps it was better to wait, make sure relations between Lindon and Taurdôr had improved before breaching the subject, so that he could request to be replaced in his role as ambassador, in case (name) weren’t interested in him like he was in her…

She had seen him blush. “I’m sorry.” she whispered; suddenly the King of Taurdôr looked lost, as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands, and the rest of her body as well “I… made you uncomfortable, Elrond, forgive me…”

“You did not.” he reassured her “You never could.”

“Still, I should remember I need to be more careful when I… approach other Elves, given my position at court. The truth is…” (name) started, she hesitated, and then took Elrond’s hand in hers; she had freed her hair from the elaborate updo her maids arranged every day, and that, in the Half-Elf’s eyes, simply enhanced her natural beauty - a beauty so unassuming and radiant it made him tremble “Elrond, for all these years I… I have never ceased to carry you in my heart, and…”

“Your Majesty.”

They were both startled, their hands separating brusquely; Elrond stood, suddenly ashamed as if he had been caught as he committed a crime, while (name) glared at the servant who now stood in front of them, for a moment unable to hide how displeased she was.

“What is it?”

“Your pardon, my King; lord Voronil requests an audience.” the servant explained; hearing that name, the Elf-woman frowned.

“It is very late. What can be so urgent, he asks for me at this time?”

“He didn’t say, your Majesty. I told him you had retired to your rooms and asked not to be disturbed, but he insisted.”

“I’m sure he did.”

(name) sighed; she looked regretfully at her now empty hands, and stood. “Very well.” she said, her tone firm and openly displeased “I’ll go, and he better have a good reason for disturbing me now. Elrond, forgive me, I…”

“It is alright; I don’t want to keep you.” he said, forcing himself to smile; what else could he do? Unwilling to remain in his friends’ apartment without her, he bowed low and departed to return to his own rooms, as (name) looked regretfully at him a last time and then walked away herself, the servant following her closely.

Eight days later, at the end of an interminable list of audiences and meetings with the members of the council and other courtiers, (name) and Elrond signed together a trade agreement that formally opened Taurdôr’s borders to a selected number of merchants from Lindon, while a few (few) of their own goods would be sent to the largest towns of the other kingdom to be sold. A diplomatic pact was also ratified, with which the two parts formally recognized each other and formally pledged their friendship - without elaborating on the rights and duties the pact entailed.

It was little, a drop of water in the sea compared to what the two old friends hoped to build, but it was a start and, more importantly, they had been able to convince a majority of the council members and a few of the most influential nobles of the court of the goodness of their project - quite a task, all things considered.

That night, a great feast was held at court, to celebrate the beginning of a more proactive role for Taurdôr in the politics of Arda… and to honour Elrond, whose departure from the realm was scheduled for the next day.

As he stepped into the huge, festively decorated ballroom, the Half-Elf felt suddenly overwhelmed, all too aware that all the eyes in the room had immediately turned to him; he smiled, vaguely embarrassed, and greeted a few of the courtiers he had gotten to know since his arrival. Several of them seemed to interpret the gesture as an invitation, and a clump of Elves quickly gathered around him, asking about the court of Lindon, the goods that could be bought and sold in its markets, and even the presence of unmarried ladies in its most powerful noble families. 

Elrond did his best to answer every question posed to him, but was relieved when Gwestor, having noticed his uneasiness and taken pity on him, forced his way through the throng, slipped his arm under the Half-Elf’s, and led him away towards a more peaceful corner of the hall, close to the harpists and lute-player whose sweet notes were livening up the evening. A large table held refreshments of every kind, including gallons of strong beverages, while a number of couples had already started dancing, the central area of the room having been reserved for such activity. 

“I hope you will forgive me, but I thought you needed saving.”

“I really did; thanks for saving me.” Elrond said, returning the amused smile of the other Elf; they obtained chalices of mulled wine from the tray of a passing servant, and sipped it together as Elrond looked all around him, quickly finding (name), more radiant than ever in a lavish dress of a colour that emphasised that of her eyes and hair; she was patiently listening to a richly-dressed Elf, who talked insistently not so much to but at her, clearly pleased to have the King’s attention focused on him. 

She was beautiful, Elrond thought, and so more than that; she was the most amazing and precious creature in all of Arda, and he was desperately in love with her - he had been for a long time, and he would tell her soon, he promised himself once more, all too aware that the time at his disposal was running out, even though the possibility of his dreams coming true seemed fainter with any passing hour.

Almost as if she had perceived that his thoughts were focused on her, (name) turned to Elrond and smiled at him, before briefly nodding towards the Elf next to her with an exasperated face she was then quick to hide; the Half-Elf smiled back, amused, but in his heart he had to admit he was more than a little jealous of her interlocutor.

“That is lord Voronil.” Gwestor murmured, having perceived the exchange of looks between the two old friends. (name) had told Elrond Gwestor was one of her closest allies at court, an Elf whose integrity and loyalty she trusted fully, and who had been kind to her since a chance meeting soon after the Elf-woman’s arrival in Taurdôr; Elrond liked him, and had appreciated the other Elf’s support as he and the King pleaded their cause with the court “His family is less powerful than many others, but he knows how to ingratiate himself to others and now there are many at court who favour him or are in his debt.”

“Oh, I know.” Elrond answered “Lord Voronil was quick to introduce himself to me when (name)... when the King and I presented our project for an alliance to the court; I had the impression he would have readily objected even on the sort of boots I was wearing that day if he could.”

Many Elves of the court supported Voronil against the alliance, and at first it had been disheartening to see how large and committed the opposition to their project was; but (name), who knew the Elves of Taurdôr much better than he did, hadn’t looked intimidated, and Elrond had decided to follow her example. With time and patience, they had been able to convince many of their critics that a trade deal and a few diplomatic visits wouldn’t hurt, especially if it helped find new buyers for their goods, and business partners of other sorts. Voronil had remained one of the few who refused to even discuss the matter, and had not hidden his discontent when a majority of the court had voted in favour of a commercial agreement with Lindon.

Gwestor smiled gently. “Don’t take it personally; Voronil disapproves of many, especially of those who do not fawn over him but the King favours.” he confided; lowering his voice to a whisper, he added “I have also heard that he requested an audience with her when the two of you were alone in her apartment at night.”

Elrond felt panic rise in his stomach. “How do you…?”

“The servant who came to call her is the son of my steward; he confided in me that Voronil had paid a few pages to inform him as soon as the two of you were alone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have anything important to tell her, but simply kept her occupied long enough your time together had to be postponed.”

According to what (name) had told him on the next day, Voronil did apparently have an important matter to discuss with her, if not something so urgent it couldn’t wait until the next morning -namely, a request for military help from a relative of his, whose neighbour kept invading his domain, taking advantage of the lack of guards at the borders- but when Voronil had shown her the letter his relative had sent, (name) had read it had been sent weeks before, as if the lord had forgotten about it until that moment - or had decided not to plead it with the King until it had realised the letter could be the excuse he needed to interrupt her and Elrond’s moment together.

“He’s interested in her.” he pointed out softly, noticing the discreet but insistent way Voronil attempted to take (name)’s hand, indifferent to the King’s polite but determinate refusals “Is he not?”

Gwestor grunted. “He is interested in her power, which he hopes to share in becoming Prince consort.” he corrected “I’m sure he doesn’t care for the King in the slightest. He could never make her happy; he would not try either.” 

Elrond remained silent.

“I have also heard some courtiers discuss whether your King could marry ours, in order to consolidate the relations between the two realms and ensure a lasting peace.”

“That… would be reasonable.” Elrond admitted; Gil-Galad had never mentioned the possibility to ask for (name)’s hand in order to secure the alliance, not to mention he had always seemed perfectly at ease in his bachelorhood, but one could never know “Our King thought well of her, and has sent her precious gifts.”

“I’m sure he did. Of course, there is more to a marriage than that, is there not?”

Elrond didn’t answer; he reflected for a while, looking at how (name) was clearly growing impatient at how Voronil tried to monopolise her attention. In the end, he brought the chalice to his lips and swallowed the wine in a long gulp.

“Could I beg a favour of you?” he whispered, without looking away from the Elf-woman “Would you distract Voronil for a minute?”

Clearly amused, Gwestor answered he would try, no matter how unpleasant Voronil could be; he approached the couple and, after bowing low to the King, turned towards the other Elf and put himself between the two. Elrond couldn’t hear what he was saying, but a minute later the councillor had all but dragged away a partially recalcitrant Voronil, who seemed too taken aback from the intervention to protest.

(name) was now alone; Elrond knew he had no time to waste, unless he wanted someone else to approach her.

“You look lovely.” he murmured as he joined her; she had probably been paid the same compliment dozens of times already, but the Elf-woman smiled, clearly flattered. 

“Thank you. I hope you enjoy the evening, Elrond; you’re the guest of honour, and I will never forget all the help you have given me. If one day an alliance will exist between Lindon and Taurdôr, it will be in large part thanks to you.”

Elrond waved his hand to gently refuse those compliments. “We have worked together.” he pointed out “The credit should belong to both, and don’t forget we still have much to do.”

“We do.” (name) admitted, and she smiled “But I think we can rest for one night, and indulge in a bit of merriment.” 

Elrond agreed. He considered inviting (name) to dance, or offering to get her something to drink, but then he remembered his bags were already half-packed on the floor next to his bed; he swallowed. “Would you like to go outside for a moment?” he asked in a whisper, hoping against hope for a positive answer; he knew the King was expected to entertain his guests and welcome visitors, and she couldn’t very well hide to spend time with a single person - even the guest of honour.

But (name), once more, surprised him. “Please.” she promptly answered “I’ve been here for less than an hour and I feel myself suffocating already.”

They left the ballroom together, indifferent to the many who saw them and immediately started gossiping about it, and (name) led Elrond towards a small patio surrounded by tall ivy-covered marble columns, soft grass rustling under their feet.

“And so you're going to leave tomorrow.” (name) stated, her tone neutral.

“I am. I am grateful for your hospitality, and everything you have done to make my stay pleasant.”

“Of course; you know how happy I have been to have you here, after so many years. I…”

“Yes?” Elrond prompted; he stepped closer to her, close enough he could smell her perfume, sweet and intoxicating. His friend bit her lip, as if unsure of what to say; Elrond had already seen shyness on her face, but now… now (name) looked terrified.   

