#elrond peredhel x you

[queers-gambit]

Bait and Switch

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

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

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.7k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Adar?" You whispered in confusion.

"You remember me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you see her?" Elrond asked.

"See her fall? No - "

"Did you even look for her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We did not - "

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What part are we to play in this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's worth more."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Safe with Elrond."

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

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

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

"I can try."

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

"Do not say that!"

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

"Tell him yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Us'?" The Father repeated.

"Unlock me."

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

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

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

"I see," Adar turned from the Elf.

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

"And what then?" Adar questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Welcome, Commander Elrond."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only my ego," you assured.

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

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

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

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

The Elves were not permitted weapons in the Uruk camp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've never seen me wield either."

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

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

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

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

"You so much as twitch - "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lord Father - "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orcs hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No more than I you."

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

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

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

"Be smart."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you have any doubt?"

She chuckled, "I suppose not."

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

"You!"

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

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

"Y/N!"

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

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

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

"No - "

"Can you fight?"

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

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

"Where is he?"

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

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

"YES!"

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

Exactly why you were separated from them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why was she not with you?"

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

"Why didn't you run?"

"I did..."

"No, away from the battle - "

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

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

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

"Anything."

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

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

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

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

"Elrond!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Commander! What orders, Commander!?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," Adar refused.

"He slaughtered half the camp to find her!"

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

"He will kill our own kind!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sister?" You prompted.

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

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

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

"I'm older than you!"

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

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

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

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

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

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[sun-snatcher]

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

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

✵ — WATER-DAMAGED!

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “…From who?”

“I—”

In the distance, a horse whinnies. 

Elrond tenses instantly.

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

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

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

A pause. 

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

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

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

…He is. He hadn’t even realised. 

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t have… barged in.” 

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

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

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

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

Liked you. Cared. Loved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reach, almost too keenly— 

—but you close his fingers around it instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As are you, to me.

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

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

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

It’s playful. Knowing.

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

Elrond's hand flexes reflexively. Longingly.

A beat passes.

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

The tips of Elrond’s ears burn. 

[luzriels]

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

[morganas-pendragons]

sweet and soft | elrond peredhel

okay LISTEN

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

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

enjoy!

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lordelrondofrivendell]

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

[curiouser--and--curiouser]

Elrond Peredhel A-Z Smut Headcanons

Kinktober 2024 - Week 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

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

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Sir."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

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

[feyhunter78]

Hi 💕

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

Can be as sweet or spicy as you want❤️

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

Sparring Sessions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dracowars]

knight in shining armour | elrond

pairing: elrond x elf!reader

word count: 5,5k

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

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

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

universe: the rings of power

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"With her head on a pike."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently you were wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

════════════

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

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

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

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

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

But of course you do, you love him.

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

Elrond.

Kneeling.

In front of Adar.

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

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

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

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

"G-Go", he chokes out.

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

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

You freeze when you see blood.

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

"The ring. Or he's dead."

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

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

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

But right now, this is not about your life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart seems broken, crying for Galadriel.

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

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

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

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

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

════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But Galadriel-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[anetherealpoetess]

it's vital for my mental health that the show introduces celebrían and we get to see this man fall in love with his wife

[the-fiction-witch]

After Dinner

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (wife) Rating - 18 + kissing/ nudity/ Word Count - 596

Elrond and Y/n arrived back at their elegant home in Lindon, a sense of contentment lingering from the memorable and eventful dinner with the high king, Prince Durin, and themselves. The clock had struck late, and the tranquil night was alive with the gentle flickering of fireflies in the garden just beyond their balcony. Y/n gracefully approached her ornate mirror, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating her features, and began the meticulous task of unravelling her long, lustrous curls from the meticulously crafted, jewel-encrusted updo she had fashioned for the esteemed royal gathering. With each delicate movement, her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the jewels glinting in the moonlight as they were carefully removed.

Elrond came up behind her and began massaging her shoulders. He worked out the tension there and began his hands slipping down and unlacing her gown.

she chuckled rather amused, "Yes?" She raised her eyebrow looking at him in her mirror

he leaned over her shoulder and nipped at her neck. “You looked so beautiful tonight,” he murmured against her skin. His hands continued to work, stripping her gown from her body then slipped inside and caressed the soft skin beneath. His lips trailed over her shoulder, down her back, his hands caressing her waist.

"Well I wanted to look nice. Not everyday we get to have dinner with the king. Much less so with Durin." She explained as she worked allowing him to work on her gown as it gave her one less task to do,

he reached down and finished untied the laces, the dress pooling around her feet. He pressed into her, his hands pulling her hips back against his, molding her body against his. All of her bare flesh against his still clothed body, “And you did.” he breathed against her neck, burying his face against her skin, inhaling her

when the dress and slip hit the floor she was bare but her star necklace that she’d worn since their wedding, "Did I do something to arouse such attention?" She chuckled,

he chuckled when he saw it still around her neck

Hardly. he replied, his hands roaming her body, tracing her curves. He moved her hair aside so he could lavish her neck with kisses. “You didn't have to do anything.” he murmured against her skin, his hands gliding up her stomach, stopping just below her breasts. “I always want to ravish you.” he turned her around to face him, his hands roaming her body, his eyes dark with lust. He pulled her flush against him, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue darting out, seeking entrance to her mouth,

she kissed back and allowed him entrance gently sucking on his tongue when he did as had long known the affected it had on him,

that small action was enough to drive him to the edge, his breathing deepening into a moan. His hands gripped her hips, needing something to hold on to. He walked her backwards to the bed, gently pushing her to sit on the edge of the mattress

she giggled as he almost tossed her on the sheets, she playfully kicked her feet before elrond crawled between them

he chuckled, grabbing her ankles to pin them down. He knelt between her parted legs, his body towering over hers, “You are too playful for your own good my love,” he captured her wrists with one hand, holding both above her head, “Now… let me show you what happens when you parade how beautiful you are in front of me all night.” He growled pinning her to the bed with his harsh and lustful kiss, 

[queers-gambit]

Tower Scrolls

prompt: during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x intended!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.1k+

note: brain go wonky, don't take this too serious

warnings: we got angst! we got drama! we got spoilers! i think it's more hurt and comfort, but to each their own! there's cursing, character injury, canon-complicit character death, blood, depiction of abuse and torture, violence, is this a reader insert? i don't know anymore, but i think so. oneshot, filler, very abrupt ending.

Fire rained from the sky. Ash snowed on once white-sand buildings. Tension permeated the air. Blood irrigated soil.

Eregion was under attack.

Elves screamed in despair, Orcs snarled from outside the city walls, and no matter where you turned, you were trapped in this never ending barrage of violent misfortune. To the best of your ability, you manned the city walls and ordered the citizens of Eregion to find shelter, tunnel out of the city, or pick up arms and fight - fight for their homes, their families, their lives.

It was nearly a natural succession of power after dedicating majority of your life to Eregion and Lord Celebrimbor; a common presence, friendly face, such an outstanding ally that few hesitated to take your command. Yet you were met with resistance, some Elves rejecting your orders in favor of this "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," apparently sent from the Valar themselves to aid Celebrimbor in his creative work. They thought he was Lord of Eregion now, and since you were loyal to the previous Lord - who Annatar claimed had lost his ever sharp mind - you were looked upon with the same frown.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do.

You protected your Lord, almost to the extent of your life. Too many had already fallen, you refused to follow; insisting on remaining with Lord Celebrimbor for the duration of his efforts so long as Annatar was in Eregion. The immortal being wasn't keen on the idea, but Celebrimbor was much soothed around you - so, he agreed, on the condition that your Lord finish his work on the Nine Rings.

After escaping before, Annatar thought the best suited idea would be to chain Lord Celebrimbor to his work bench; knowing you did not have the means to break him free and feeling it was a safe move. However, as you witnessed, the will of the Lord of Eregion was by far stronger than that of The Deceiver.

"I cannot!" You begged your Master. "No, you will not ask this of me! The audacity you possess - "

"You must!" Celebrimbor insisted, taking your cheeks in hand to smush your lips in a pucker. "Listen to me - listen! You have always known right from wrong, but now is not a time for rationality, it's a time for action. He mustn't get the Rings, I need you to run with them. Run away - far, far away from here, use the tunnels - "

"I will not abandon you," you snarled, "nor will I abandon this city, not while she still stands!"

"This is bigger than us, bigger than Eregion," Celebrimbor tried to convey his severity, forcing the Rings in your hand - but you were stubborn. For all the traits he loved, he despised your pigheadedness the most - despite admiring it once upon a time. So, he managed to convince you to cut just his thumb off after originally asking you to take the whole hand so the cuff could slide off, but he downgraded to just his digit for the same desired effect.

"Go," you begged him, tears in your eyes as you wrapped his hand with a clean(ish) cloth to staunch the bleeding. "Go, please, before He returns. Do not look back, my Lord."

"Come with me - "

"I'll hold Him off to give you more time. Now, go. Go!"

It wasn't easy, but Celebrimbor left you behind. No sooner had you confirmed his escape did Annatar return; surveying the workshop and you with sinister eyes.

"Where is he?"

"With luck? Far from here. With hope? Even past that," you answered, stood in the middle of the room - looking as if nothing could phase you. All a lie, of course, but Sauron didn't need to know you were close to pissing your pants out of sheer intimidation. "So... You're Him? I have to admit," you gestured at him, "it's a bit of a let down."

"I have many names - "

"Oh, spare me the personal lore all of Middle-earth knows," you snipped, offering a stale look. "You need a new story."

However, Sauron smirked and circled you, taunting, "I know you know where he went. I know you know where the Rings are, too."

