#elrond's favorites

[elronds-library]

Less Than Kind

by orphan_account

“I hardly believed it,” said Maedhros. “What are you doing here?” "I bring a message from my father." Maedhros blinked. "Really?" Fingon grinned. "I believe his exact words were: you're visiting who, well if you must you must, say something suitable, something something friendship something something kinsmen, tell him good job keeping my brother's sons out of trouble, I'd rather wrestle another ice bear myself – but don't say it like that!" _ Fingon goes to visit Maedhros, accidentally arrives during a Fëanorion family reunion, and quickly regrets many (but not all) of his life choices.

Mature, No Archive Warnings

Words: 14,260

[fukutomichi]

The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power / S1 / 2 Sep. 2022 - 14 Oct. 2022 Robert Aramayo as Elrond Half-elven

[sunnyshinesunshine]

I love Kidnap Fam a lot, I really do, but I’ve seen a trend of brushing over the worst parts of Maglor and especially Maedhros’ history in Kidnap Fam works.

And I suppose that’s fine sometimes you don’t wanna deal with atrocities and you just want fluff.

But I think a lot of the time when writing the Kidnap Fam there’s a tendency for mostly Elrond to sort of excuse the actions of the House of Feanor.

I think maybe that’s because it is hard to conceptualise Mags and Mae being both kind to the children and villains at the same time.

And don’t mistake me, I think all the sons of Feanor were villains by their deaths. Maedhros, in my opinion, is the definition of ‘die a hero or live long enough to be a villian’.

Being critically online (guilty) I find it hard to remember that the world isn’t black or white. People are multifaceted. Their goodness doesn’t wipe away the harm they’ve done and vice versa.

All this to say that I’m really looking forward to some more Kidnap Fam fics that explore the idea of Elrond loving and honoring them as his parents, all the while being like ‘yeah they were also horrible but I still love them and don’t think they should be doomed forever’.

Because at the end of the day, neither Mags nor Mae were truly monsters (just straight evil with no goodness), but people who were capable of hunting for hours for a pair of lost boys, and refusing to burn the ships for love, as well as slaughtering an entire city full of refugees.

So yeah! Let’s see some Elrond having complicated feelings about that!! Woo!

[localmdderes]

I wish summer were actually as kind as Elrond.

Or at least half as kind as him I guess.

[iamnotshazam]

New Gil-galad origin theory: the remaining Noldor realized the High King position was absolutely cursed. After they met the barely adult but still baby-faced Elrond and Elros (freshly returned from the dadnapping), the ranking Noldor all turned to each other, sighed, and then agreed to a random drawing for the kingship. Better to deflect whatever nasty juju is following the position than let either of these two politely blunder their way into leading a people so legendarily Fucked. Especially Elros, who even before he decided what he wanted to do, just kinda had that sheepherding dog energy, and might as well have a sign taped to his forehead that says "will one day lead a large group of people on some zany pursuit"

[thesolarangel]

Best of accidentally mistyped names (by myself, @elronds-pointy-ears and @queenmeriadoc):

Gil salad

Celebimbo

Brumby

Erlands

Elrobd

Elrod

Elland

Wlrond

Elend (it means "hardship" in german... Whoops, accidentally accurate)

[pepart]

One of my favorite moments of the Rings of Power - season 01 💍

[mag-lore]

Ëarendil Ardamírë the Mariner

[eri-pl]

A bit more feels for Fëanáro

There were 3 Silmarils to symbolize his mother, his father and him. To remind him of the time when they were together.

This would explain a lot. Why not two like Two Trees. Also, his reaction when asked to give them up.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Trying to transliterate Leara's name into Quenya, and it somehow becomes, uh,

Lëarra

Which basically means "You Sealion!"

And I'm just, "Oh yes, this is That Sealion Woman, and she can breathe fire, as all sealions do."

If Leara, for any reason at all, needed an actual Quenya or Sindarin name for any fun Elvish shenanigans, we'll just use Calairie/Calearil, which is "Light of the Sea" in Quenya and Sindarin, and what Leara actually means.

[elronds-library]

Anastasis

by Chthonion (@chthonion)

Part 1 of Your shadow rising to meet you

"Forgive me,” Frodo says in his accented Quenya, the syllables strange in his ears. “I—I have an old wound. It troubles me still, sometimes." "It is I who must ask your forgiveness," says the stranger. "I believe I may be the one who put it there." * In Aman, Frodo and Celebrimbor and Finrod forge a friendship, talk about trauma, and deal with the fact that Sauron's ghost is haunting Celebrimbor.

Teen and Up, No Archive Warnings

Words: 50,688

[radjerda]

Story-time in Rivendell with Uncle Glorfindel 2: Arwen's Turn! Years later, this fountain is still a favorite place for Glorfindel to host story-time (and try to keep Arwen from falling in the fountain while she's climbing)

[the-elusive-soleil]

love from before still strong

For @tolkienfamilyweek Day 1 - Parent-child relationship

Maglor is shaking as he makes his way through the shadows. His hand is still in searing pain, even though the Silmaril is now at the bottom of the sea. He can see the horrified, startled face of the guard he killed, and the horrible blank emptiness on Maedhros’ face just before he pitched forward and--

He shudders, tries to put it out of his mind.