“I was simply thinking… how good it would be, and how happy I would feel, if you could stay a little longer; much longer, ideally.” she confessed in the end precipitously, as if afraid her courage would fail before she could reach the end of her statement “I… I miss you already, even though you haven’t left yet; and if I think that tomorrow we’ll have to say good-bye, and I might not see you for months… it makes me want to cry.”

Elrond didn’t speak.

“Forgive me, I’m… I’m behaving like a petulant child. You have your own life, and things much more interesting to do than… entertaining a lonely Elf-woman. This is embarrassing, I’m sorry, I must have made you…”

“What if I did?” Elrond murmured; he took her hand, and (name), who was blushing furiously, turned towards him.

“W-what?”

“I said, what if I could stay much longer?” he specified, growing bolder with any passing second “What if I could stay here, with you, as long as we both wanted me to? Perhaps… even forever?”

(name) looked at him, almost incredulous, as if she didn’t dare believing what his friend’s words seemed to suggest. “Elrond…”

The Half-Elf smiled; a tenderness he had never experienced had filled his heart. “My darling (name)... I have been in love with you for so long, even though it took me a long time to realise it.” he murmured; he brought her hand to his lips, and he felt it shaking as he devotedly kissed her fingers “I know my standing at court is different from yours, I know you may decide to marry for the sake of your kingdom; I ask nothing of you, but to believe my heart is yours and forever will be, and nothing would make me happier than…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t need to, because he had already said enough, he had said everything he felt and more than (name) hoped him to say; radiant of joy, she gently took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, a sweet kiss, relatively chaste but fierce, a kiss that was quickly reciprocated, with a moan that was joy and relief.

She didn’t say I love you too. She didn’t say I have loved you in silence for a long time and I would have told you soon, had I not decided it was my duty to leave and take care of my family. She didn’t say I have never stopped thinking about you, and hoping one day I would have the chance to tell you what I felt. She couldn’t have, since her mouth was otherwise and happily occupied, but (name) knew her actions spoke better than her words ever could, and that Elrond knew her well enough to perceive her joy, and gratitude, and hope in the future they could build together. 

And even if he couldn’t, that was fine; she’d make sure to prove her devotion to him from that day onward, until he had to depart and even beyond that; destiny had given her a second chance at love, and she was determined not to waste it. 

“Are you sure?” Elrond wondered after a while, having finally broken the kiss; he was breathless, and he had never looked so enticing “You’re a King, you should… marry an Elf worthy of you…”

“And you are not?”

“You know what I mean. There are many both here and at the court of Lindon who would rather see you marry Gil-Galad, or another King, to secure an alliance; I know how devoted you are to the well-being of your kingdom, I do not want to… complicate things…”

(name) smiled; she knew how honourable Elrond could be, and she loved him for that, but she also wanted to show him that she would let nothing, and no one, separate them.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure the safety and the well-being of Taurdôr.” she stated, holding Elrond’s hands in hers “And yes, I might have decided for an arranged marriage, had things been different; but you, Elrond… you are too important and too dear to me to be renounced. I love you; and I will have no one but you. Whatever the future may bring, I want to be with you forever.”

They kissed again, laughing, crying, and exchanging promises; (name) moaned softly as Elrond gently pushed her against one of the columns, their bodies so close they could feel each other’s heartbeat against their chest. Soft music reached the patio from the ballroom, but neither noticed it, both King and herald too engrossed in each other to pay any mind to what happened around then.

“I have been thinking about sending my own ambassador to Lindon.” she murmured, her mouth still busy worshipping Elrond’s “I think lord Gwestor would be perfect for the role; he could stay at Gil-Galad’s court for a while, discussing the alliance and proposing a closer relationship between our kingdoms. What do you think?”

“It sounds like a splendid idea, my King. This would also mean, obviously, that I’d have to remain here with you.”

“Exactly. Unless, of course, you’d rather return home…”

Elrond smiled; he circled (name)’s hips with his arm, moving slightly as he felt her hands rest on his shoulders. “I’ll never leave.” he promised, before claiming her lips in a kiss once more “I’ll never want to leave, at least. I promise.” 

[dontfearrr]

thank you to the angel who requested this<3 you can find it here

Request

Feast of Starlight

also this is like BARELY proofread so kindly disregard any horrible spelling mistakes🔥

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!reader

Summary: Readers childhood best friend had now become of higher status, due to that she hadn’t spoken to him in over two thousand years. However a simple invitation may change that.

Warnings: none

Category: fluff/hurt/comfort

Word count: 3.0k

“you may absolutely not Thranduil!”

She giggled as the young boy just crossed his arms in a whine. “but i will be so very careful, come on!” he insisted in a pitiful beg. She looked at the boy and sighed heavily, he always got his way with her no matter what, he was her best friend. “curse you” she grumbled and picked up the bright red apple, placing it on the top of her head and balancing it until it stayed put. She backed up and stood as still as possible. “you mess this up and i will kill you” she pointed a stern finger at the excited boy as he quickly nocked an arrow, pointing it in her direction. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he focused on the apple and the apple only… he opened his eyes and fired immediately. The arrow pierced the apple perfectly in the middle and it landed behind her on the grass. “i told you to just trust me!” Thranduil laughed and placed his hands on his hips proudly.

That was six thousand years ago.

She was woken up from her memory by another elf, she was passed out at her station due to the lack of sleep she had gotten the other night. She lifted her head up with a slight groan and took in her surroundings, finding she was in the seamstress quarters of the east side of Mirkwood, how stupid of her, falling asleep on the job! christ she thought..

Thranduil had been on her mind as of late, why? She didn’t know, It was as if he was haunting her every living thought, which is why she hadn’t got much sleep last night. She’d spent half of the night thinking about him, wishing she could turn back time a couple thousand years and be reunited with the sweet boy she once knew.

However she couldn’t dwell on it, not right now. Elrond was expecting the garment by sundown for The Feast of Starlight tomorrow. She’s been acquainted with the King of Imladris for quite a while due to her very skilled talents with making clothing for elves. He was going to be in Mirkwood by the morning and she was nearly finished with it.

She could’ve been finished with it a while ago if it wasn’t for her stupid..nap.

Nearly two hours later and she was finished with Elronds garment. It was beautifully elegant and she was positive he would be more than pleased. She gathered everything and placed it in the cart to be taken to the royal chambers and cleaned her area up, getting ready to retire to her own chambers.

Before she could exit, she was stopped by a royal guard right outside of the exit. He handed her an envelope without saying a single word and took his leave with a bow of his head. She was heavily confused but held onto the envelope until she reached her chambers to open it.

She placed her bag on the table near her bed and sat down, taking the envelope from under her arm and inspected it. The front had a wax seal with..a royal stamp? How intriguing. She flipped it over and the back read in very neat handwriting:

“A night of starlight”

She raised and eyebrow and shrugged before opening it and pulling out the piece of paper within it, unfolding it to see it was an invitation, to the Feast of Starlight?! That couldn’t be right..until she looked in the bottom right corner, where it read her name, underlined, as if it was being emphasized. She hadn’t been to one of those in..decades. The last one she was invited to was first age, when she was nearly a child. She could only help to wonder why she had been invited considering Thranduil was the only one who issued invitations, no one entered without his knowledge.

She set the invitation down and stared at the floor, wondering what on earth would he be inviting her for. She hadn’t spoke to him since he was crowned King. Maybe this is why he had been on her mind so recently. Her head was filled with many thoughts and possibilities but she chose not to worry her mind, she was invited, and that was it. All she had to do was show up, have a drink, and leave..right?

Thranduil poured himself a hefty glass of wine as he stared out at his private garden, pinching the bridge of his nose in perplexity.

“Ada, you cannot seriously be stressed out by this?” Legolas spoke as he entered the room, feeling his father’s agony from all the way down the hall. He rid himself of his weapons, placing all of them at the table and approached Thranduil, standing by his side. “she will come.” Legolas spoke once more, watching his father’s lip twitch, unsure of what to say.

“Hina, i do not wish to hear your words of wisdom at this time” Thranduil sighed in annoyance while taking a drink of wine, a large one. Legolas raised his eyebrow at his father and shook his head. For a king, he was the most stubborn elf Legolas had ever met in his life. “Very well. Let me know when you are done..dreading.” Legolas wanted to laugh, but he’d only get a piece of his father’s mind. So he held his hands up in playful defense as Thranduil eyed him as if he was some idiot and just sighed again, facing the window as Legolas took his leave.

The next morning she woke up to the sun rudely laying across her eyes watered slightly and she sat up, walking out to the balcony to open the doors and let some fresh air inside to wake herself up. But when she did so, she looked down and saw a dark green box sitting right in front of her feet. It was wrapped with a lighter green bow and the box had beautiful details of gold and red. She picked it up curiously and went back inside to open it. She places the cloth box on her bed and opened it slowly, finding what looked to be a..dress?

She tilted her head and picked up the garment from the box and held it up by the shoulders, watching it fall to the ground from its length. She audibly gasped at the beautiful dress, it was clearly made from the finest fabrics in all of Mirkwood, finer than even the guards. She had only ever used this kind of fabric for royals..

The dress was green and embellished with beautiful designs and elven patterns in gold thread and silver linings. The Neckline was a low v neck, something she wasn’t quite used to but who was she to decline such a garment! The back of the dress mirrored the v neck shape as well and the sleeves were fanned out at the wrist, the elegantly draped down, matching the sharpness of the rest of the dress. She laid it out on her bed and admired it before taking a deep breath to process what was actually happening.

First, he invites her to The Feast of Starlight, then he sends you an outrageously gorgeous dress..She was now as nervous as ever to go to this dinner.

It was now nightfall and she was sitting in front of her mirror, running a comb through her long golden brown hair. She pulled her two pieces out in front of her ears and braided some of it back, then littered a few more throughout due to her very thick hair. She wasn’t sure why she had thicker hair than normal elves but she loved it more than anything. She stood up and stared at the dress she had laid out on her bed and sighed deeply before changing into the elegant garment.