"Then have a look in my mind, see for yourself," you smirked back, "go ahead and see that I purposefully did not ask and my Lord did not tell. Go on, if you do not believe me, have a look and know you are wrong - " You were cut off by your own gasp when Sauron's eyes rolled before he brandished a sword to pierce through your foot and into the floor.

"Where. Is. He?" Sauron seethed in your face; hot breath fanning the fly away hairs.

"Away from you," you managed to grit, the sword in too deep to yank free by yourself. "You'll never find them," you laughed without humor when Sauron's anger got the best of him; storming through the workshop, tearing it apart, searching in vain for Nine Rings that were not there. In his anger, you obtained a series of fresh blemishes as he threw anything he could to the sound of your amusement.

Yet any glimmer of hope in your chest was doused, all traces of faith and humor vanishing when guards lead Celebrimbor back into the workshop; discovering the destroyed forge and you, pinned by a bloody foot in the midst. You couldn't move from your place as the guards surrounded Sauron with the intention to apprehend him, yet you saw the threat before anyone else. You begged the guards, your kin, your brethren, to back away, to take your Lord and flee! You begged them to run. You begged them to listen, to hear you!

But it was too late.

Sauron turned your people on one another and had them slaughter each other before disposing of the final guard himself. You screamed at Celebrimbor to run, nearly tearing the blade through bone as you attempted to reach for the man who had taught you your entire life. The man who gave you a chance. The man who built you a home. The man who introduced you to your intended. The man you loved like a father.

But Sauron's grasp extended to all.

Celebrimbor was beaten senseless, the Dark Lord trying to pry information about the Nine from him by any means. Yet your Lord did not budge... And that's when Sauron turned to you. "Please, no! Don't! She doesn't know anything! I swear, please, spare her!" Celebrimbor pleaded when Sauron ripped the sword from your foot before knocking you to your knees; bowstring pulled back, arrow armed and aimed at your calf. "She doesn't know amything!" Celebrimbor screamed as your first tear fell.

"But you do," Sauron narrated, loosing the arrow into your flesh. You tried to subdue your screams, but the immortal took to alternating between shooting you and Celebrimbor with arrows; though his struck lethally, yours struck painfully. To Sauron, you were a plaything; a token to negotiate with, attempting to withdraw information by offering you harm, thinking it was enough to break Celebrimbor.

He was mistaken.

You panted as blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth, wincing as Sauron's boot came down on your knee; smearing his heel into an open wound with you flat on your back. "She... She doesn't know," Celebrimbor tried again. "She is... She's the Lady of Eregion now, and I would not curse her with such a burden as you have me!"

"Oh, a promotion?" Sauron mused, glancing at you - but you saw his underlying desperation.

"Eregion is no more," you whispered, head lulling on the floor to meet Celebrimbor's eyes and smile sadly. Blood lined your teeth. "It would've been the honor of my life should I have been able to defend your city, my Lord."

"Our city."

"How touching," Sauron's eyes rolled.

"She doesn't know," Celebrimbor repeated in anger.

"I know," Sauron nodded, "I looked in her mind. Still, the bond between you is greater - perhaps, you'd be more inclined to share with her?"

"He'd never," you chuckled in delirium, "he'd never sacrifice this world for the likes of you." Another arrow thumped into your shoulder, making you groan as Sauron angrily tossed the bow aside. Fearing your life was soon to be extinguished, you whispered, "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord. I failed you."

"No, do not say such a thing," Celebrimbor insisted, Sauron stalking over you before squatting in front of the Elven smith, "for it is I who failed you..."

Sauron sighed, sounding condescending yet soft as he reached over to stroke Celebrimbor's cheek, "Look what you have done to yourself."

You didn't care for his poisoned words, knowing your time was limited - just like Celebrimbor's. Yet the Dark Lord tried one last tactic: mercy. He promised to end your joint suffering should the location of the Nine be revealed. Your Lord was defiant still. So, Sauron tried gaslighting, and when that didn't work, he begged, "Please."

Still, it did not work and Celebrimbor affirmed his time was ending... So, naturally, after he plucked up a spear, Sauron threatened, "There are ways of keeping you both alive." In Sindarin, he added, "Friend." To the look of horror on Celebrimbor's bloody face, Sauron offered, "Must I show you my mastery of that craft as well?"

"'Craft'?" Your Lord chuckled ruefully. Then he spat, "Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it."

Sauron stepped over your limp, bleeding form too casually, quietly seething, "Your words are empty."

"No," Celebrimbor insisted, sitting himself up slightly. "No, hear me. Hear me!" Your dimming eyes widened as your Lord found his feet, back against the stone pillar he had once slumped against as support. "Shadow of Morgoth! Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor! With only Y/N, Lady of Eregion as witness!" You didn't move, you couldn't... You were defeated, you knew there was no way Sauron would let you leave this tower alive. So, you listened and bore witness for as long as you were capable of doing so. "The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee one alone shall prove your," he shouted, "utter ruin!"

"NO!" You screamed when Sauron turned, shouting in anger as he strode over you and stabbed Celebrimbor with his spear. You could only watch in fearful disgust as the Dark Lord, still in fair form, hoisted the Lord of Eregion up the stone pillar as if a flag on a pole.

Celebrimbor was in obvious pain, mouth agape, blood dribbling from his slathered lips. Sauron's words were still heard despite the low, quiet register, "You're wrong. I am their Creator." He growled, "I am their Master!"

"No," Celebrimbor's head shook as if pitying the immortal. "You are their... Prisoner. Sauron, Lord..." He trailed as his life's light was snuffed, "of the Rings."

You let your grief manifest in tears, watching as Celebrimbor's eyes found yours - conveying his goodbye as he mouthed one last apology... Then deflating as his soul, as promised, vacated this form to return to the shores. You didn't voice your note of Sauron's single tear, just staring at your Lord in disbelief - until the Dark Lord planted the end of his spear to the ground, staking Celebrimbor above all.

"N-No, no, wait!" You begged, trying to turn over onto your stomach to pull yourself across the ground. "No, please, please, take him down - get him down from there! Please, do not - do not leave him up there!" You cried out as arrow shafts were irritated back to life, reaching blindly - helplessly - upward as if you could reach the Lord of Eregion from his hoist.

Sauron watched you for a moment, the Orcs heard marching up the tower. With a swift swing of his leg, Sauron kicked your jaw - effectively knocking you out and overturning your body to your back; splayed out as if on display... Similar, but not akin, to Celebrimbor - whose pooling blood soaked into your gown.

Through your unconsciousness, Sauron eventually ordered Eregion be razed to the ground, every Elf slaughtered, and the Elven leaders be brought before him - unharmed. He gave specific instruction for every scroll in Celebrimbor's workshop to be torched; his way of punishing you for your insolence over supporting and protecting Celebrimbor.

When you awoke, the tower was quiet. You stiffly lifted your hand to your jaw; rubbing it tenderly, letting your sight refocus and being acutely aware of every feeling in your body.

"Fuuuuuuuck," you whimpered, trying to sit up but being unable due to protruding arrows. You went limp again, feeling a single twinge of anger you had to wake up because your eyes caught sight of and stared at Celebrimbor.

You failed...

You gasped shrilly when hands seized your upper arms and heaved; lugging you over the shoulders of two Orcs as a third swiped at the arrows to break them in the most painful way possible. Considering their brutish nature, you would've thought they'd have lopped your head off and moved along - but instead, they began carrying you towards the door.

"Wha-What's happening?" You asked through a slur, feet dragging under you, spying one of the Orcs gathering scrolls and tomes you spent your life writing alongside Celebrimbor in their dirty arms. "Wait - wait - what're you doing? What're you doing!?"

"Quiet!" An Orc snarled, dropping the hilt of his dagger to the soft part of the base of your head where it connected to your neck. You were silent out of sheer pain.

Down the tower you were drug, brought into the devastated courtyard where Orcs snarled at you from all sides; the two that carried you dropping you on your shattered knees. You were held at knifepoint as Orcs streamed from the tower and dropped your scrolls and tomes in several different piles a short distance away. Head injury caused your sight to blur in and out, but you knew what they were doing... What they intended.

"Please, please, don't do this," you whimpered, hearing several Orcs laugh. "No... No, no, no, no, please! Don't - " You had no more fight as collectively, your records were so extensive that several piles were made, few set ablaze.

All around you, Elves were slaughtered mercilessly, bodies left behind where they fell; the sounds of the city dying with them as the Orcs ran out of the innocent lives to claim. You could only watch. Before you, the Orcs tossed banded lassos around the decorated statue of Faenor, evident their desecration knew no bounds.

Yet hope sparked... The blade at your neck tightening when you perked up upon seeing several Orcs leading few saved Elves into the courtyard - your fiancé one of them.

"Elrond!" You cried, the Orc snarling a hiss as the hand in your hair yanked back. You struggled to the point of blood draw when Elrond's sight casted on you - trying to escape his captors, but being held back.

"Y/N!" He called back, the High King Gil-galad at his side and finding you amongst the rubble, too. The King muttered something you couldn't hear, but to Elrond, he understood the Sindarin word: wait.

"Hey!" You snapped, blade drawing a line of blood from your neck; pressure mounting as he pressed closer. You growled in annoyance.

Faenor toppled to the ground, shattering the heart of any Elf left to witness - Orcs mounting him, ravaging for hidden and seen treasures. With Gil-galad, Elrond, and other survivors, the Orcs moved inward as if to ensure the Elves had a front row viewing to the incineration of their culture.

"Y/N," Gil-galad called to attention, earning several snarls and hisses, "where is Lord Celebrimbor?"

"Dead," you whimpered, Orc growling at you in reprimand.