He needs to get to Elrond. There is no room for a plan or for thoughts of consequences, only for that singular goal.

There’s nothing else left, is the thing. Morgoth is defeated (no thanks to him), all his brothers are dead, the Silmarils are gone and it is probably for the best, and Elros is already gone with the Men from the Host, departed for their new Isle of Gift while Maglor was huddled in the woods trying to come to terms with still being alive.

There is, distantly, the lurking possibility in the back of his mind that that could change. He is trying very hard to not entertain that possibility. There is no good reason for him to be alive when all his brothers are dead, but the situation only becomes more senseless if he throws away the life that only he has been allowed to keep.

So here he is, slipping through the camp of the Host of the West that he fled from, sword dripping blood, only days ago.

Fortunately, he does have some idea where to go in search of Elrond, from when he was here before--not from anything he saw, but rather from where in the camp Gil-Galad was most eager to prevent him and Maedhros from passing. More than that, he knows his son, and it is no stretch of the imagination to suspect that he ought to check the healers’ tents first.

Sure enough, as he approaches the tent at the end of the row, he hears a familiar voice saying, “Is there anything else you need from me tonight, Annehtë?”

It’s Elrond, which is good, but he’s not alone, which could cause problems. Maglor draws close to the side of the tent, the better to listen for an opportunity, and to stay out of sight of anyone passing.

“No, you’ve done all you ought to and more,” says an elf-woman who is presumably Annehtë. Peering through a gap between tent panels, Maglor spots her, a blonde Vanyarin who is probably not that much younger than himself, but whose face bears less stress than any elf of Beleriand’s anymore and makes her look unwontedly young.

Elrond, in plain and serviceable healer’s robes, looking weary but otherwise no worse for wear, is moving towards the tent entrance. “Then I will bid you farewell till morning, for this day has me unusually weary.”

Before he can leave, though, Annehtë calls out, “If you will stay a moment, there is a matter I would speak with you on.”

Maglor stifles a curse, and Elrond looks no less irritated as he turns around--he’s hiding it well enough for dealing with a relative stranger, but Maglor recognizes that set of his shoulders from every time he was made to eat greens he did not want. “What is it?”

“Why don’t we sit down?” Annehtë says, not really making it a suggestion. Elrond complies, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ve been meaning to check in on you ever since...well, since the incident a few days ago.”

So that’s what this is about.

Elrond’s face remains a polite mask. “I don’t see how there’s anything to discuss. Unless you suspect me of aiding and abetting them, which King Gil-Galad and King Finarfin have already determined was not the case.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Annehtë sounds shocked at the very thought. “It’s only that, well, they put you through so much before. You were only just starting to recover, and then to have them come so close again, so violently--you must have been afraid they would come after you and your brother, to take you again.”

“Why would they do that,” Elrond asks quietly and evenly, “when they were the ones who sent us here?”

“I can only guess at how such twisted minds may work,” Annehtë ventures, “but people like that don’t ever really let their victims go, you know. It’s part of the game they play, catch and release.”

“And what exactly would you know about it?” Elrond’s voice is terribly calm and cool. “Having lived all your life in Aman, where supposedly everything is perfect.”

“I have had opportunity to learn from my Sindarin colleagues since arriving here,” Annehtë retorts primly. She reaches out and takes Elrond’s hands in hers. “I understand that you must have felt such a need to be defensive of the Fëanorians when you first came here. You’d never known anything else, so of course you would want to cling to it. But they’re gone now, and it’s safe to let yourself admit that they were cruel to you. They destroyed your home and took you captive, and allowed you to know nothing but their own ways and their rules. They hurt you, and now you don’t have to pretend otherwise anymore just to get by.”

Maglor’s heart pounds in his chest. Not because he believes what the Vanyarin woman is saying in her falsely sweet voice--he knows he and Maedhros parented the twins to the best of their ability, knows that they gave them every scrap of love they had to offer, and is fairly confident that Elrond and Elros held some affection for them in return. But this is exactly what he had feared would happen when they sent their sons away: that the Sindar and Amanyar would teach them to hate the people who had raised them, and would in time so convince the twins that they had been abused that he and Maedhros would never be able to reunite with them again.

He supposes it is only surprising that it took this long for anyone to try.

That does not make it tear at thim any less when Elrond bows his head and admits, “I cannot deny that there is some truth in what you say.”

Maglor cannot stand to listen any further. He came too late and lost his chance, and now his son is slipping away from him. Intervention is impossible, so he does the only thing left to him and flees.

***

Elrond had already had more than enough of Annehtë before she tried to lure him into some kind of soul-baring exercise. The fact that she was delaying him when he could swear he felt the presence of one of his fathers just outside only compounded the irritation. He tried polite evasion, and when that seemed to be waxing ineffective, attempted to feign at least partial agreement in the hopes that she would let him alone.