It fit her like a glove, hugging all of her curves and falling down her body like a waterfall. She felt like a princess, maybe even a queen..She wasn’t sure why she deserved this but surely there had to have been a reason. A good one. She hoped anyways. She then picked up her circlet she’d only worn once, feeling it was quite fitting for the event. It was littered in bright diamonds that hung down into her hair beautifully and a golden band that twisted around it. It was quite simple but beautiful nonetheless. Once she had felt she was ready, she looked outside to see the moon nearly cresting and decided it was time to head for the Palace.

“I told you, red doesn’t go with green. I want GOLD. Not red.” Thranduil told the dresser that was helping him with his outfit for the night. He was getting annoyed with them for they didn’t listen what so ever. Finally the dresser came back with a green and gold garment. Not too much gold..perfect. “By Valar..now go make yourself useful somewhere else.” he dismissed the elf and he began to dress himself.

He had purposely matched his own outfit to hers, wanting to be as close as possible to her. It was also something they would do in their childhood years nearly every day. Matching their clothes was something they did for the fun of it, any day they could to show everyone they were best friends. Only this time he doesn’t intend it in a best friend manner.

Thranduil never subjected himself to such childish antics due to his old age and had grown quite cold over the years, however he felt it was necessary, even Legolas suggested it. He hated when his son was right, but if he wanted to speak to her he had to make some kind of impression for just disappearing from her life when he was crowned.

She approached the large arched doors and looked over to one of the guards, who let her in immediately, knowing who she was. She bowed her head in thanks and entered the large Palace and could hear many conversations in the distance, so she followed that.

She walked down a long hall which had her turn right and she ended up in the right area, very clearly. It was a beautiful scene, filled with many beautiful elves and willow trees hung low above the area making the place look breathtaking. The only light came from the extra bright moonlight, the full orb casting white rays upon the feast.

She walked among the elves, some of them even greeting her very kindly. A raven haired elf approached with a tray filled with golden chalices filled with wine, she took one and thanked the elf, taking a small sip. She was delighted to be welcomed so quickly, she even had a couple conversations with some. But she stuck to her mission and sought out Lord Elrond, wanting to greet him especially since you hadn’t seen him in quite a while.

She looked among a bunch of elven heads for that very specific head of dark brown hair. Her eyes scanned the room but instead, was met with a pair of piercing blue eyes she remembered all too well..Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the tall elf. His eyes bored into her like she was his prey. She had suddenly felt out of place, she didn’t belong here! She didn’t even belong in this dress..what on earth was she even doing. She sighed and broke her gaze with the King and turned around to leave the dinner, it’s not like anyone would even notice her absence anyways, she was just the seamstress.

She placed her drink down onto a side table and turned around and began to leave, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, a very large hand. She got a whiff of a woodsy, manly scent and turned around, only to be met with the man she couldn’t erase from her mind.

She was bewildered to be stopped by him, it was the last thing she had expected. After an awkward moment of staring at each other, he went to speak.

“Mellon Nin, you look ravishing tonight.”

Thranduil spoke up first, staring down at her with his head tilted down due to her shorter height.

“Thank you, My Lord”

she couldn’t help the blush that covered her pale face and chest. She hadn’t heard Thranduil speak in nearly two thousand years, it was difficult for her to contain herself.

“Please, call me Thranduil. You are no stranger” He said gently, his voice laced with honesty and sympathy. She gave him a slight smile and nodded, letting him know she had acknowledged his request. She took this time to admire him, taking all of him in. He hadn’t really aged much since the last time she saw him but he was definitely older, sharper, and undeniably attractive. But what caught her eye was the overcoat he wore, it precisely matched her dress, the colors, the designs…was it on purpose?

“it’s been quite some time, Thranduil.” She spoke simply, a bit of hurt laced in her words, he may be the King but not in her eyes.

“it has.” he took a large breath through his nose then exhaled before speaking again, “I am pleased that you showed up. I had my doubts you weren’t going to.” He told you truthfully and reached down to take ahold of her hand, his hand dwarfing hers and placing his other hand over it, his thumb gently rubbing over her knuckles. She allowed him to and just looked up into his eyes. Trying to find some sort of emotion behind them, either he was good at hiding it, or he was truly just as cold as you thought.

“I do not know why you invite me, after two thousand years i’d think you have forgotten me.” she gently retracted her hand from his grasp after a moment and clasped them behind her back, her bottom lip quivering slightly. Thranduil faltered at this, his eyes relaxing and looking upon her as if she was a normal elleth. For the first time she actually saw emotion from him, and she was pleased to see this.

“My wrong doings have been heavy on my mind as of late. I am aware it’s been quite some time and i have no right to be putting you in such a position.“ He closed his eyes for a second before fixing his gaze back upon her and exhaling. “I cannot sleep at night knowing what i have done. The thought of you alone keeps me up, and i cannot bare it any longer.”

This made her heart ache for the man in front of her and she went to speak but couldn’t find any words. She let his words simmer first, playing them back in her head as she stared down at her feet. Finally she lifted her head and found Thranduil waiting patiently for a reply, the look of agony painted his face. He was truly in pain for what he had done to you.

“Oh Thranduil..” was all she could muster up and she placed a hand on his forearm, gently rubbing it. “I cannot blame you for doing such. I can only imagine the kind of things that were passed along to you when you were crowned. There is no need for apologies” she told him, giving his arm a small but noticeable reassuring squeeze. “you were never my king..” she then moved her hand to his cheek, gently caressing his porcelain skin, he sighed this time but in relief and endearment, leaning into her soft touch as if he had been yearning for it.

“and you were never just a seamstress..” he returned, making her smile slightly. He brings his hand up to place over hers that occupied his cheek. He took hers in his and placed a feather light kiss to her palm before placing it back to his cheek, closing his eyes to bask in her presence. “It’s always been you Thranduil. From the day i met you all the way until now. No matter what happened, you kept me going.” Her hand slid from his cheek to his chest, resting in the center of his broad chest.

“you are far too fair to be a simple seamstress, i curse myself every day i breathe this air for doing such a thing to you. You should be next to me on the throne, meleth nin..” This made her nearly tear up but she stayed strong, taking a large breath and stepping closer to him.

“Throne or not. I belong by your side, that’s how it always should’ve been.” She told him with sweet, gentle eyes. Making him drop the king act and wrap his arms around her completely and hold her close to him, his chin resting on the top of her head.

It was nearly a cursed sight to see the King doing such a thing, but he did not care because anyone who would like to voice a concern would be seeing the inside of a cell for the rest of their existence.

She buried herself into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut allowing a tear to fall. His hand pet down her hair, the delicate elleth in his arms once again. He felt like he’d just received the greatest gem of all middle earth. “It appears i have broken the King” she chuckled a bit, her words muffled by his chest and she could feel the vibration of his laugh as he did so.

She pulled from him and looked up at him with glossy eyes. He wiped her tears from her cheek with his thumb and gently fixed her stray hairs he’d messed up and bend a finger under her chin.

“I’ll never leave you again, you have my word.” He told her as his thumb ran over her bottom lip tenderly. Her lips curled up into a soft smile, earning a smile from him as well, which was a rare sight to see.

This would be the day known as the first woman to make The King smile.

[lamemaster]

The MOVs

AN: I remember making this entire scenario up with @animatorweirdo and this has lived in my head ever since...it's been years I think. RIP Argorn you would've loved this.

Genre: Fluff

Summary: A society of mortals in Valinor

Pairing: Mentioned Maedhros x Reader

You knock twice on the looming wooden door, mimicking the rhythm of Varda's ancient hymn. Glancing around nervously, you wait. A sliver of light appears as the door creaks open, revealing a glimpse of the man within.

“Password,” a gruff voice whispers.

“Eonwe for president,” you reply softly.

The door swings open wider, pulling you inside.

“Dramatic as ever,” you grin, embracing your friend. Tuor of Huor was the only one who knew the secret to a perfect hug in the land of Aman.

You both turn to nod gratefully at your elven escort, the incomparable Beleg Cuthalion. Trusted with guarding the Mortals' secret meeting place in Valinor, he was a master of blending into the crowd. He disappeared into the alley without a backward glance.

Inside, a warm hearth, steaming tea, and tempting snacks greeted you. Bilbo was already eyeing the food with interest.

Bilbo, Frodo, Gimli, Tuor, and the recent additions of Dior, Earendil, Elrond, and yourself comprised the Mortals of Valinor Society,MOVS,  a secret that continued to baffle the Elves. Peredhel, the newest member, added an intriguing element to their exclusive group.

"What support could you need when you have me?" Maedhros asked, leaning over a counter, trying not to overshare his disapproval of the society that seemed to have his spouse, your attention every other week. He followed you around like a sulking cat. Making his discontent clear.

Ignoring his prying questions, you reign in your smug smile wrapping yourself in a warm scarf, “I know I have you,” you stand on your toes pecking his cheek, “it’s nice to have…my kind. Just to talk, you know.” You try explaining without giving up the meaning behind the meetings.

The meetings started with normal gossip away from elven hearing. This soon morphed into an evening full of dirty jokes, card games, unfiltered messy dances, anecdotes, or the simple pleasure of relishing the ardent, unsettling ire these meetings seem to stir in the hearts of the elven population of Valinor.

So, the challenge came to be. Mortals against the immortals. In their home field.

There have been tries of thwarting the meetings, of spying, and figuring out the secrecy behind the doors. But the MOVS, equipped with quite the team of players had been quick to employ their own elven player. Beleg Cuthalion, the only elf with the patience to hold on to the secrecy and never pry into the matters of mortals.

A reliable ally, who had for now been the reason behind the winning streak behind the mortals. His motives- simple, the smile on Tuor’s face that mimicked Turin’s. And that had been enough for your trusted elf.

Breaking away from Tuor’s hug, you wander into the room filled with the hearty aroma of good food. And today’s object of interest is coveted by the looming figures of Dior and Gimli. “That cannot be,” the half-elven man exclaimed.

“It is not possible in that position,” the Peredhel and dwarven master debate over the crudely drawn porn that you truly were not proud of.

All the while you catch Tuor’s fleeting jest- “The man sighed and replied ‘My left arm is stronger than my right arm’ ” To which Elrond stared back at him confused while Bilbo snickered next to a blushing Frodo.

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes as you observed the heated debate. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," you interjected, your voice cutting through the tension, "any thoughts on the last week’s fest?"