Elrond's eyes swept over the scene and swiftly understood the impending doom. The largest of the scroll piles was before the Elves now, an Orc pacing around it with his torch alight, tears down your cheeks as you couldn't look away as if in a trance you did not realize.

"No, Uruk! No!" Elrond begged when the Orc went to drop the flame; you struggling against your captor, both hands around his meaty wrist.

"No!" Gil-galad's beg echoed around you.

"That is the full record of Celebrimbor's works," Elrond tried to make the Orcs understand potential ramifications. "The wisdom of all who ever dwelt in this place, all accounted by the Lady Y/N, whose work cannot be found outside Eregion! Its value is beyond jewels or even blood! Take our lives," Elrond gestured to himself and the King, you struggling again on horridly abused knees, "but leave it be, I beg you."

Perhaps you were far too used to people listening when your fiancé spoke because you eagerly sat forward best you could while thinking perhaps the Orcs would listen to Elrond. Imagine your acute and heavy despair when the Orc laughed manically and turned to shove the torch into the bundle of fragile parchment. "NO!" You sobbed uselessly, watching the last of your life's work go up in flame.

You fought against the Orc's grip as Gil-galad snarled, "Cowardly traitors!"

"You fucking bastards!" Your head reared back to (painfully - nobody wins with a headbutt) break the Orc's nose. He released you as other Orcs were wrestling Gil-galad to the ground, able to pick up a blade and take out three too-close enemies.

It was the first time Elrond heard such language fall from your lips, but all he could register was the Orc punching you in the jaw in an attempt to subdue you - blood spitting to the side, seemingly darkening a bruise already blooming. He's never felt such rage.

Elrond fought with his bare hands; elbowing the Orcs behind him, punching the ones before him, fighting to get closer to you. He got ahold of a torch, screaming in white-hot anger as he set the Orc that hit you ablaze; dropping the torch and taking you into his embrace.

"My love," he breathed in your ear, able to peck your cheek just as the snarling Orcs forcefully ripped you out of his arms. "No, no!" He tried to reach out for you, but both were wrangled in.

"Please, don't! NO! No, no, no!" You gasped when Elrond was taken in custody, yet it wasn't you who saved him.

Another Orc reminded, "No! Lord Sauron wanted their leaders unharmed."

"Well, what about her? She looks injured," A different Orc growled, jostling your shoulder and pointing his dagger at your throat. Elrond was forced to his knees as you were, facing one another.

"Lord Sauron did that, said to discipline her should she resist," the Orc answered in a hiss, others shoving more Elves into the courtyard - including Arondir from the battlefield. A blade was held to Elrond's throat as your head bowed in the heat of the bonfire; being ripped up by your hair and forced to turn to watch the flames. The Orcs noticed the pair of you seemingly cared more about the literature than your lives, so, they thought you should relish in this moment.

So Elrond was held in a similar position, but his sight was on you; watching you crumple into despair while more Orcs tossed the last of the scrolls into the flames. Your life, since a youthful student, had been spent intermittently in Eregion under the care of Lord Celebrimbor, whom you thought of as an adoptive father, learning heraldry. He let you work at his side, keeping accurate, detailed record of his philosophies, ideas, processes, and creations for the histories. Yet, now, they wafted into the air as ash - lost to this Age, never to be recovered or duplicated or seen again.

Once more, you dropped your head, earning a backhand to the temple. Gritting your teeth, you let the Orc force your head up but shut your eyes tightly, defiantly; hearing their breathing turn ragged. "Cut her eyelids open!" An Orc barked.

"That's not what Lord Sauron said," another seethed with refusal.

"She's resisting!"

An Orc scoffed and stabbed your thigh with a dagger, eyes flying open as you gasped in pain. "There! See!" It laughed, holding you in a chokehold as tears leaked down your cheeks. Elrond struggled and shuddered against his captors, hating the sight of you dismantling yourself emotionally, but to witness your abuse, he hated more.

Then, from a short distance, a horn bellowed.

"Dwarves!" King Gil-galad identified, the Elves rejuvenated by the surprise (and delayed) arrival of aid. In tandem, they began to resist; yourself included by ripping the dagger from your thigh and driving it into your captor's ribs; praying flesh came too when the blade was ripped free.

He grunted and shoved you forward onto your chest and hands, able to flop over to watch your approaching demise - only to discover Elrond surging up to the Orc and snapping its neck with his bare hands.

"Elrond!" You gasped when the Orc fell to the side... Dead.

"C'mere," the half-Elf you intended to marry panted, reaching down to yank you onto your bloody feet; catching you on his chest when your weight buckled. "I got you, I've got you, love, you're safe," he whispered, hoisting you into his embrace before turning for the stream of Dwarves. "Durin!" He greeted jovially.

But when the Dwarf turned, it wasn't the ginger prince Elrond knew like a brother. The dark haired Dwarf heaved a sigh, informing, "The Prince... Is in mourning," before rushing off into the fray.

"'Mourning'?" You repeated in a daze. "Over Disa?"

"His father, perhaps?" Elrond guessed, tightening his arms to lift you and turn away from an Orc rushing forward. He blocked the enemy's advance, trying to keep secure hold of you - leaving an opportunity for you to use the last of your strength to drive your dagger (still in hand) into the Orc's throat. "Good girl," Elrond praised as the creature fell, panting from exhaustion. "Can you still fight?"

"I can barely stand on my own, Elrond," you whimpered, gripping his neck and shoulders in a vice grip to remain upright.

He nodded, "Right." With a sniffle, he lifted you again and rushed for an alcove, depositing you in rubble before caressing your face. "How bad?" He asked softly.

"Enough."

"Let me see - "

"Elrond, there's no time," you snatched his hands when he attempted to reach for your skirt, "the city is under attack, it's falling to Sauron - you need to help them. Go, go fight."

"I won't leave you."

Your ears rang with the same words you told Celebrimbor.

"You have to, this is bigger than any of us," you repeated what you'd been told.

"Elrond!" Gil-galad was heard calling, Arondir appearing in the mouth of the alcove.

"Over here!"

When the High King arrived, he paused to take in the sight of the pair of you. "Good," he panted, "you're both alive. The Dwarves are aiding our escape, we must leave now... The city is fallen," he directed at you.

"You should all go," you sniffled.

With confusion, Elrond snapped, "Without you?"

"I've business to see to in the tower."

"The tower will fall," Arondir explained, slowly lowering to a squat to put himself on your level. "Whatever you think is left is lost, my Lady."

"Celebrimbor's in there. I was taken before I could get him down."

"'Down'?" Gil-galad repeated, "What does that mean?"

Tears filled your eyes, telling the trio what Sauron did to you and your Lord; the King insisting hope was lost and it was time to go. "I cannot walk," you whispered, shaking your head, "and my injuries surpass - "

"I will carry you," Elrond rushed, holding your cheek gently, "I will not leave you behind."

"No... She will walk," Gil-galad stepped forward, revealing his Ring of Power, Vilya. You were unsure what his intention, but Elrond moved behind you to let you lean back into his chest as the King chanted his prayers.

Yet you passed out before fully healed.

"My King - "

"She's alive," Gil-galad soothed Elrond, the hand hosting Vilya laid to your forehead, "just exhausted. She's been through much, far more than I care to fathom. Sauron took it easy on her, he used mortal weapons against her."

"He didn't intend to kill her?" Arondir questioned.

"He needed her alive - whatever the reason," Gil-galad frowned.

"Will she wake?" Elrond worried.

"I have faith she will, trust in the Valar," the King nodded. "Now, if you intend to fight another day, we must go. Now."

And so, the Lady of Eregion was smuggled out of the smoking city in the arms of the Elf she loved, leaving behind all she knew and created. By the Third Age, at least one scroll written by her hand could be found in every library of Middle-earth; and in the Great Library Elrond built for her, detailed accounts of Lord Celebrimbor's work as recalled and honored by his adopted daughter, future Lady of Imladris.

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[sun-snatcher]

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

✵ — OF HALF-WITS & FOOLS !

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.”

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

A beat. You huff.

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

Elrond rolls his eyes.

“—But it is satisfying, nonetheless.”

“How childish.”

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

“You ought to apologise!” Elrond hisses.

“Apologise to the likes of you? Never.”

“Fool!”

“Half-wit!”

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

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

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

A constant dance of bickering, bantering, barbing. 

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

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

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

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

“Bold. Why ever need an army, then?”

“Betimes, a sword must still be drawn.”

“Or not drawn,” you counter. 

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

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

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

You laugh. 

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

“Fool,” he gripes.

“Half-wit,” you volley.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not even a decade later.

Or the one after that.

And to the next.

Until, slowly, something begins to gives way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stutters.

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

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

You’re drenched.

So is Elrond.

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

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

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

“General—”

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

You flinch. 

Elrond snaps his bowed head up in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dínen!” The General snarls. *

Both of you snap to attention. 

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

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

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

You grit your teeth, your breath a sharp exhale.

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

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

“Manan nîn rehtanë tye, Elrond?” *

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Save your despair. In time, h—”

“Ánin apsene.” *

Elrond blinks in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or, in plain: Thank you.

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

“I would never,” he parrots.

That is to say: You’re welcome.

--- C R A C K !

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

A bullseye on a bullseye.

You ready; take aim to fire, again—

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

—and miss your mark.

The arrow splinters wood off the edge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he says, sincerely. “Not today.”

“So you’ve come to patronise me for one erred shot, then. Charming.”

“You know why I’m here,” he says, watching you patiently as you pluck your arrows and tidy the target. “Don’t—”

“Be a fool?” You finish for him, annoyed. 

A breeze passes. It’s silent.

There’s no caustic remark, no spiteful words. It’s almost unsettling to not hear half-wit being said in reply. Even then, though, you find way to fault him even for that.