Instead, his trouble only increased: no sooner had he forced out the words than he felt Maglor’s presence abruptly recede, as if in flight. No, no, this couldn’t happen, he couldn’t have the chance to finally keep hold of someone just slip through his fingers like that.

He itches to leap up and chase after Maglor right then and there, but Annehtë is still there, looking at him expectantly after his most recent statement. Right. He has to deal with this nonsense.

“It is true,” he continues, “that Maedhros and Maglor invaded and destroyed our home when we were children. But that is the only true thing you have said. They were kind to us from the beginning, although it would have been expedient to kill or abandon us. They loved us as their own sons; they only sent us away because they were sending everyone away that they could.”

Annehtë is spluttering. “But--but they were, are kinslayers! They cannot have had kindness in them, or how could they have done all that they did?”

“I do not know,” Elrond says, a little proud of how steady his voice is despite his rage. “I have wrestled with that myself. But there is no doubt in my mind that they loved us, that they gave us all the goodness they could scrape together in themselves, which was no small amount. So you will not say such things to me again--not only because they are false, but because my relationship with my fathers is none of your business.”

Then, finally, he has the opportunity to storm out in the wake of her stunned silence, and the moment he is out of the tent, he breaks into a sprint in the direction he felt Maglor’s presence receding towards.

Fortunately, his foster father does not have much of a head start, and it only takes a few minutes for Elrond to detect that flare of fëa and follow it into the woods. He quickly spots a figure curled in the shadows at the base of a large tree. A couple of paces closer, and he realizes that Maglor is weeping silently.

That does it. He flies across the short remaining distance, dropping to his knees and reaching out. “Atya? Atya! It’s all right, I’m here, I’m sorry...”

Maglor looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Elrond. Is it really you? I thought--”

“If you had stayed only a moment longer, you would have heard me go on to verbally eviscerate her,” Elrond declares. “I felt you outside the tent, I was trying anything I could to get away quickly, but it only led to me having to chase you down. What has happened to you? Where is Atar? Why did you not come to me, or to Elros or both of us, before?”

Maglor shivers. “Maedhros is dead,” he says hoarsely.

Elrond freezes. “What? He cannot be--they told us they had let you both go unharmed, they swore to me--”

“He cast himself into a chasm of fire,” Maglor continues, glorious voice flat and dull. “We took the Silmarils, and they burned us as they burn creatures of evil, and--he could not bear it. They physical wound, yes, but not--and so he ended.”

He looks up at Elrond, meeting his eyes for the first time. “He was gone, and Elros had already left for wherever his Isle of Gift will be, and there was no one else, so I thought to go to you. And then I heard--”

“--possibly the least important part of all that I had to say,” Elrond assures. He cradles Maglor’s hands in his, noting with an inward hiss of dismay the ugly burn upon the right palm. “I did not want to leave you and Atar before; I am certainly not going to let you slip away now.”

“You should,” Maglor says, making a brief abortive movement as if he would pull away but cannot bear to. “I have slain kin again, I am a thief and a murderer and kidnapper, my heels are dogged by a curse--”

“I care for none of that,” Elrond says quietly. “That is, I am not glad that you have killed again, but I don’t think you will do so any more, and I do not think there is any punishment anyone could inflict on you that would be worse than the rejection of the Silmarils and the loss of Atar.”

Maglor is silent, only bowing his head.

“I will not be staying with the Host for much longer,” Elrond forges on determinedly. “Finarfin has been trying to talk me into returning with the Amnyar, but I do not plan to. As soon as I can make that clear without burning any bridges, I will be leaving here--I want to travel, and study the different peoples of Middle-earth, and collect their knowledge. So much has been lost during the wars, but nowperhaps I can seek to preserve.”

A brief hesitation, and then, “If you will only wait here where I can find you until then, you are welcome to join me--no, more than welcome, I would earnestly desire it. We can travel together. First to Elros, I think--he will be glad to see you are alive, and will want to mourn Atar with us.”

There is a terribly long silence before Maglor lifts his head again. “I should not agree. I do not deserve it,” he says. “But I fear I am too weak now to fight against what I want so badly.”

Elrond lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good,” he says, a little unsteadily. He can work with that. Slowly, he drops the rest of the way to the ground and pulls Maglor into a tight, fierce embrace. “That’s good. That’ll be all right.”

[havenotwillnotreadthebooks]

Ok i love the Feral! Celebrian x Worrywart! Elrond fics and all the Unhinged! Elrond x Just Wants to Settle Down! Celebrian but i’m frothing for any fics that have the concept of Unhinged! Elrond x Feral! Celebrian like-

Celebrian, pouting: my parents refuse to let me try out my sword skills in battle 😒

Elrond, taught to wield weapons at age 7 (Peredhel Equivalent): wanna spar with live steel and no amor? I can heal us afterwards.

Celebrian: absolutely.

[modernbaseball]

LOTR variety pack‼️🧝👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨🍎Some in progress some never to be touched again

[pinkpeachesandcream]

what do u mean the lord of the rings is not therapy