"They would not stop singing!" Earendil exclaimed animatedly, his face flushed with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "For two damn days, it was like a chorus of larks had taken up residence in my halls!"

Frodo nodded vigorously, his face mirroring Earendil's exasperation. "I believe the verse was too dense for musical notes," he added, shaking his head.

And the hall of MOVS erupted into chaos.

[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.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 7 - Magic with a Cost

Galadriel x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Galadriel is weakened after Dol Guldur and you're charged with keeping her safe.

Warnings/Notes: None. Gotta admit I always wondered wtf happened after this scene so here's my rushed take on it.

Word Count: 1527

  Every being must at least once tamper with darkness. Even you had, dancing with the shadows in late nights where it seemed that was the only option left. But you didn’t expect the Lady of Lorien to turn so… terrifying.

  If there was anybody that could banish Sauron back to where he had come from, it would be her, but it didn’t go down how you would have imagined.

  Galadriel was already weakened from reviving Gandalf, her pale body draped loosely across the cold floor of Dol Guldur. But when the evil being began to reform in front of your very eyes, she was suddenly back upon her feet with a new strength.

  Instead of a warm light radiating from her body, it was dark, almost evil. Her hair flew behind her in murky blue strands as if she’d fallen down a well and reemerged soaked to the bone. Her face was dark, eyes wide and wild. You’d never heard a voice as deep and booming as hers as she banished Sauron from this realm with such a power you were almost cowering in fear.

  Though, the second the evil vanished, so did her power.

  Galadriel’s legs stood for only a second longer before she collapsed backwards with a cry. She would’ve fallen onto the ground had you not been there to catch her, slowly lowering her down so she was on the stone once more, her head against your shoulder and your arm around her back. She was shaking as violently as a feather in the wind, trying to catch her breath between weak gasps.

  “I’ve got you…” You whispered, maneuvering the weakened elf so her head could rest easy against your chest. Then you looked up at the others; Elrond and Saruman. “We were deceived.”

  Her shuddering breath tickled your neck, still trembling as the last remnants of her strength filtered from her body. “Sauron… his spirit endured…” She rasped in an airy tone. “We… we must..”

  Galadriel tried to stand but the sudden dizziness that swept her body dragged her back down. Her eyes fluttered shut and a weary moan escaped her lips as she sunk back into you. The idea of standing caused a sickening feeling to spread through her stomach. Oh, she was cold… so cold.

  “Stay still, my Lady…” You murmured into her hair, rubbing your thumb in soft circles over her back in a weak attempt to provide comfort.

  The other two continued their discussion about Sauron, but you could hardly hear them over Galadriel’s heavy but useless breaths. 

  “Y/n.” Elrond suddenly spoke, snapping you out of it. At once you tried to stand, but Galadriel grabbed your arm, leaving you half bent at the knee as she held onto you to keep herself from fully collapsing. “You need to take Lady Galadriel back to Lothlorien.”

  “Me?” You frowned, confused. Though you were Galadriel’s servant, yes, you were still nobody of importance. You’d come along because she asked you to, but the idea of trying to get her home in this state, alone, was terrifying. 

  Galadriel’s hand slipped from your arm but you caught it in hers, squeezing it tight. Her skin was usually quite cool to the touch, but now it was near freezing. 

  “I will help you get her there, but you must care for her after.” Elrond restated his words. His eyes flicked from yours to Galadriel’s as the ancient white being’s head fell onto your leg, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “She needs healing, her strength has been all but destroyed.”

  You moved your hand to rest on Galadriel’s back, fingers trailing loosely through her hair. She could not stay here any longer, that was for sure, even if it seemed impossible to move her. But what other choice did you have? This was your lady, your boss, your friend… If the others trusted you enough to care for her in such a weekend state then so be it.

  “Okay.” 

  It turns out Elrond had predicted something of this manner would happen as he brought an extra horse. The two of you loaded Galadriel’s exhausted body onto the horse and you sat behind her, keeping her on the steed as you raced across the plains and through the forests.

  Lothlorien was only a day away, and with elven horses blessed by Rivendell, you arrived at a little less than that. 

  The healers whisked around you immediately once you arrived, practically carrying Galadriel away for healing. You were not allowed to see her until much later when she had been returned to her chambers.

  You peeked your head into her room, fingers clenched around the doorway. Your eyes fell upon the white shape in bed, asleep.

  With the quietness of a mouse, you snuck further into her room. You placed a tray down on her bedside table, pouring a glass of healing water and setting it aside for her inevitable waking. The healers had done well in changing her into a more comfortable gown but they left her other one folded horribly on the floor.

  You kneeled down to pick up the white fabric, shaking it out. You folded it back up and hummed to yourself. Then you placed the gown on her dresser when you heard her shifting.

  Galadriel’s face was still as pale as snow, though the softest hints of color were returning to her cheeks. She groaned softly in her sleep, eyes fluttering

  When you’d first arrived and spoke to one of the healers you had learned Galadriel had only ever exhausted herself this badly once, though they would not tell you why or how. They reassured you that she just needed rest. Lots and lots of rest. Using all of the power she did had drained her almost to the point of a magic-induced coma, but she was strong enough to fight the tendrils wanting to drag her down. 

  As far as you were concerned, Galadriel’s health and rest was the most important thing. After gazing at her slackened face you decided to have the cooks create her favorite meal so it would be ready when she woke up.

  But as you turned to leave you heard a soft voice.

  “Y/n…?”

  Galadriel’s eyes were hardly open, tiny slits of the ancient blue gazing at your blurry figure. Her soft cry was hardly more than a whimper. She tried to reach for your hand but fell short halfway through.

  You kneeled at her bedside and took her hand into yours. It was still chilly but not as icy as it had been before. A small smile spread across your lips as you looked at her. She really was healing.

  “I’m here…” You whispered. “I’m right here.”

  “I…” Galadriel was too weak to form any words but you sensed her need. You gently lifted her head as you held the glass of water to her lips, letting her drink until the glass was emptied.

  When you laid her head back down, her eyelids sank closed once more, but the corners of her lips were ever so slightly raised.

  “Stay…” She croaked.

  You moved one hand to gently touch the side of her face, fingers feather light across her skin. After you kissed her forehead, you nodded. “I will.”

  You stayed at her side the remainder of the day and even well into the night. Galadriel’s only fear at the moment was being alone, and you weren’t fond of the idea either, so you stayed with her as long as you could.

  By the time the next day rolled around she began to regain some of her strength though she was still bedridden and shaky.

  “Would you be able to stomach some soup?” You entered her room once more with another tray, a warm bowl of soup atop the metal platter. 

  Galadriel blinked a few times, lifting her head. A soft groan escaped her lips from the movement but once her eyes fell upon you and the soup, she smiled weakly.

  “Please.”

  You sat beside her once more, sort of propping her body up against yours. She was far too shaky to hold the spoon herself without spilling the hot liquid so you did it for her, feeding her until she was finished.

  Galadriel was not a fan of being unable to sustain herself but at your side she felt no need to protest. You were a safe presence for her, one she knew she could trust and be weak around. Plus… she secretly enjoyed the way you babied her, though she would never admit it.

  The soup seemed to do her some good as she could sit up on her own now but the idea of standing made her queasy so she stayed beside you in bed. Her body was still struggling to warm itself so at her request you cuddled with her, her head on your chest as your fingers ran gently through her golden hair, keeping her body and heart warm.

  You could certainly get used to a few more days of this. And so could she as the two of you drifted off in each others arms once more.

[marshmellin]

Star and Stone, Ch. 11 | Of Whom the Harpers Sing

Gil-galad was dreaming. Elaniel could both see and not see; hear and not hear. He was almost-but-not-awake. The thread was not gone. He was not gone. He was dreaming about…Elaniel laughed, almost snorted at the relief that flooded through her. He’s dreaming about arguing with Oropher over grain. He is dreaming about fucking grain. He's half alive, leagues apart from her, clinging to life. Clinging to life so he can argue with Oropher in his fever dreams. 

-> COMPLETE! F FOR FIX IT: Explicit for rare smut (🔥) between consenting partners. All other content is Mature for language and canon-typical descriptions of angst/violence. Gil-galad x female OC Sindarin elf, Occurs between the Fall of Ost-in-Edhel in Eregion and the Battle of the Last Alliance. Contains references to other Tolkien lore and the Silmarillion with author notes for full explanations.

Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I try to be as canon-compliant as possible except for the whole 'keeping Gil-galad alive part.' No beta, we die like Mirdania.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

🔥 Explicit content under the cut. S for Smut at the END of the chapter. We made it, crew!🔥

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

You are here -> Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

//

She had heard the battle was won. She had heard that troops were preparing to return and to ready the city for the influx of extra people before the soldiers all scattered to their homes over the coming months. She had heard that Oropher had shown valor on the field and Amdír’s people stood strong, and they were the reason Elendil’s sons were alive. She heard that Elendil’s sons, Anárion and Isildur, had fought gallantly. 

Someone told her how many squares of lembas they had eaten during the siege and offered to show her the small scroll with tick marks. She politely agreed and murmured … well, the young elleth seemed pleased with how Elaniel had responded. 

But it had been two weeks, and Elaniel had not heard anything about Gil-galad. 

She asked. She asked for news about him every time a new group of soldiers flooded her courtyard. And every time she was told — by an uncomfortable and visibly-stressed soldier — “We have no word of our High King or Lord Elrond, Master Elaniel, I am sorry.”

The news she had not been told, but had heard others being told, was that the last thing Lindon’s soldiers saw was Gil-galad charging toward Sauron – Sauron – with the High King Elendil next to him. High King Elendil, who was seen alive after Sauron’s defeat, walking toward Orodruin.

Ah, these soldiers said cautiously around corners among themselves and with their partners, they did not know if he was alive or dead. They were just simple soldiers, you see, and they had not stayed to look at Sauron’s twisted armor once victory was won. They were too far back in the field, that’s how they were here so soon, you see, so they hadn’t really seen it but had heard it, news travels backwards, but they weren’t sure. They had not been ordered to charge, their captains had moved them, their commanders had sent them home, they hadn’t heard anything, they never saw him. 

They did not know that he was dead, they whispered. “….But, well, if High King Gil-galad was alive like High King Elendil…then why isn’t he here?” 