You curse him for his… his inherent patience. For bothering you here and now. For his damn face; that always makes it so hard to stay mad, and so easy to forgive.

“Don’t push me away,” he corrects. “Is what I intended to say.”

A piece of you cracks. For someone who’s claimed to be irked by the very sight of you, Elrond could be frustratingly gentle to you when need be.

“What does it matter to you?” 

You reach for your quiver. Focus, you tell yourself. Focus. If you looked in his eyes again you might just shatter.

“The village sent word,” he begins, striding towards you and standing by your side. “They plead for you to come and plant a seed in their land, in Îdhendiel’s name. A token of gratitude to her memory, and to you, the Marshal, who led the cavalry to save their lives.”

Something potent roars in your veins. A flame; A fire— burning white-hot behind your eyes, kindling them with tears; stoking a bloodthirsty anger in your heart.

“What worth is their gratitude? The person they ought to thank is dead,” you say, vicious. “It’s because of their recklessness that they roused the wrath of the beasts sleeping in that forsaken cavern. Îdhendiel’s life was—”

Wasted, you couldn’t bring yourself to say, as you draw and take aim.

But your vision is swimming, blurred by memory and unshed tears, taking the heart of the target along with it. 

“They are innocent, you know this.”

Your shot will be poor. Likely, it would embed the stand. Maybe you should shoot Elrond, instead.

(You could never.)

“If you are here to argue with me, Elrond,” you whisper, a pained breath escaping you as you lower your bow. “Please, leave.”

“I am here to convince you.”

“And I will not be convinced,” you grit.

“Do not let your grief blind y—”

“Please!” 

Your voice cracks. The arrowshaft in your grip snaps.

Elrond seizes.

“Please, just… Just go.”

You wait for it. For one last reproach from him. But instead, he unravels something with his fingers.

“I will not tell you your anger is misplaced,” he says, gently, stepping forward to place the object in your palm. “For that, I have no right. But I am certain of one thing—”

It’s a seed. An acorn. Cradled in threadbare cloth, weathered and worn. 

“—Îdhendiel would have wished only for peace.”

It would grow to be an oak tree that can outlive mortal men by a thousand years. Elrond had been purposeful with where he’d placed the seed: right next to the broken arrowhead in your palm.

A proverbial choice. Grief, he seems to say, or peace? 

“I hate you,” you answer, uselessly. 

But a Herald's very art is to read between words, and better yet— Elrond has come to learn every lilt and cadence in your voice. It’s hollow. There is no malice meant in what you’ve said.

“This is but one seed, and yet it feels the heaviest thing in all of Middle-Earth.”

He softens at that. “Such is the weight of grief.”

Something knots in your throat. Stricken. You’re stricken. It’s the kind that reminds you of all your other, untreated hurts; of everything you’ve lost and can never forget, and would never be reunited with again until the Undying Lands.

“You—” Your hesitant voice calls out. 

(You are the only one I trust. Would you bear this weight with me?)

“Would you accompany me? To the village?”

Your words are small. Almost fearful. As if he could ever possibly be so cold as to forsake you at a time like this. 

He reaches out, settles his hand atop yours. It may very well be the kindest, most tender thing you’ve ever felt from him your entire life. 

“I would never abandon you,” comes Elrond’s answer. 

Then, to himself, candidly: I’d go anywhere with you by my side. He’d thought it. Realised. Swore. It had brought no surprise, no hesitation. My place is with you.

Elrond Peredhel had never been so sure of anything.

And he stays true to his word.

He journeys with you for a sennight North, with the acorn in his hold; had kept you steadfast all the way to the tilled grounds of the village.

And alas when the time had come: If your fingers didn’t shake neath the earth; if you didn’t falter your grip on seed and soil as you planted— 

It was because Elrond was there, standing with you.

“I was a fool to think I can escape without Herald Elrond himself having one last word in.”

“That you are,” he huffs, breathless from the full gallop ride he’d taken downwind to the kingdom gates. The Winter season means the Northern air blows colder from the snow-capped mountains of Ered Luin. 

It means more time between you two has passed, yet— 

“And a half-wit,” he finishes.

—nothing’s changed. Or so it seems.

Astride the saddle of your own steed, you cock your head at him. “Well, what did you come here to say? Let me guess, you’ll enjoy the silence while I’m gone?”

Elrond almost grimaces. If you’d noticed, though, you didn’t appear to show it.

“No.”

“Or perhaps—”

“Why did you not tell me you were leaving?”

(He says, instead of something unforgiveably sentimental, that is: Do I matter to you so little?)

And. Well. If his tone hadn’t startled you, the flash of betrayal in his eyes certainly did. 

“I…” You blink. “I assumed you knew.”

“I didn’t,” he says, uncharacteristically sharp.

Your brows furrow. “Well, I’ll be gone a mere blink. At best only six Sun-years, not an entire yén. Galadriel sent me to scout aways to the South before reporting my findings back to Lindon for our archives. I will not apologise for serv—” *

“I seek neither an explanation nor an apology,” he says, curt enough that your company sneaks a wary look from the gates; enough that his own very horse shifts uneasy.

“Then be plain. Why have you come here?”

The fight leaves his body. 

“I…” He trails off. Blinks as his gaze darts across your face. 

(I think— ) 

“…To bid you farewell.”

A lie. Blatant. Plain as daylight and as clear as the stars in their courses to your discerning eye, borne from the long years endured beside him. Dúath whinnies below you. He must have sensed the unseen discord, too.

Elrond purses his lips to smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“And to you too, Dúath. Keep h— Yourselves— safe.”

Then, with only a nod and a fleeting glance, as if the effort to watch you depart might cut too deep—

“Elrond—”

—he steers his horse away and spurs into a leaping gallop before your sentence could take shape.

And he doesn’t speak of that day, not a word; not until Galadriel had brought it up herself.

“I have noticed,” Galadriel begins, after the season had finally ended, and the last of the snowflakes had come to fall. “You have never been more distant since the company left. If my sending them away has offended you someh—” 

“No. Never,” Elrond says, cut to the quick. His gaze tears from the forests to his best friend. “I am merely… pensive.”   

It’s the truth, and yet somehow he’d delivered it embarrassingly unconvincingly. So much so that Galadriel raises her brows him. 

“Over?”

He flounders.

“...Lore.”

Galadriel deadpans. “Ah, of course. Lore. Then why have you been—” She’s careful to pick her words. “—Sulking?”

“I am not,” he insists, and manages to swallow back the instinctiveness of saying fool, or half-wit. (These are… words reserved solely for you.)

“It is unlike you to lie, Elrond,” she says, levelling her stare. “Was it not Rúmil who said absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“Speak plain, Galadriel.”

“Your Marshal. You miss her,” she states. “You like her.”

“You are delusio—”

Galadriel pins him with a look.

“—Mistaken,” Elrond amends.

She tilts her head. “Your brooding says otherwise.”

“First and foremost, she is not my anything. Secondly, I do not brood,” he says, turning up his nose. “And lastly, I am confident I do not harbour anything but simple courtesy for her. She is insufferable.”

She hums, amused. “I see.” 

“Truly!” he insists. (Too hasty, almost, to hide the obvious lie.) “Unbearably prideful, too.”

“And terribly impulsive?” 

“As a colt in full gallop.”

“And distracting?” offers Galadriel.

“Endlessly.”

“Because she’s beautiful, yes?”

“Frustratingly so.”

A beat.

Elrond blinks, aghast.

“No, wait—”

Galadriel’s laugh is bright. 

Reunion aligns perfectly with Mereth-nuin-Giliath.

The celebratory feast has the verdant halls and forest of Lindon’s Kingdom alive with moonlight and lantern; laughter and song. Elves alike are clad in their best: silver wreaths braided into hair; golden trims embroidered into robe.

And— you.

There’s you. 

Donned in the finest cloths and the brightest garlands, seated at a small table spread with some of your closest companions, where Elrond quietly watches you laugh— Singing something of soldiers, poets and kings; how you’d been taught it from a migration of halflings you happened across during your time in the wilds. 

But then there is Glórieldir. 

Golden-one. Shouldered next to you, with his yellow hair and his glinting smile and his gilded garments. Everything that could possibly live up to his name, even in attitude. A perfect soldier. A perfect friend. A perfect Second-in-command. 

Specifically, your Second-in-command.

“Any longer and you might burn a hole through his head,” comes a voice. It’s Gil-Galad, ever the omnipresent gravitas that comes with him. “Do be more merciful. Glórieldir has quite the talent for bowmanship.”

Elrond straightens in an instant. “High King.”

“At ease,” he waves, behind a sip— no, a gulp— of wine. “I am trying to escape from Círdan and his frivolous attempts to pester me so. Do humour me, why the withering glare? Glórieldir is no threat to your rather peculiar bond with Beríniel. Despair not.” 

It’s said with such casual precision Elrond nearly buckles. He couldn’t have possibly been measured that swiftly?

“I do not— despair.”

A snort. 

“Do you know why Glórieldir is only Second-in-command?” Gil-Galad says. “Because he bends too easily to higher authority. Much unlike your Marshal, who would not hesitate to question anyone and anything even under duress. I hazard maybe even toward myself.” 

“She is not my— anything,” he blusters, recalling his conversation with Galadriel those winters ago.

“Ach. She is the only elf in Middle-earth who could shake the very foundation of your being free from conviction,” he says, nonchalant, “Do you think me blind to your longing gaze and clandestine trysts—”

Elrond chokes. “Trysts?!” 

(Had he not been burdened with the crown and its status, Gil-Galad may have allowed his Kingly demeanour to crack for a moment, just to laugh at Elrond’s scandalised look.) 