Elaniel had the same question. 

So when the news came that a soldier who just arrived in the courtyard carried a letter from Lord Elrond. From Imladris. She didn’t wait to hear the message. “Prepare a horse for a week’s ride, lieutenant,” Elaniel called brusquely over her shoulder at her guards across the courtyard. 

The Man looked half-startled. “My lady…Lord Elrond was quite insistent in instructing me that, if possible, I should ask you to read the full note very carefully before...” He trailed off, eyes flicking to his guard. The young Man shrugged, his face a blend of an apology, an acknowledgment that Elaniel wasn’t his queen but he was trying for her, and a look that clearly communicated he had no idea why Elrond had yelled at him and perhaps had no real idea who Elrond was. But here he was anyway, so please don’t beat the messenger. 

Exhaling slowly, Elaniel forced herself to relax. “Of course. Thank you… ”

“Ah, I am Héodred, my lady.”

“Thank you, Lord Héodred,” she murmured, inclining her head. The Man wasn’t a lord and she knew it, but the half-smile it earned her was worth it. He had ridden hard and long to bring her this quickly, he was truly just the messenger, and he likely didn’t know how much heartbreak the note may contain.

“I appreciate you delivering Lord Elrond’s message, which I will read in full, as you have most gently encouraged me. Thank you for your service to Lindon. Please, you’ll find food and rest in the barracks,” Elaniel said smoothly, motioning to the nearby guard she had just requested a horse from. The Man walked away with a happy wave at her over his shoulder before turning to the guard to ask about dinner options.

The scroll was small. Closed with a wax seal – that was Elrond’s seal. Elrond was in Imladris. Her brain could barely keep up: joy that this meant Elrond was safe and…

Elrond. What the hell is in this note? If you tell me over a note while I’m alone, I…

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. She felt her throat tightening around her emotions and she prepared herself to make a scene. Opening the scroll here was not an option as more soldiers flooded into the courtyard. Waiting to move was not an option as her heartbeat roared in her ears.  

Elaniel had never been a woman to wait. She ripped open the scroll, letting the fine metal container drop to the stones with a faint ringing sound. 

— Elaniel, Gil-galad is alive and with me in Imladris. He was very badly wounded, but he is alive. Master Healer Nestoril is attending to him, and she insists she will not allow him to be moved until he is awake. Her expertise cannot be matched, and her skill is why I diverted from our path to Lindon and brought Gil-galad here. Gil-galad must stay in Imladris under Nestoril’s care until he is able to be moved. 

I know your urge will be to come to him as quickly as you can. I would do the same if it were Celebrían. I would not waste time reading this note before I left for her. But as a member of your council, I fear I must advise you differently: Stay in Lindon, my lady. Warriors are returning, and with them comes the news of those who have passed to the Halls and can never return. They need a strong foundation to rebuild their lives, and they will look to you as their leader. Moreover, your people’s safety can not be left to another. There is no one else to leave it to. Your duty to your people is not done.

Galadriel is commanding all troops under Gil-galad’s banner to begin the march back to Lindon, clearing orc encampments on the way. She leads on the field and Celeborn leads their realm alone so that you and I may remain. You can do more good in Lindon than here, High Queen. As soon as Gil-galad can travel, I swear my oath to you, I will bring him home to you.  

- Elrond  —

It felt like every box she had shoved her feelings inside unlatched. Exploded. Too many emotions hit her at once. 

He was alive. He was alone. Elrond was right and she should stay in Lindon to lead her people — no decent foreman leaves the worksite after an accident; no leader leaves after the problem starts. She was queen for these people. So she would stay. Except that she was not queen and he was not king: those were job titles they shared, like builder or smith or healer or warrior. They were Ereinion and Elaniel, and he needed her and she needed him, and they were too far apart, and she knew how to fix that: ignore Elrond and leave for Imladris immediately. He would not lock the gates of his city to his High Queen. If he did, she’d lay siege to it. She had the soldiers, she knew every weakness in every defensive wall around that city and she would get to Gil-galad one way or another. Elrond would not keep her from him. She took an oath to these people — her people — to lead as their regent, and that oath must be stronger than her terror, and she must stay. What if he never wakes? She couldn’t pick up a butter knife against Elrond, truly. Gil-galad was alive. Elves were hardy creatures. He was very hurt if he could not come home yet. Very hurt if Elrond took him to Imladris. So much so that Elrond did not describe how hurt. Elrond was also a skilled healer— and Gil-galad was the one who taught him how to tell half a truth in place of a full lie. How badly was he hurt, Elrond? How long does Master Nestoril estimate before he wakes, Elrond? Where was he hurt, Elrond? Is he in pain, Elrond? Had he woken at all during these weeks, Elrond? No, Elrond is a fool, she’d leave for Imladris now, and she’d live alone with Gil-galad in the Ettenmoors, and she dared any sonofabitch to come find them because she’d spill blood with her bare hands first. He was alone. He would want her to stay here. He truly would want her to stay here. He had asked her to stay here. He was alone. 

If he was alone, then she was alone. 

Elaniel took a steadying breath and looked for the thread in her chest, the one she had learned to tug on for his attention. It felt thin. Frayed. Elaniel had worried that was what it felt like when…She never truly asked someone what it felt like when their spouse faded to Aman. If that thread went away. She didn’t want to know. 

Elaniel tugged on the thread — gently, as though she was afraid to break it. She was afraid. She didn’t feel anything in return, no tug back, no content humming of a harp string. But she knew he was here, Elrond said he was here, and Elrond would not lie to her. Not that much. She pushed harder, toward the shimmering edges in her mind. Looking for that familiar warmth, the place that felt familiar. 

She found it. 

Gil-galad was dreaming. Elaniel could both see and not see; hear and not hear. He was almost-but-not-awake. The thread was not gone. He was not gone. He was dreaming about…Elaniel laughed, almost snorted at the relief that flooded through her.

He’s dreaming about arguing with Oropher over grain.

He is dreaming about fucking grain.

He's half alive, leagues apart from her, clinging to life. Clinging to life so he can argue with Oropher in his fever dreams. 

Despite the ridiculousness of it all, Elaniel felt a measure of peace. Gil-galad truly wasn’t in more pain than any other Anyara afternoon, huffing at Oropher’s letters.  And, if she were being honest, though she would never state this to him and she acknowledged that “watching someone’s dreams” was not a science, but…it felt like Gil-galad was losing this fake argument. Even his own subconscious wouldn’t give him a break over the damn grain. It would follow him past the Halls. Past Aman. 

His contribution to the Second Music of the Ainur — to the remaking of the world — is going to be a long prelude and fugue about grain with a background choir cursing Oropher to underscore his point. 

Oh, morconínya. You are nothing if not predictable and consistent. But you are here. Grow accustomed to conversations about grain because I will not stop teasing you about this for at least an Age. 

“High Queen?” A tentative question from behind her broke the silence. 

Elaniel had not realized she had started crying until a tear had rolled off the end of her chin and splashed against the note. She turned, rolling the parchment tightly in her hand, to see Lithrandir stepping forward. Quickly wiping tears on the back of her hand, she looked up, meeting his gaze. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

He shifted uncomfortably. A sign of vulnerability Elaniel had not expected. “High Queen, this is forward of me to ask, and I apologize, but the Guards have discussed with each other and we wonder…Do you have any word you can share with us of the High King, my lady?” He motioned at the scroll in her hand. “I…it is not appropriate to ask about your correspondence. I do not want to presume and I am sincerely apologetic for being so forward. But….my lady, we care for him, so I must ask. Though I humbly understand if your response must be no, High Queen, or anger,” He finished, dipping his head low in deference. Behind him, the other two members of the guard detail nodded solemnly. 

A faint memory of something Gil-galad had said once: it’s a great honor to be a guard of Lindon. He was close to them. They had worried for him. They had fought with him; for him. 

“Yes,” Elaniel said softly, not quite yet out of the hazy feeling of watching Gil-galad’s thrilling grain dream. “He’s alive, but he can’t return from Imladris yet.”

Lithrandir breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He looked hopeful now. “Should I still fetch your horse, my lady? We can prepare for a week’s hard ride and leave within the hour at your command.” 

Elaniel was trapped for a moment. 

She hadn’t decided until she heard the next set of soldiers coming into the courtyard, shepherding civilians with them…a group of Men with children. They looked scared, eyes darting around the courtyard, looking for other men and women they knew who had made it out. 

She knew that look well. 

Elaniel sighed heavily. “No, thank you, Lieutenant.” She turned to meet Lithrandir’s now eager eyes. “Lithrandir, I must stay. We must stay. I know,” she murmured almost soothingly as his face fell. “I know. I agree. But we need to help these people find safety and blankets. We’ll stay here until they have them.”

Gil-galad would come back. These Men were here now. 

Lithrandir looked to the side for just a pause too long, weighing his options. If he wanted to leave regardless. His eyes met hers and he nodded. “You are right, my lady.” He raised his voice, calling behind his shoulder to the other two to get healers to look after the children first and bring food. 

The lead soldier from the group escorting the refugees had come to murmur in Elaniel’s ear that they were from a small village near Eryn Vorn and more were coming to join them. The orcs didn’t have supply lines anymore. Or commanders to hold them back. 

Elaniel walked over to the group of people huddled in the courtyard, standing there simply: a dark blue dress. No crown. No jewelry. Hair tied up in a plain bun. She repeated the first words she had ever heard in Lindon. Words she had never forgotten and had used many times since.  

“I welcome you all to Lindon, I invite you to stay with us as if this were your own home. You are safe within our borders, and your lives here will be as peaceful as the stars allow. Come; rest in safety with us.”

//

Elaniel thought it must be orcs, but then she should have heard them far before the angry shouts outside her chamber door. It took her a moment to blink away the haze behind her eyes — it had been a long day, and she was deep asleep, and that added to her confusion. Her eyes flicked to the short sword leaning near her dressing table, but she discarded that thought quickly when she realized: The shouting was Elrond’s voice. 

Elaniel stood and threw on a robe, nearly running to the door. “Elrond—“

“As I said she would,” Elrond gritted at the guard who held him, jerking his arm out of the guard’s grip. The same guard who looked like he would save her life with or without her approval. Elrond looked angry enough to kill him.

Again. Elrond may not be a Fëanorian but did spend quite a large portion of his formative years with them…this sweet, scholarly, politically-minded ellon has worn a battle braid, I’ve seen it. 

“What the f— release him! Elrond, I apologize,” she said sternly, looking at the guard who had taken just one second too long to let go of Elrond’s arm. The guard looked back impassively. He did not care in the slightest who Elrond was. He barely cared who she was. 

Elaniel unceremoniously hauled Elrond into the doorway and waved off the enthusiastic guard. “Elrond, what are you doing—“ 

“Gil-galad is here; he’s in the rooms nearby. Master Nestoril gave him herbs that helped him fall asleep so we could travel safely. He will sleep for a few more hours before he wakes again, but he’s been conscious and has asked after you.”

Elaniel had started walking as soon as she heard the word “nearby,” Elrond matching pace with her and speaking as they hurried. She paused only when she reached the door, Master Nestoril outside the door speaking to a younger healer. As Elaniel approached, Nestoril all but shooed the apprentice away. 

“Master Elaniel,” she began, long knowing Elaniel’s preferred title. Her accent made her words sound musical. “High King Gil-galad has healed well from his injuries, and we—“

“What injuries?” Elaniel asked quickly. She felt Elrond stiffen next to her, ready to interject, but Nestoril was faster. 

“Severe burns and two deep wounds, one in his right shoulder from an arrow wound and one in the lower portion of his left thigh. We are unsure of the cause of the thigh wound, but I believe it was a…” Nestoril hesitated for a brief moment. “A weapon laced with dark magic of some kind.” From her tone, she did not like dealing in anything with the words dark magic in it. “His leg wound is currently of most concern, though I want to stress that he is otherwise well and is improving each day. I am unsure if the…dark magic will have lasting effects or what those may look like.”

“What state was he in when he came to Imladris?"

“Lord Elrond used Vilya on the field to stabilize Gil-galad, as well as keep him comfortable on the long journey to Imladris. He showed signs of being severely burned and had many broken bones. My understanding is that Lord Elrond continued to use…the ring to provide care and healing.” Give her tone, it seemed Nestoril didn’t like any kind of magic.

Elrond was nearly vibrating with concern, his eyes flicking between the two of them. He knew all of this. He was concerned about how Elaniel was being told these things he already knew.  

So Elaniel overruled him again and nodded, thankful for transparency for once. “Can I see him?”

Nestoril paused a moment. “You may enter the room, but I would prefer you try not to wake him. I want him to rest for as long as possible.”

Elaniel nodded again. “Do I need to prepare myself for…any thing that may be different?” she asked matter-of-factly. 

“No, nothing of meaningful note. There is scar tissue near both wounds that is fading. Most of his burns have been attended to with minor effort. There is one permanent burn scar near his left collarbone that he confirms does not cause him pain.”

That phrasing caught Elaniel’s attention. “Is there other pain he has confirmed he does feel?”

Elrond opened his mouth at that and stepped forward to interject, but again, Nestoril spoke directly to Elaniel and did not wait. “Yes. Gil-galad has confirmed his thigh wound causes ongoing discomfort. He has described it, rather vividly, I think, as a “hissing” feeling under his skin. The pain is not enough to cause him visible distress, and he says he can manage it. I find I do not trust him to be the most truthful patient,” she said with a knowing half-smile, “so I will continue to look for ways to alleviate it. Again, dark magic is unpredictable. The facts I can assure you of are simple: he is alive, his pain is moderate, and he will soon be well enough to begin light activity. The healers will come into his rooms every hour. I will want reports on how he is resting. Just until he wakes again.”

Elaniel let out a deep breath. She thought she felt Elrond do the same next to her. 

“I’m going in to see him now. Thank, Master Nestoril.” Elaniel cleared her throat lightly to keep herself from crying.

Nestoril inclined her head again, closing her eyes in thanks. She and Elrond turned away to give Elaniel a semblance of privacy.

Elaniel paused with her hand hovering over the door handle, willing herself to be calm. To be patient. Not to wake him. She all but crept into the room. It was softly lit, and she remembered she had been here before — before Gil-galad had left. Elaniel stopped for a moment, still by the doorway, pausing to watch his chest rise and fall. 

He was here. Finally.  

Still as quiet as she could be, she took off the robe she had thrown on over her pajamas and carefully considered his position on the bed. Nestoril seemed more concerned about the thigh on his left side than the shoulder. 

Just like him to injure both sides. 

Elaniel padded to the right side of the bed and lifted up the edge of the duvet, gently — gently, so so so slowly — lowered herself onto the bed, careful not to touch him. Mostly. She turned on her side, head propped up on one arm as she watched him breathing again in the lamplight. The best, most visible reminder that he was here. Back. 

Elaniel had been so careful, but she let herself take one risk. 

She laced her fingers with his and fell asleep watching him breathe, feeling the contended hum through their hands as the familiar thread around her heart grew stronger. 

//

“So, I have spoken with the healers,” Elaniel began softly, walking back to close the door and flip the lock. 

Gil-galad sighed, settling back into the pillows. “Absolutely no more green medicine. I do not care what Elrond said, I do not care if I die, drinking it does more harm than good,” his voice took the edge of a child’s whine. 

She laughed lightly and moved toward the bed. “I’m a builder, not a healer. I can’t control what medicines they give you.” Elaniel pulled a stool up next to him, hand reaching out to smooth a lock of hair from his brow. 

“But I will make you follow the healer’s recommendations,” she added as an afterthought, pretending to look into the distance. “If you have to be held down to drink it, then so be it.”

He sighed, laughing gently at her joke. “And what did the healers say? Must I sit still without moving for a week? Eat every radish in the city? What do they want now?”

Gil-galad’s frustration was both constant and endearing. He was not an ellon — a king — accustomed to sitting or waiting. And now, he must do both. But…he had healed just enough. 

Elaniel reached out, her knuckles brushing against his cheek. Her fingers trailed down the side of his face to graze his jaw, gliding down the column of his neck.     

“No, Nestoril didn’t mention radishes,” she said as though lost in thought, drawing his arm into her lap to trace patterns on his skin. “But she has decided you are well enough for light exercise. Though,” she said teasingly, “I can find you radishes.”

“Oh, please, no,” he laughed. “Does she want…Walking is still….”  His voice trailed off, vulnerability in his eyes. Gil-galad did not like admitting he could not do something. 

“Ah, no, you may not put weight on your leg for any long periods, I’m afraid. However, she has suggested you should begin light activity.” 

Technically. Technically, Nestoril had suggested singing or very light horse riding. If Elaniel played her hand well, he’d do both by the end of the night…in a manner of speaking. 

Elaniel changed her tone to something deeper. “They have made their suggestions. Yet I find I have some ideas of my own on what you need right now.”

“Oh?” Gil- murmured in reply, his tone innocent, the smile he reserved just for her spreading across his face. “Very intriguing. Not a healer, but you're already formulating your own theories. I chose my wife well,” he said with a purposefully arrogant grin. 

Leaning forward from the chair she was in, Elaniel’s fingers continued their slow journey down his body, moving along the edge of the bandages wrapped over his shoulder. She traced a fingernail down his sternum, and his eyes fluttered closed as goosebumps broke out across his chest. 

She ignored his soft intake of breath and let her hand wander. Down to his stomach, against firm abs, still scribing invisible patterns in his skin. He sighed, and she could feel the contentment — satisfaction with a tinge of desire — running through him.

Every sound he made sent heat lancing through her. 

The healers said he was quite well for light activity. And they had both waited long enough. So, with no warning, she left her chair and quickly climbed on the bed, hiking her skirts up with her. 

“Elaniel, wait—” Gil-galad began, his voice a strained protest, but it was too late.

Before he could stop her, she was there, straddling him. He inhaled sharply, his hands jumping to her waist to lift her, repositioning her against him slightly, closer to his waist.

Elaniel winced in apology, shifting her weight forward to her knees. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he lied unconvincingly. “I was startled, ilmarënin. You move so fast when you jump to my lap,” he ended with a small chuckle. 

Gil-galad was right. Elaniel always made herself count down before moving to him when she wanted to kiss him, always planning to count down from five. She had never made it past three before she jumped in his lap, and that was before they had been married and immediately forced apart for years. 

Leaning over him, gingerly now, she planted her hands next to his shoulders and inched her knees out, giving him room to move her if she pressed to close. Their lips met, and he was eager to touch her, his hands roaming over her, up her back, moving up her sides to cup her breasts. 

Almost experimentally, she leaned back, bracing herself against his abs for support as she moved.  She rolled her hips over him, feeling his hardness growing beneath her, watching for any sign she caused him pain. He groaned, so deep and low that she felt the rumbling under her hands and the sound bolted through her. 

It was not the sound of pain.

It was lust. 

And her immediate goal was to make him do it again. 

She straightened her back and grabbed at her dress, yanking it over her head and throwing it to the corner of the room without looking. It hit the wall with a satisfying sound, leaving her in an undershift. 

His hands skimmed her bare legs now, sliding under the last piece of clothing she wore, causing goosebumps to break out under his rough fingertips.  

He craned up to her, hands cradling the small of her back, and leaned on his forearm to roll them over, but she stopped him with a firm hand against his — broad, muscled, warm — chest. “Ah-ah,” she chided. 

His brows drew together in confusion, hands dropping from her instantly. “Did I—“

“You’ll pull at your stitches, you have to lay back.”

Payback is delicious. 

Gil-galad frowned deeply. “I do not have any stitches,” he started to complain, rearing up on his left elbow — the only good arm he had right now, she noted — barely hiding a wince at the motion. 

Unconvincing, morconinya. 

“But if you did,” Elaniel said firmly, “you would be pulling at them. Lay back,” she repeated, splaying her second hand across his chest and giving him a slight push. She pulled her shift off over the top of her head and flung it, where it landed in the same pile as her dress. 

And she didn’t know if it was her tone or her breasts that got his attention first, but he stopped protesting immediately and fell back to the pillows, dark hair falling in a wreath around his head. 

“I’m simply following their recommendations.” She raised an eyebrow, adopting a false, no-nonsense tone. “I’m here to help you get your blood moving. Can you stay still for me?”