“There have never been trysts. We are furthest from lovers. She is my— friend, at best. You are mistaken.”

“Of course,” Gil-Galad hums, wholly unimpressed, after which he sets his goblet down a passing tray and grabs two fresh cups, and hands them both to him, much to his confusion. “I whole-heartedly believe you.”

Then, to Elrond’s horror: the High King beckons Glórieldir from the table, and Elrond pieces together the cunning scheme too late as Gil-Galad sweeps the Second-in-command away for an oh-so-interesting discussion over archery.

That sly fox of a—

“Thank you,” you say, once the both of you are alone, out of sight and earshot from the festivities, and Elrond had handed you one of the cups of red wine.

You should thank Gil-Galad, he thinks. And his horribly wicked sense of humour.

“Seems you enjoyed your adventures to the South,” he says instead.

“I did. It gave me plenty of time to… think.” Of you. Of us.

“Must have been peaceable without me around,” Elrond muses.

You set your cup to the stone wall of the parapet overlooking the rivers. “Quite the contrary,” you say, and Elrond has to try to convince himself he’s only imagining that tone of wistfulness in your voice out of self-indulgence. Surely.

“The seasons ran surprisingly long. Summers less kind, less sweet. Oftentimes, it was too quiet. And I’d seek for your voice in conversation.” You pick idly at the filigree of the goblet. “…But no one in my company tests my nerve like you do.”

A sense of pride curls around his heart. “Is this your long-winded way—” 

“Oh, here we go again.”

“—of saying you missed me?” he taunts, lips cut into a genuine smile. (Because I did. I missed you so; Never thought it possible that my heart could sing so longingly when I saw light upon your face again.)

You roll your eyes, but your laugh betrays you. It’s musical, dizzying. Has him stirring into another smile as he watches you muffle it into your palm, and the moonlight catches the jewels of your crescent eyes; the shining tresses of your hair he’s been fighting the urge to tuck behind your ear.

You’ve always been so beautiful. He couldn’t think of any other grand prose or way to describe it. You’re the only one who’s ever rendered the Herald speechless.

Elrond hadn’t known what to do with himself, really, when he first faced this revelation unravelling before him. He’d spent his days reflecting when exactly the tides had changed; at what hour he came to love, instead despise, the prick of every thorn and thistle that came with the flower that you are.

He’d thought perhaps something else was sown the day Îdhendiel’s seed was planted in the earth. Something between you two that was more gentler. Kinder. Fonder.

Or perhaps, Elrond supposes, it has always been there.

Yes, had come the realisation. Foolish of him, indeed. To have been remiss. To have been blind. To have tarried so long. 

“You’re right, I missed you,” you finally relent, sighing theatrically. “I owe you that much, after… after the way I left things before. I suppose it’s high time I ask for your forgiveness.” 

It’s said so sheepishly, he has to bend to chase your timid gaze. 

“Elmendëa. The journey truly has changed you… I hazard this is the second time I’ve ever heard you apologise in my life, Berílien, you should be quite proud—”

“The audacity!” you bat at him, bursting into a laugh. “Thick of you to keep tally. You and Glórieldir are irritatingly alike.”

Elrond’s mouth clicks shut. He tries to hide the hard press of his tongue against his cheek; the sudden bout of sour and ire. “Ah. Right. Your knight in golden, shining armour. Tell me, has he plucked the courage to court you yet?”

You’re almost winded. “What?”

He shrugs. “Word goes he’s head over heels for you.”

“Word is word. We— I— We’re not, no. He is more my charge, if anything,” you wrinkle your nose, disapproving. 

He tries to tamp down the relief secretly bleeding through him. “Oh? Why, you’ll break his golden heart.”

(This time, it’s you trying to convince yourself that you’re imagining that note of jealousy in his voice out of self-indulgence.)

“Besides," you wave, "I’ve been told he’ll be settling all the ways to Eregion, by the end of the season. I imagine we would hardly ever be feasible. ”

And then, in a slip of his tongue, or in new-found confidence (foolishness?), or perhaps because Elrond simply cannot help it anymore—

“Why not? I have loved you from further.”

A beat.

The world stills. 

Your heart stutters. 

Even the stars seem to hold their breath to bear witness.

Manwë help me, he freezes. This is not how I meant for this to go. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips. He catches it in a glimmer of hope. Was that confession? he wonders. Admission? Concession? 

“Your wine is… speaking, Elrond.”

“I have had but a quarter of a cup.” 

“It is First Age wine.”

“I digress. It would take more than that to master the tongue of an elf. Especially mine.” 

“You're half-elve—”

“Must we dance this age-old dance?” he blurts, half-desperate, half-terrified. Elrond isn’t like Galadriel, who could probably make flowers grow by sheer dint of belief. He doesn’t have it in him to pretend. Not anymore. “Just. Tell me I am wrong. That I’m mistaken. Tell me if— Tell me I have overstepped.”

Eärendil’s star is blinding in the momentary silence. 

The wind blows bated with white-winged birds. It breathes a strand to your cheek, compelling, almost. Reach for her.

He does. Slowly. Elrond gathers, finally, the conviction, to reach for that stray tress of hair, to tuck it behind the high-tip of your ear. 

Then he lingers. In one hand his wine, and the other ghosting across your cheek; As if he fears this an illusion, as if he’d touch you and you’d fade into a ripple.

“Tell me to walk away,” he says from where he stands a foot from you, voice so quiet it nearly fell into nothing. “And I will.”

I will do anything for you.

Your answer is barely a whisper, and drowned in affection. “Stay.”

(Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.)

“And is your wine speaking?” he dares.

You shake your head honestly. 

Concession. “I’ve not had even a taste, yet, this whole night.”

A taste? “I see.”

And then, as swift and smooth as a breeze, Elrond moves to finish the last swallow of his wine, and let slip the goblet to clatter onto the floor, so he could hold you wholly in both hands— 

And ducks his head to kiss you.

It’s like the world sighs in song. 

You’re melting as he kisses you, urgent— a talisman of a kiss; fierce and unhesitating and like a wick lit aflame. It’s sweet, cloyingly so, laden either from the red wine or the weight of all the unsaids between you two, or maybe both.

“Melin tye,” he pants, when he pulls for a chaste breath. "I've always—" *

But then you’re leaning up to him again, running your hand up his nape and into the locks of his curly hair, and tugging him back down to meet him halfway. Words can come later. There’ll be time. You’ll weave it into existence, if you must. 

Right now you’re content with this. With seeing his eyes slide shut and feeling the press of his palms and thumbs on your cheeks; with letting him fold you tight into his arms, and kissing you so desperately it feels as if he’s cleaving his very soul apart so he could tuck you into it forever. 

You exhale his name. A thin, reedy sound, when he sidles you to a plinth. “I thought me the ‘bane of your existence’?”

He bumps nose and forehead to yours, eyes half-mast and pupils blown in naked admiration. “You misquote me, surely.”

“Oh?” you murmur, low and close.

He doesn’t bother with an answer. Just dips to kiss you, slower this time, relaxed— Like a tender apology for the wasted centuries, like he wanted to carve into memory the seam of your lips and the slope of it; trace every crack, crevice and curve of your face; memorise the warmth of your skin and the shuddering feel of you in his searing touch.

It’s slow and steady and careful and painfully endearing. You have half the mind to just stay like this with him forever, eclipsed by Elrond's lips, hands and shadow; and translate everything you’ve ever held back from saying into this one fervid kiss alone—

“High King?” comes an approaching call. 

Both of you fly back from each other in alarm, just as a figure turns the corner.

(The sound produced from the both of you pulling apart that ardent, sealing kiss is damning.)

“Círdan!” Elrond greets just in time, voice a strangled, breathless rasp. 

He clears his throat to try again. “Ah, I’m— afraid the High King is not here.”

You pray to the Valar Círdan doesn’t notice the harried way both of your chests rise and fall, or the way the circlet on your head has gone distinctly off-kilter, or the windswept tousle of Elrond’s curls.

He does, however, notice the empty goblet that’d been rolled to a stop, right at his foot. “…Are you two alright?”

“Very,” Elrond drags, and shoots you a there-and-away glance that leaves your cheeks hot. “We were just—”

Círdan toes the cup. “Having another petty row, I assume?”

“Yes,” you agree hastily. “Arguing.”

“As always,” the shipwright assents. “Right, well, don’t let me interrupt.”

Then, Círdan turns to face you and narrows his eyes curiously. Your lips are glaringly stained red. 

“Do go easy on the First Age wine, Marshal,” he suggests, before finally disappearing around the corner.

Elrond fights back from barking out a laugh.

“Yes, go easy,” Elrond croons your way, once you sink in relief. “Tell me, was I enough of a taste for you?”

“Snide little—” You swat with a laugh, but he catches you easily by the wrist, wearing that tight-lipped, boyish smile, and bends down to nudge you into another kiss once more.

You give in, ofcourse. 

“Fool,” you whisper somewhere inbetween.

You can practically feel him smiling against you.

“Half-wit.”

Fanart by yours truly!

Footnotes:

Under the suspended belief that the spoken English is translated from Sindarin, any Elvish dialogue in the story is Quenya unless stated otherwise.

*Rough translations as followed:

Elmendëa  =  Wonder/Amazement. Ává tuluvanyë!  =  I will not follow you! Valyë—!  =  Don’t—! Dínen!  =  Silence!  [a/n. Sindarin] Meno!  =  Go! Lá asanyë a—  =  I do not wish for— Dúro di  =  Obey him.  [a/n. I believe this is Sindarin] Ilqua nauva mára  =  It’ll be okay. (Lit: All will be well.) Manan nîn rehtanë tye  =  why did you defend me? Ánin apsene  =  I’m sorry/Forgive me. Endë intyë  =  Center your heart. (Lit: Center yourself.) Melin tye = I love you. Yén:  an Elven unit of time, amounting 144 solar years.