His breathing hitched. “Elaniel…”

She flipped her tone for one brief second to sincerity and love, leaning close to his ear to whisper fiercely, “And if your leg hurts, you must tell me.”

Gil-galad laughed and jerked her hands, pulling her closer to his chest. She fell off balance, landing on him again. Elaniel noticed he had held her arm so she could not hit him in his hurt shoulder as she fell. Unconvincing. But careful, at least. 

She didn’t change her expression at all “Ereinion. You know this is not what the healers said.” Her eyes flared in the light. “Promise me.”

Brown eyes softening, Gil-galad placed a playful kiss on the end of her nose. “I promise. You will not hurt me, but I will tell you if you do.”

Tell me, but not stop me. Elaniel narrowed her eyes, but she knew this was the best she was going to get from him. Today or ever, likely. 

“Thank you,” she said, adopting her no-nonsense tone again, pushing herself up off his chest again. She had to inch her way up — or, well, down his chest — and he laughed at the soft presses against his stomach as she straightened into place. 

Warm hands splayed across her thighs, starting to trail up to her hips, against her sides, reaching up to cup her breasts. He murmured quiet praises, how she looked, how soft her skin was, how much he had missed her, how he would never leave her again, how he had thought of her and imagined her while he was gone. His hands roamed, and she shivered, rocking against his cock beneath her — just to keep him interested, of course, and not because she could already feel how wet she was. 

And then, because Ereinion Gil-galad, Scion of Kings has never learned a single lesson in his long, long life, he started to sit up again…

Elaniel placed a hand against his chest, shaking her head. Gil-galad inhaled deeply and sighed, his muscles unclenching as he clearly forced himself to lay back — sullenly, if it was possible to flop in such a way — his hair billowing behind him once more.

“It is cruel to show a hungry man a feast and tell him he may not eat,” he muttered sullenly in Sindarin, misquoting an old Teleri proverb as his eyes raked across her naked body. 

“I am not telling you that you may not eat.” Elaniel paused, tapping her fingertips on his bare chest. Focus, morconinya. Focus. “I am asking if you would like me to feed you tonight.”

She felt his cock twitch under her, through the thin pants he wore, the only clothing between them now. As he finally, finally, finally fully understood her meaning. Has Gil-galad always been this confused about Sindarin proverbs? All Sindarin proverbs? For such an intelligent ellon...

His cock twitched again, and she decided it was enough now. They had waited enough, now.

And that was how she found herself riding him, bouncing on his cock and moaning in the loudest and most undignified way she ever had. He gently pulled her closer to take a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling, his other hand skimming down her side

She arched, and his hands moved around her waist. With a small gasp, she was no longer in charge of the movement. He lifted her up and back down, his hips rising to pound into her, and she moaned louder. Gil-galad was fully lifting her now and holding her in place as he thrust into her, hands still wrapped around her waist, thumbs making soothing circles around the dip between her stomach and her thighs.

Neither of them were going to last long and that wasn’t the point. 

She was bracing herself with both hands against his biceps until he softly asked her to touch herself for him. It took her less than a minute before she came apart. Her hands flew to his chest as she rolled her hips, grinding herself through it, letting herself cry out as loudly as she wanted. With a few erratic thrusts and a groaning sound, he joined her, gritting out stilted Quenya as he came. 

They stayed there for a moment; she had fallen against his chest as their breathing started to synchronize. He gently nudged her to settle beside him, her head falling on his shoulder. 

“Mmm,” Gil-galad sighed contentedly, nuzzling into her temple. “No, I’ve evaluated it, and we have got to stop getting wounded. The side effects are….particularly pleasant. But surely there is another way.”

Elaniel bit her lip. “If this is how we manage while one of us is wounded, I, ah, shudder to think of what we’ll accomplish at full health.” A pause while Gil-galad arched an eyebrow at her and her poorly crafted double entendre. She smiled, tracing his collarbone. “I’ve thought about it, and you’re right. I am interested in the bracers.” 

He chuckled softly. 

“Maybe the full armor,” she continued, letting her voice go dreamy at the thought. “It is designed for freedom of movement, is it not?” 

A small laugh as he sighed, pulling her closer into his arms. 

“Mm,” she continued thoughtfully. “The chainmail poses a problem if you’re expecting me both to be naked and ride you, though, but I think you’re clever enough to find a workaround for me if I ask, yes?”

His laugh finally rang throughout the room, just as she’d hoped. It had been too long since she’d heard it. 

//

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

You are here -> Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

[black-dhalias]

To the Horizon

Haldir X F!Reader — Lord of the Rings

There is a moment when the sun is not visible, where light brushes the heavens horizon and mountains crest dark shadows over mist. A moment easily unseen, and rarely enjoyed. In that hour, a daughter is born. Conceived in the Lonely Mountain— carried across Middle Earth, born in the Woodland Palace to Elondiel. Wife of Thorin Oakensheild, daughter of Lord Thranduil, and mother to last heir of Erebor. Lady Y/N, of wood and stone.

Elondiel loved only one, waiting for Y/N to come of age so that she may finally sail to the undying lands. Thranduil had long sailed, Y/N the heir to two realms—carrying the fate of many as they awaited. That day came and went, and Y/N began to follow in their uncle’s footsteps—crossing lands and meeting strangers. They wanted to understand all of Middle Earth, but time was not on their side, and soon the throne of elves and dwarves called for their rightful Queen. A call Y/N answered swiftly.

Legolas returned with you, if only for a few years, to ease the transition and advise his niece. He felt responsible, had he wanted the throne—then you never would have to rule over both realms. But he didn’t. So heavy is the crown atop your head.

Soon it was only you, a quiet and hefty silence as you sat within the woodland realm. No one to listen. A lonely soul, plagued with only stories of your families lineage and triumphs—and no one to share the burden.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” Echoes of shouts vibrate the walls of Rivendell, your cloak resting easy on your shoulders as you and your party make their way to the council. Legolas had written to say he would attend on behalf of elves, but you worried— you needed to see the ring for yourself. To know exactly what kind of world you inherited. “NEVER TRUST AN ELF!” How original? You think quietly to yourself as the shouts grow closer, echoing less, but instead becoming much louder.

But chaos dies as another pipes up, one smaller and unfamiliar— young, that would be the word you would use. You walk in silently, not needing grandeur, but watching as all eyes turned to the small hobbit. As your uncle joins the party, he spots you amongst soldiers. Curious, and curiouser.

You smile at the hobbit— “Master Frodo Baggins. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Elrond raises his brow, leaning into his podium at the head of the council. “I’m Y/N, my parents and your uncle lead a great quest together. It would be an honor to uphold that alliance, and join your company.” There’s a whisper amongst the guards that harsh with a glance, you had decided long before arrival.

It is time to live up to your bloodline.

“Y/N, you can’t just join a quest.” You ignore Aragorn as the rest of the fellowship rest together.

“And yet, I did.” You deadpan, sorting your arrows into your quiver—preparing new feathers to go at the end of the shafts.

“Because who’s going to tell the Queen of Erebor AND the woodland.. NO!” His voice raises at the end as you rest the quiver on your thigh and look up at him with a bitter edge.

“Obviously the should be King of Gondor is trying!” You spot Legolas rolling his eyes, he’d already had this same argument and lost just Aragorn is going to lose now.

“That’s low.” You glare at Gimili who chooses now to speak up, as he gives a throaty chuckle. But he silenced himself, knowing full well you still had not forgiven him for his earlier comment about elves. You were half elf yourself, and were a testament of love between elves and dwarves.

“Shut it, Gimili.” You look back at Aragorn, “If I am to have a realm to look after, then I must help. At least for the better half of the journey.” You pause, “do something other than wait in those halls of stone.” So many hid away from Sauron, but your world needs some willing to stand and you are one of those. Have been for a long time.

The world has grown much harsher than the stories your mother told you, and much darker than she probably could have imagined. “Believe me Aragorn. If they were going to budge, I’d have convinced them myself.” Legolas smirks from his small perch, “But remember who their parents and grandparents are, probably the most stubborn people to ever walk middle earth.” To which you roll your eyes.

“Says the ellon who is related to two of those stubborn people.” His cheeks rise as you sling your quiver over your back, having finished another small batch of arrows.

He tsks, “Aaaa but see that’s only half, of what makes up a whole you.” Legolas does, however, finally look at Aragorn with a shrug. “Might as well keep moving, not like they’re turning back now.” Aragorn sighs with defeat, it makes sense that you and Legolas are cut from the same cloth— stubborn is apart of their threading. In their DNA.

.

.

.

The image of Gandalf falling to his death burns into your memory, you hoped for a moment that the Wizard would live. But you did not see him rise from the shadow. That is when the fear set in, when you could not look away from Uncle without worrying he would be gone the second you did so. Worried that the last of your family would die before the end of this journey, but for now, as Lothlorien grows closer. You ache for sweet peace, to sleep without that fear. Maybe this was a mistake, but you must continue onward because the fellowship will continue.

“Haldir…” You whisper, watching as he corners the poor dwarf and hobbit—you met him twice before, once in Lothlorien with Legolas and once when he escorted Celebron to your coronation.

“Y/N.” You silence his taunts to Gimili, because with you in his sight he could not think of anything witty. You make it impossible to think at all if he were completely honest with himself. There is something that is both enchanting and discouraging about your aura, it is one that is both gentle and regal. You carry a name that weighs heavily on his mind when the tightness in his chest arises. He may be the Marchwarden, but he is not anything close to exemplary—nothing special that deserves such kindness from the likes of you.

For you, Haldir represents something very different than how he perceives himself. While he bowed his head in respect, unlike most ellons who ran out of fear. He seemed to draw closer the more he knew about you.

“Tonight is quite special, as we welcome my niece to the throne.” You smile up at your uncle as you stand to the side, eyes shift to you, but you ignore them. “She rises as a new dawn for elves and dwarves alike, a united rule—a great queen.” Words, that’s all they are, but they are kind at least. Unlike the words some spit in your direction, but the weight of the woodland crown reminds you of the truth— that you are above such words. You must be.

But the truth is, rumors slipped away the closer the throne got because you were meant to be above it all. You told yourself their lies did not matter until that was exactly what happened, their lies began to mean nothing. Legolas raises his glass, "To our queen, may the company you keep be sweet, but the wine sweeter." This was the uncle many did not see, the one who lifted his glass high and downed the wine quickly. No longer burdened with the future on his shoulders, you hear he seems lighter than he was before.