Sindarin names:

Beren — Valiant/Bold Ind — Will/Heart Wen — maiden (alternatively: -iel/-il/-el) Therefore, Beríniel > Valiant-hearted Maiden Îdh — Peace -(n)dil — Friend/Lover Therefore, Îdhendiel > Lover of Peace.  Glóriel — Golden -dir — name suffix Therefore, Glórieldir > Golden one Dû —  night Gwath —  shadow Therefore, Dûath > Night shadow Mereth Nuin Giliath > Feast Under Stars. (As lifted from the Mirkwood Elves in The Hobbit movies)

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

i only pray, don't fall away from me

fandom: The Lord of the Rings

pairing: Elrond Peredhel x Reader

summary: You get injured on patrol outside of Rivendell, as a result of your own inattentiveness. Elrond treats your wound, unaware of your affections for him.

tags/warnings: injury, blood, hurt/comfort, stitches, self-doubt

word count: 1650

As a member of Rivendell’s guard, you are no stranger to injuries. You’ve been shot at, slapped, and stabbed more times than you can count.

So, it’s hardly surprising when an orc blade manages to catch you while you’re out on watch. This time however, it’s your own lack of attention that causes the injury.

Your group is patrolling just beyond the borders of Rivendell, past the protection of Vilya. You ride at the back of the group, keeping your eyes and ears strained for anything out of the ordinary. A strange unease fell over you a while back, but you can’t decide if it’s just natural anxiety from leaving Vilya’s protection.

Before you can mull over it any further, a shout comes from the front of the pack, followed by a strangled growl. Orcs. They have been getting bolder, wandering closer and closer to Rivendell’s borders. You had hoped you wouldn’t run into any today, but that was a tall order.

Spurring your horse onward and into the now intense fray, you rapidly pull your sword and begin to fight. It’s a rather large band of orcs, not quite proficient in their fighting but certainly strong and powerful nonetheless. Already you hear some of your fellow elves grunting in pain as the orcs manage to graze them with their blades.

The battle is quick and dirty, the smell of orc blood thick in the air. As you fell the final orc with a quick jab of your sword, the rest of your comrades gather to clean their own weapons. A few of their flawless faces are specked with blood, but for the most part they seem unharmed. Just as you are about to sheath your own sword once again, a fierce roar sounds from behind you. You attempt to evade the oncoming blade but still, you feel the sharp sting of it against the side of your neck. Immediately, you press a hand to the rapidly bleeding wound, while an elvish arrow pierces the head of the lone orc.

The world spins around you as you hear your comrades calling your name. You wave them off with your free hand, assuring them that everything is fine. “Does anyone have any athelas?” you grunt. Someone hands you a bundle of the plant, and you crush it in your palm without hesitation before pressing it to the wound. The feeling of your blood is warm and slick as it seeps between your fingers. You vaguely register someone asking if the blade had hit your artery, and you manage a weak shake of your head. Your captain suggests heading back to get your wound treated, and you have no fight left in you to argue.

The athelas helps to soothe the sting of the wound, but in such a small quantity, it’s not doing much to slow the bleeding. You keep one hand pressed against your neck, the other on the reins of your horse. The gleaming light of Rivendell comes into view and you feel the gentle embrace of Vilya’s protection around you once again. The warmth of it nearly makes you fall over as your body relaxes. One of the other elves rides up beside you, concern on their face as they hold out a steadying hand. You shake them off and urge your horse on.

The ride is long and painful, mentally more than anything. You’re beating yourself up for missing the final foe, for allowing yourself to be blindsided.

As you step through Rivendell’s gates, you see that a small crowd has already amassed. Your captain and the rest of the company arrived moments before you, and it seems that word has spread quickly. As you dismount, the crowd parts and Lord Elrond steps forward, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Come,” he commands, and you have no choice but to follow as he leads you to the healing halls. You keep your head hung low, shame and embarrassment flooding through you.

As you enter the halls, Elrond turns to look at you inquisitively. “Why do you hide? Your wound is nothing to be ashamed of.”

You hop up onto a tall table. Through the slick of your blood, you can feel your pulse racing rapidly in your neck. “It is not my wound of which I am ashamed,” you murmur.

Elrond tuts and retrieves some healing supplies. The halls are quiet and deserted, which makes you feel even worse. Taking Elrond’s attention like this, when he surely has more important things to do. Elrond returns and stands before you, his voice steady as he reassures, “We all make mistakes. Do not linger on that which you cannot control.”

You try to take his words to heart but there’s a flicker of doubt that remains.

“Let me see,” he urges and gestures for you to remove your hand from the wound.

You withdraw, the cooling effect of the athelas fading as you move away. Immediately, Elrond’s face hardens into that of a healer and his eyes focus on the gash. “You are lucky the blade was not poisoned,” he mutters, still a few feet away as he examines your neck. “This is far too close to your artery for my liking.”

He steps closer, and you unconsciously part your legs to accommodate him within your space. A fierce blush washes over you and you avoid Elrond’s concerned gaze. “Are you feeling feverish?” he questions, attributing your flushed face to your injury.

You swallow thickly and instantly regret the movement as the wound pulses. You wince and rasp out a “no” in response. Elrond’s face softens and he returns his eyes to your neck. He holds a clean, damp rag to the wound to soak up some of the blood. “I’ll have to stitch this,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It will be difficult to heal. The wound will want to reopen with much movement.”

You groan internally at the thought of being removed from patrols while you recover. Your captain will have no qualms about leaving you behind, especially after this incident.

Elrond removes the rag and picks up a suturing needle and thread. You realize all at once how close he is to you, that you can feel his warm breath against your neck as he examines the wound once more. From this distance, you can almost see the twinkle of starlight in his eyes.

You push back the feelings of adoration and infatuation that bubble up within you. All your life you’ve felt… something for the elvish lord, but the discipline of being a warrior has left those thoughts to the wayside. You’ve been treated by Elrond for various wounds before, but never has he been so close. Now, with him standing so near, showering you with such attention, you cannot deny your attraction to him. But this is not the time for such childish feelings – you attempt to control the pervasive thoughts.

Unfortunately, your body is not so easily controlled. Your pulse continues to race, even more so under Elrond’s gentle touch as he stitches the wound. Your skin is flushed and you can’t imagine how red you must be – the tips of your ears feel on fire. Each breath is somewhat of a pant as the adrenaline of your schoolgirl crush courses through you.

Suddenly, one of Elrond’s hands is resting on your abdomen. His fingers splay across the fabric of your clothing, and you can feel the warmth of his palm seeping to your skin. The touch catches you by surprise and you meet his eyes.

“Calm,” he murmurs. “Breathe into my hand. You are in shock, I believe.”

How can he not see? How can he not see that his touch burns like fire, that his proximity only makes things worse in the best way possible? How can be so oblivious to the feelings that, to you, appear all powerful?

Yet, you manage a deep breath and it seems to help. Elrond keeps his hand upon your abdomen for a moment longer, apparently reassuring himself of your safety. His eyes flit back to the wound and he completes the sutures. You focus on the feeling of them tugging at your skin, a sensation which distracts you from the still-burning shadow of his hand.

Finally, Elrond places the needle back down. He secures a large bandage to the side of your neck, covering the gruesome injury. He doesn’t move away, instead bringing his fingers to your wrist to check your pulse. With nothing to distract you now, you have no choice but to feel the warmth of his touch, the electricity.

“Deep breaths, remember,” he reminds you, still attributing your rapid pulse to your injury.

Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so thick.

Sometimes you’re grateful for his obliviousness. It certainly spares you an enormous amount of embarrassment.

“The stitches will need to come out in ten days,” he says, fingers still circling your wrist. His thumb rubs small circles on the back of your hand, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. “Come to me immediately if you feel feverish or ill.”

You nod and wait for him to step away, to release your hand. He doesn’t, remaining standing between your legs with his eyes trained on your hand.

“Hîr nin?” you question quietly. The tips of your ears begin to burn again.

He murmurs your name in response, eyes flitting up to meet your briefly. “I hate to see you hurt.” He whispers the words like a secret, like they are just for your ears.

You are silent for a moment as the implications of that statement sink in.

Before you can answer him, he releases your hand and steps away. An admittedly large part of you misses his closeness. “Please do try to be more careful.” With a swish of his robes, he turns and walks away.

[queenstarlight2]

A plan is put in place, and two elves grow hungry

yandere Thranduil and Elrond (4.5K) (NON-CON)(Final chapter, but might pick it back up if people want me to) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 summery: Elrond puts sleeping herbs in your tea, and you meet Thranduil in his chambers alongside Elrond and outcomes ensue

Elrond's mind was a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions as he went about his morning routine. He couldn't seem to focus on anything but the thought of seeing Star for their late afternoon tea. He knew that he had agreed to drug her, and the guilt and unease of that knowledge tugged at his heart, but simultaneously, he couldn't deny the pull he felt towards her, the undeniable attraction that drew him like a moth to a flame.

As the hours ticked by, his anticipation and anxiety mounted, building to an almost unbearable level. The sun rose higher in the sky, painting Rivendell in golden light, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't clear his mind of the thought of her face, her voice, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when she looked at him. The thought of seeing her again, of being close to her, was addictive, even as the guilt and doubt continued to eat away at him.

His mind seemed to be a constant battleground, his heart torn between the desire to be near her and the knowledge that he had agreed to do something terrible. He knew he shouldn't, knew that he was betraying her trust and breaking the ethics he held dear as a healer, but the pull was too strong. The thought of seeing her made his heart race.