You bring the wine to your lips, but never let them part—before setting the glass on the table, still filled, but your lips tinted red.

"Malady Y/N..." Haldir leans in to kiss the top of your knuckles, his warm palm still wrapped around your fingertips as he smiles at you. "Congratulations."

"Haldir, no need for formalities. We are friends." As you speak though, he adjusts your hand to rest it on his arm. Pulling you close as he guides you through the party.

"The greatest of friends, but tonight, you are Queen alone." His eyes dance, glittering in the starlight—The Woodland Realm never seemed so bright. To him, or to you. "Although despite the never ending wine, your glass never empties?" It's not so much a question, because you know he noticed your like of appetite.

"I haven't eaten all day." Your breath falters, "A sip would probably send me to the floor." An exaggeration, but not by much— you really aren't sure why your stomach seemed to be in knots. You've wanted this your whole life, you loved adventure, but you loved this world too.

"A sip?" He grabs a tray of pastries, fluffy breads with soft jams and cheeses— arms still intertwined, you leave the main room quickly. Laughing as he speaks, "Well can't have that." Only you. He was the collected and cold marchwarden, but you made him giddy. You caused butterflies in his chest and hope to take root in his thoughts, for once he is able to imagine a future beyond Lothlorien. While he made you calm, he took every anxiety and turned it to mush before your eyes. He fixed problems that you didn't know there was an answer to. He made life simple.

You bite down on a raspberry tart, enjoying the sour and sweet bursts. The crust flaky and melting on your tongue—and Haldir simply smiles. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you were kind first." Even before he was marchwarden, you treated him as an equal—someone with value. Not every royal saw them as the same, but you did. You did not care about the color of his cloak or the tone of his hair, his rank or his wealth. You didn't care about status at all. That was what made you so good, and so intriguing. His smile almost falters, but instead it just softens: "You were kind when I was nothing."

You lift his chin, keeping his icy orbs on you—trying to imagine a deeper shade to fall into, but you can't. You'd drown in those eyes if that was possible. "You were never nothing."

You stay to the back of the party, waiting until everyone has passed to smile at Haldir. Happy to see someone you are so familiar with. If you're honest, it's been a long journey. "Dearest Y/N." He whispers, embraces you close to his body, chin resting on top of your head. You shut your eyes, pushing the air out of your lungs, but intake sharply as your hand grabs at your wound harder. You weren't expecting it to hurt so bad.

His brow creases as he scans over your form, trying to find the source of your pain and even when he does. His expression remains even, and controlled. It's like every amount of history melted away and left the marchwarden in front of you. Your eyes grow heavy, but you force yourself to stay upright—just trying to get a read on him, but it's pointless because he's already tucking his arm under your armpits. Taking on most of your weight as you breathe deeply, he moves without words—this is the coldest he's ever been with you.

But he's not wrong to rush you to the medical wing, because by the time you're there—you're struggling to see the world clear. Everything blurring together as you lean into him, his words getting lost in the haze. It's like a slow fade that speeds up, colors blend until only the blue of his eyes are clear. How are they so clear?

You hear bits though, shards of conversation. "High priority..." "slash..." "Lost a lot of blood..." But it all goes dark eventually, and you let your body slip into the mattress. The thing is, it's a cold table you lay on—you were never on a mattress. There was never anything soft beneath you besides the palms of Haldir's hand when he lifted you onto the wood.

You had half expected for the darkness to pass quickly, and it did, but you did not wake. Instead, you remain still on the table with only memories to keep you company.

Legolas glances down at you as the Realm of Light comes into view, the way your eyes light up as the adventure draws to a close. You hadn't been this far from the Woodland realm before, the furthest you've ever been being the Lonely Mountain. Your mother had just set sail, her heart too broken to remain in MiddleEarth so it was just you and your uncle Legolas. With them gone, he had taken it upon himself to prepare you for your future, the next thousand years you would spend ruling the elves and dwarves. Before that, he wanted you to see the beauty of the world that is kissed by sunrises and sunsets.

Then it begins to shift, not just watching, but it feels as though you are reliving the past. Is it the past? Maybe you had been dreaming up until now, maybe none of it happened yet? Maybe you imagined the future? You glance down at your hands, wiggling your fingers to see them move as you command. You feel your heart pound in your chest— the overlay of purple flowers in full bloom, spread across the bottom branches of the trees. You don't remember ever leaving the Fellowship, but you also clearly remember living this memory before. But it washes over you, embracing every limb and facet of your being as you smile.

At first, Legolas is the one leading you into the hall of light, guards surrounding on both sides. Upon reaching the hall, all of them part off to leave you at the forefront—you are the one that matters right now. Lady Galadriel smiles, you've seen many portraits of her, but none of them could ever compare to her beauty. You bow your head: "Milady."

In return, as you life your head, she bows to you, as does Lord Celeborn. "Lady Y/N of the Greenwood and The Lonely Mountain." Your title has changed, but you shake off the pinch and continue to live out the past. No the present.... This, you just want to feel like you used to feel. How you felt when you first met him. 

Lady Galadriel tilts her head, watching you curiously—but words never leave her lips. Instead, she gestures to the ellon to her right with a smile. "I'm sure you are tired from you journey." You nod, but never dare look away from him—it's a wonder to re-live falling in love. To feel as you felt then. "Haldir will show you the way, he will also be your guard for your time here." Hmmmm, but you do not fight—too curious and too, well you don't know the word. Just that you want to know more.

Oddly enough, he doesn't say a word as he walks in front of you--hands tucked behind his back and posture much stiffer than you would like. You had spent far too long wondering if people would treat you differently, and the truth is, they do. You will always be treated differently, and you'll just have to come to terms with that. The silence drags almost as long as the halls, your throat goes dry until the words just spill off of your tongue. 

"You could say something... Anything... Honestly, I'm neither mute or too tired, and a little conversation would be nice." He doesn't say anything, but you see his fingers flex into his palm and you sigh loudly. It's the same story, even here—and your uncle Legolas hadn't even had time to say a word. People just naturally care too much about the title and think it means more than it does, that it changes a person, but it's all very isolating. 

You remember then very clearly, the way he seemed to hide the smile with a cough. But his eyes find yours, and your return the smile.

When you awoke, your body could not move—stuck, but you could feel the soft grasp of a hand wrapped around your own. The sensation was innocent, and you drifted off under the protection of Haldir because it couldn’t have been anyone else.

.

.

.

No one said a word as darkness descended upon Helm's Deep, in that silence, you feel Haldir's fingers wrap around your own. You had not counted on him arriving, thought that he would be safe in the Realm of Light, but you were thankful for the comfort.

The Marchwarden of Lothlorien had gained many things in the last few years, your comforting touch was by far the most valuable. You made every day worth existing, and every moment more enticing. You were as steady as the woodland realm and as mighty as the lonely mountain—you were neither entirely dwarf nor elf, but you were perfect.

“If tonight is my last, I am grateful to have spent it with you.”

“If tonight’s my last, then—” You pull him into you, he’s much taller but it doesn’t take much to bring him close. “Then I want you to know I choose you. Under every moon and star, no one in middle earth compares Haldir.”

Something in the way his eyes shift, you note the shimmer of light as the stars burn above. All of the fear, the desperation and love—above all else, you love Haldir.

Your other hand finds itself embracing his cheek as you bring him to your lips, letting all of the love pour through you. Desperate to keep him there—knowing you love him so. He speaks through the kiss, foreheads together as he pulls you close.

“If tonight is my last, know a day with you is more than a hundred centuries without. Your name on my last breath.”

“If tonight is my last, know it’s always been you.”

I’ll let you decide what happens next, if they live or die—this is where this ends.

•Much love, Ellie•

[fili-urzudel]

Domestic Life Headcanons - Elrond x Reader

More stuff for fun while I frantically work on hopefully going to college :)

Warnings: none

- being a half-elf himself, he was fully aware of how human-elf relationships often work out along with the emotional and physical risk he was taking on - he lets you know regularly, especially when you're feeling low-worth, that he, a semi-immortal being, judged you worthy of spending a shortened life with - he's very emotionally resilient and has enough good sense for the both of you, which is good because sometimes you need to borrow some - sometimes he'll just look at you and say that he could study you/your eyes/hands/brain etc. for a thousand years and never get bored (it's a little weird sounding but he means well) - you often tease back saying, "/only/ a thousand?" - what's his way of destressing from his high-impact job, you ask? Well, it's a two-parter. The garden balcony in your rather generously sized, mostly open-air house, is his, and he uses what he grows in it to cook. - not all the time, mind you, he is a busy elf, but there's nothing quite like watching him completely calm and focused as he diligently irrigates his crops, harvests some, and goes on his way to make you some sort of absolutely delectable vegetarian meal - you'd think because he has so much life experience he'd be the one reminding you to sleep, but no. He still ends up reading or writing until dawn sometimes in the first few years, but after enough scolding from you, he's learned to fight against that tendency by picturing himself safe and warm in your arms - speaking of which, he is a MAJOR sucker for physical affection. Hand and scalp massages especially will have him like a puddle of happy goo in your hands for hours - Elves are very sensitive about PDA, which you found out on accident when you were dating and you kissed him on the cheek during a dinner banquet - however, it's Elrond's little act of rebellion to almost always be holding your hand when you're out and about together (you find the look on certain scribes' faces rather hilarious, but you don't let it show till you've rounded a corner) - he was very pleased with how you reacted when he started growing his hair out - like you seriously just can't stop touching it and running your hands through it and complimenting how many different colors there are - you know that saying, "Poetry is the food of love?" - well, you are well fed - Elrond is incapable of speaking a full sentence without it sounding like poetry - You'll just wake up to him getting dressed to leave and as soon as he sees you're awake he'll say something like, "At last, my sun has risen. Now in daylight I can make my way onward." - sometimes you laugh, sometimes you're just blushing to the max - and in the privacy of your own home, he's very tender. He still holds your hand going up and down the stairs, pulls out your chair for you, takes the dishes to the kitchen with a little kiss from you, pulls back the covers for you when you're going to bed. He is a romantic through and through. - to him, the only thing better than holding you is being held by you.