The knock on the door came at exactly the appointed time, and Elrond's heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then opened the door. Standing on the other side, looking beautiful and radiant in the late afternoon sun, was his soon-to-be beloved

Elrond ushered her inside, trying to keep his expression calm and composed. "Welcome," he said, his voice betraying nothing of the conflicted emotions that roiled within him. "Please, come in and have a seat."

As she walked into the room, Elrond couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was wearing a simple but elegant dress, the fabric flowing around her like liquid mercury. The sunlight caught in her hair, making it glow like a halo around her face. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and curiosity, and her lips were lifted in a small smile. She looked both innocent and mischievous, a combination that was both captivating and dangerous.

As she moved further into the room, Elrond felt his heart rate increase, and he had to force himself to remain calm. He motioned to a low table with a teapot, cups, and snacks already laid out. "Please, have a seat," he said again, his voice a little hoarse. "I have some tea prepared if you would like some."

Star looked around the room, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the cozy, homey atmosphere. "This is lovely," she said, her voice soft and pleasant. "Thank you for having me." She took a seat at the table, folding her hands in her lap, her expression polite and eager.

Elrond poured the tea, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His mind was a swirling cesspool of mixed emotions - excitement, fear, and guilt all vying for dominance. He tried to focus on the act of pouring the tea, but his thoughts kept darting to the sleeping herb he had mixed into Star's cup. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath coming uneven and shallow. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the thought of having her all to himself was too enticing to resist.

As Elrond handed her the cup of tea, she noticed the slight tremor in his hand and the way his gaze seemed to dart away from hers before fixing back on her face. Concern flickered in her eyes, and she tilted her head slightly, studying him intently. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and worry.

Elrond plastered a half-convincing smile on his face, trying to push aside the guilt and unease that warred within him. "Yes, everything is fine," he said, his voice a little too bright. "I'm just a little… distracted, is all."

Star's gaze remained on him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what might be bothering him. Her instincts were telling her that something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took a small sip of the tea, her eyes never leaving his face.

Elrond's heart was racing as he watched her take a sip of the tea. The sleeping herb he had mixed into it would take effect soon, and he knew that once she fell asleep, he would have her at his mercy. The thought both excited and terrified him, and he had to force himself to maintain his composure.

Elrond took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, then sat down across from Star. He tried to maintain a casual, relaxed expression, but his heart was racing, and his palms were sweaty.

Elrond took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to focus on the moment. He knew he had to keep up the act, if only for a little longer. He fixed his gaze on Star, trying to look relaxed and charming, and forced his voice to come out steady and steady. "How is the tea? I hope it's to your liking."

Star took another small sip of the tea, her eyes still locked on Elrond's. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. "It's delicious, thank you," she said, her voice soft. "You are a master of all things, aren't you?"

Elrond's heart skipped a beat at her words, and he couldn't help but bask in the praise. Despite the situation, he was secretly pleased that she had noticed his skills. "I do try my best," he said, forcing a smile. "But there's always room for improvement, isn't there?"

Star smiled back, her eyes still searching his face for any hint of what was bothering him. She took another sip of the tea, her instincts still telling her something was amiss. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" she asked, her voice a little more serious.

Elrond's heart rate spiked at the question, and he had to force down the immediate instinct to say no. "Of course," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Ask me anything."

Star leaned forward slightly, her eyes locked on his. "You seem different today," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Something is bothering you. Can you tell me what it is?"

Elrond's heart constricted in his chest at her words. Her perception was unnerving, and his guilt spiked. But he couldn't tell her the truth, not now. "It's… nothing," he said, the lie sticking in his throat. "Just some work-related stress."

Star's eyes narrowed slightly, her intuition telling her that his answer was only partially truthful. "Are you sure that's all it is?" she asked, her voice quiet. "You can tell me the truth, you know. I won't judge you."

Elrond's mind raced as he tried to come up with a believable excuse. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Finally, he settled on a partial truth, mixed in with a lie. "You're right," he said, his voice quiet. "Something is weighing on my mind. It's just… I feel guilty for being attracted to you. My wife is in the Grey Havens, and I know it's wrong to feel this way."

Star's expression softened, and her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay," she said, her voice gentle. "We can't always control our feelings, no matter how much we want to. I understand how hard it must be for you."

Elrond couldn't help but feel relieved that Star had accepted his excuse. He had expected her to see through the half-truths and lies, but she had bought his story hook, line, and sinker. A part of him felt guilty for duping her, but the larger part was just thankful that he had managed to keep her in the dark about the sleeping herbs.

As the conversation went on

Star's eyelids began to droop, and she stifled a yawn. "I don't know about you," she said, her voice slightly slurred, "but I'm feeling oddly tired."

Elrond's heart raced as he saw the effect of the sleeping herbs taking hold of her. Her eyes were becoming glassy, and her head was drooping slightly. "Perhaps you're just tired from the day's activities," he suggested, feigning concern.

As the herbs continued to take effect, Star's mind began to become disjointed and unfocused. She looked up at Elrond, her eyelids drooping heavily, and tried to speak. "I… I need to go," she mumbled, her words slurring. "Thranduil is waiting…" She stopped to yawn and then looked back up at him with a smile. "Thank you for the tea… it was lovely… and you are too…"

Elrond felt a pang of guilt and regret as he heard her words, but he pushed it down, knowing that there was no going back now. "You're very welcome," he said, his voice gentle. "I'm glad you enjoyed the tea."

As the sleeping herbs continued to work their magic, Star stood up from the table, her movements unsteady. She wobbled a little, and Elrond reached out to steady her, his heart heavy with guilt. "Careful," he said, his voice still feigning concern. "You look like you need some support."

Star leaned on him a little, her eyes half closed. "Thank you," she mumbled. "I'm just… tired. So tired…" Elrond felt a pang of guilt as he saw the effects of the herbs on her. Her head was drooping, and she was barely able to keep her eyes open. But he kept a firm grip on her arm, guiding her to the door.

"Come on," he said, his voice gentler than he felt. "Let me walk you to Thranduil's chambers. You shouldn't be wandering around alone like this."

Star didn't protest, her mind too fuzzy to think straight. She simply nodded and let Elrond lead her out of the room and down the hallway. She stumbled a little, her footsteps heavy and erratic, but Elrond kept a steady grip on her arm, guiding her toward Thranduil's chambers.

As they walked, a few guards and servants passed by, eyeing the pair with curiosity. Elrond kept his expression composed, his mind racing with excuses in case they asked questions. But luckily, no one seemed to pay them much attention, and they made it to Thranduil's chambers without incident.

Elrond reached the door to Thranduil's chambers and paused for a moment, his hand hovering in the air. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come, and then knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened, revealing Thranduil standing on the other side. His eyes flicked from Elrond to Star, who was leaning heavily on Elrond's arm, her eyes half-lidded and her movements sluggish.

Thranduil's expression remained neutral, but Elrond could see a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He knew what they had planned, and he was eager to get on with it. Thranduil nodded in greeting, his voice cool and controlled. "I see you brought her," he said.

Thanduil stepped aside and gestured for Elrond to bring Star inside. He watched with a mix of fascination and excitement as Elrond led Star into the room, her steps faltering and her eyes glazed over.

As Elrond guided Star into the room, Thranduil stepped closer to her, his eyes studying her face intently. He reached out and gently touched her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. "How are you feeling, darling?" he asked. "Elrond and I were hoping we could take care of you tonight. Would you like that?"

Star's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Thanduil's voice, and she looked up at him with a confused, unfocused gaze. She didn't seem to fully understand what was being asked of her, but she nodded weakly, her head still foggy from the herbs. "Yes," she mumbled. "Yes, please… take care of me…"

Thanduil led the way to the bed, with Elrond following closely behind with Star still leaning heavily on him. They reached the bed, and with a quick gesture from Thanduil, Elrond gently laid Star down on the bed. She lay there, her eyes half-lidded and her body limp, as Thanduil and Elrond hovered over her. Thanduil's eyes flicked to Elrond, silently communicating his plan.

Elrond nodded in understanding, his heart hammering in his chest. As much as he felt guilty about what he was doing, he knew there was no stopping now. With tentative movements, he reached for the buttons on Star's dress, his fingers shaking slightly as he began to undo them one by one.

Meanwhile, Thanduil stood near the bed, watching with growing excitement as Elrond undressed Star. His eyes glittered with a predatory gleam, and his breath came faster as more and more of her skin was slowly revealed. He reached out and gently ran his hand down her leg, his touch rough yet appreciative.

As they continued to undress Star, the mood in the room grew heated and charged. Thanduil and Elrond's touches grew increasingly intimate, their fingers roaming over her skin with a growing sense of possessiveness. Thanduil's hands slid up her leg, his touch becoming possessive as he spoke. "She's so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "She's ours now… ours to do with as we please."

Elrond watched as Thanduil touched her, a mix of guilt and arousal coursing through him. His own hands were on her body as well, roaming over her curves and caressing her skin. "She's so soft," he agreed, his voice thick with need. "So innocent.."

Thanduil's eyes flicked to Elrond, and he smirked. "You're enjoying this more than you thought you would, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a little mocking. "You're not feeling guilty anymore, are you?"

Elrond felt a pang of shame at Thanduil's words, but he couldn't deny the truth in them. He was enjoying this, more than he had expected to. His hands continued to roam over Star's body, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of ownership and power over her. "No," he admitted, his voice a little huskier than before. "I'm not feeling guilty anymore. I want this just as much as you do."

As Thanduil's and Elrond's touches grew more insistent, Star's body began to respond. She let out a soft moan, her back arching slightly as Thanduil's hand roamed over her curves. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head rolled to the side, her hair spilling over the pillow. She was completely at their mercy, her body reacting to their touch despite the drugged state she was in.

Thanduil and Elrond glanced at each other, both surprised and pleased by the sound of her moan. They could feel her body responding to their touch, and it only heightened their desire for her even more. They continued to touch and caress her, their hands and fingers exploring every inch of her body, leaving no skin untouched. Every moan and whimper that escaped Star's lips was like gasoline on the fire of their desire. Thanduil's hands became more possessive, gripping her body with a rougher edge, while Elrond's touch remained a little more gentle but no less insistent.

As they continued to touch and explore her body, Thanduil's thoughts and desires took a darker turn. He suddenly leaned in close to Elrond, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Isn’t she beautiful?" he asked

With a nod, Elrond replied, "Indeed." His heart raced as he watched Thranduil's hands slide up Star's thighs, teasingly brushing against her sensitive flesh. Despite knowing this wasn't right, Elrond found himself unable to resist the allure of their shared obsession. Their actions were becoming increasingly intimate, fueled by lust and possession.

Feeling emboldened by Elrond's silence, Thranduil moved closer still until their bodies were pressed tightly together against her helpless form. His mouth hovered near her earlobe as he whispered words filled with dark promises into her ear. "You belong to us now," he purred menacingly, sending chills down her spine. At once, he slid his hand beneath her nightgown, tracing slow circles around her navel before dipping lower until his fingertips brushed against her damp folds. Meanwhile, Elrond trailed kisses along her neck, his arousal growing stronger by the second as he watched them together. This was wrong—so very wrong—but neither could deny the powerful pull drawing them deeper into depravity.

Unknowingly, Star slept through the entire encounter. Her mind was clouded by the tranquilizers mixed in with her drink earlier that evening - rendering her limbs heavy and numb, and stealing away what little resistance she might have put up otherwise. But even in sleep, she couldn't escape their clutches entirely. Thranduil's hand carefully slipped underneath her dress, finding its way between her legs where he continued to tease and stroke her already swollen clit without mercy. Meanwhile, Elrond moved closer still, pressing his hardening cock against her bare ass cheek which stirred something deep inside him - an urge to claim what was his whether awake or asleep.

Thranduil and Elrond locked eyes again. There was something feral burning bright in those depths that both frightened and excited the other man. Without breaking contact, Thranduil whispered hoarsely, "She belongs to us now… don't you think?" Elrond didn't hesitate to answer, his voice low and raspy with desire. "Yes," he breathed back, "We should never have denied ourselves this opportunity." There was a dangerous undertone to their conversation but also an undeniable thrill that danced along their spines. They were walking a fine line between sanity and madness, lust and violence – and they loved every second of it.

Thranduil slowly pulled away from Star, his hand trailing lightly across her stomach before reaching behind to release his thick cock from his trousers. It sprang free instantly, standing tall and proud against his pale skin. Without further ado, he positioned himself at her entrance, nudging her to open slowly with the tip of his erection. Her pussy was slick with anticipation, welcoming him inside with eager ease. As he pushed forward, feeling her walls stretching around him, Thranduil groaned deeply, losing himself in the sensation of finally being joined by her after a day of tormented longing. He thrust forward powerfully then retreated slowly, savoring every inch of her warmth surrounding him.

Moans of pure bliss escaped her lips as Thranduil's cock plunged deep inside her. Each thrust caused her to buck wildly against him, her body begging for more as it craved the feeling of fullness and belonging that came with being taken by these two powerful Elves. Elrond couldn't resist joining in, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking greedily while using his free hand to massage her other breast, sending waves of ecstasy rippling throughout her entire being. Thranduil's eyes rolled back in pleasure as he moved rhythmically within her sleeping form. He couldn't believe how tight she felt around him, even in her unconscious state.

Her soft moans filled the air, fueling his lust further. Meanwhile, Elrond watched them intently, his hands roaming over her body before sliding underneath her to cup her firm ass, helping Thranduil's thrusts go deeper. He could feel his release building up, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to the intense desire consuming him. "She fits us perfectly," Elrond managed to choke out between labored breaths. The thought of sharing Star sent a thrill through both of them, only heightening the sensations coursing through their bodies. Their combined pleasure echoed throughout the dimly lit chamber, each movement bringing them closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Unable to bear it any longer, Elrond decided to take his place alongside Thranduil. He knelt beside Star, positioning himself so that he faced Thranduil's chiseled abs, giving him an enticing view of the king thrusting into the girl. Gently nudging Thranduil aside, Elrond leaned over to press a hot kiss against her lips, slipping his tongue past her teeth when she parted them with a soft moan. Feeling Thranduil's cock slide out of her, he replaced it with his own, filling her. Their shared lover writhed in pleasure between them, caught in their intimate embrace. Elrond started moving rhythmically, matching Thranduil's pace as they took turns claiming her. They shared knowing looks, their lust-filled minds syncing perfectly. "She's ours now," Elrond growled possessively against Star's mouth before biting down lightly on her lower lip. The thrill of their illicit act only made him more eager to make her fully aware of what was happening once she woke up. Their plan was set in motion - nothing would ever be the same for her again.

As Elrond continued his relentless assault on Star's lips, his thoughts drifted toward the tantalizing idea of double penetration. He glanced up at Thranduil, whose own passion seemed insatiable. "Imagine taking her together," he breathed into Thranduil's ear. "Both our cocks inside her, filling her." The image sent a shockwave through him, causing his movements to become even more urgent. Thranduil paused mid-stroke, considering Elrond's words. His eyes narrowed as a wicked smirk played upon his lips. "Yes," he agreed, "That would truly mark her as ours." Their gazes locked, and for a moment, there was no one else in the room except for them and the beautiful, vulnerable creature trapped between them. They both knew it was wrong - but that only made it feel so much more right.

Lost in their depraved desires, Elrond and Thranduil couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have Star completely at their mercy – fully aware of their possession. In hushed whispers, Elrond suggested, "Once she's awake…" he trailed off, his eyes sparking with a dangerous hunger as he slid his cock out of her mouth and replaced it with Thranduil's, allowing him to taste her wetness. "We'll show her who she belongs to," Thranduil finished the thought, pulling out from her tight heat so that Elrond could enter her instead. The two elves shared an intense look, their arousal peaking at the thought of having her in every way possible. Elrond thrust into her, burying himself deep as they prepared for what was yet to come. "Double penetration," he said, a hint of malice lacing his tone as he glanced over at Thranduil, "We'll fill her so completely she won't know where one ends and the other begins." Thranduil's breath hitched, and he nodded eagerly, stroking himself as he watched Elrond take her. The anticipation of claiming her fully consumed them, making each movement inside her more urgent and demanding.

Thranduil's gaze remained locked onto Star's beautiful face, her features twisted in pleasure as Elrond claimed her beneath him. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy mixed with pure desire. As Elrond picked up speed, the bedrock beneath them seemed to vibrate in tandem with their movements. The sound of their combined efforts filled the room along with Star's increasing moans – and it was music to Thranduil's ears. His cock ached for release, but he held back, determined to make the most of this moment. He leaned over to kiss Elrond's neck, teeth scraping against his sensitive flesh before he asked hoarsely, "Do you think she'll enjoy it? When we both fill her up?" Elrond groaned in response, the mere suggestion driving him wild. Thranduil's fingers tightened around his shaft as he imagined the sensation of pushing into Star alongside Elrond, stretching her even further and hearing her beg for mercy. "She'll beg for more," Elrond finally managed to say, his voice strained with need. Thranduil smirked at the thought, his body shuddering in anticipation. Their wicked plan took shape in their minds as they continued pleasuring her, every thrust bringing them closer to the edge – and to the moment they'd been waiting for since she first arrived in their realm.

Thranduil's control snapped, and he moaned out his release, filling her already overflowing pussy with his seed. The sensation of their combined cum inside her was almost too much to bear – but it was only a taste of what was to come. As he slowed his movements, the evidence of their liaison started to seep out of her, painting her thighs with a mixture of their pleasure. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned down to kiss her deeply, leaving her lips swollen and glistening. Pulling away, he whispered, "Soon, little one, you'll feel us both taking you at once." His voice was filled with a dark promise that sent shivers down Elrond's spine. They would have her fully aware and begging for more – they would make her crave them like she'd never craved anything before. Their plan was set, and Thranduil knew that once it was complete, Star would never be able to leave their grasp. He couldn't wait for the day she woke up to find herself completely owned by them, her body bearing the marks of their passion and her soul forever entwined with their own.

As Elrond cleaned them up and prepared Star for her eventual awakening, Thranduil couldn't keep his eyes off her – the way their combined cum glistened on her skin, the soft moans that still escaped her lips even in slumber. They had done something unforgivable, claimed her without her consent – but they couldn't deny the thrill it gave them. Their hearts raced at the thought of continuing this illicit affair, of taking her together in a way that would bind her to them irrevocably. As they lay beside her, each lost in their depraved thoughts, they knew that their lives had changed forever. The moment she opened her eyes, their story would truly begin. They exchanged knowing looks, each silently promising the other that they would see this twisted tale through to its conclusion – no matter the cost. Their desire for her had consumed them, and there was no turning back now. They would have her – body, mind, and soul – and nothing would stand in their way.

[jadehaven]

This is not a drill people i just discovered Robert’s Juilliard resume and listed as skills are BALLROOM, TANGO, and THE WALTZ for dancing.

Guys.

Elrond can waltz?

Elrond can waltz!

[not-an-atla-blog]

There's not enough fanfiction out there about Durin finding out that 'Elrond' means 'Elf of the cave' in Sindarin. Like i just think we should get on that asap.