#elven oath

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

"Oh, what are you doing, And where are you going? Your ponies need shoeing, The river is flowing! Oh, tra-la-la-lally Here down in the valley, ha! ha!" – Elves of Rivendell, The Hobbit

“You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it.” – Thranduil, The Hobbit

“May your shadow never grow less (or stealing would be too easy)!” – Thranduil, The Hobbit

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna miriel. 0 menel aglar elenath!" – Elves of Rivendell, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Such is of the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere." – Elrond Halfelven, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces!" – Elrond Halfelven, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Yes, they are elves, and they say that you breathe so loud they could shoot you in the dark." – Legolas Greenleaf, The Fellowship of the Ring

"And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!" – Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring

"In this phial is caught the light of Eärendil’s star, set amid the waters of my fountain. It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out." – Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!" – Fëanor, The Silmarillion

"...neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril." – Fëanor and His Sons, Morgoth's Ring

[swordmaid]

shri’iia after she breaks her oath and she realises she’s stuck in the surface forever, the goddess she’s been devoting her entire existence to doesn’t gaf about her, she’s been lying to the people she’s with and now there’s a high chance of them killing her once they find out about the truth (bc she knows full well the punishment for caught liars is death) and that she’s all alone in a world where she can barely speak the language, there’s an alien worm inside her brain and a strange figure appearing in her dream when she’s not supposed to be able to dream to begin with that’s telling her to use said worm and they’re going to protect her also she knows this is bs but she’s believing them anyway bc she’s already hitting rock bottom

[hollowwhisperings]

The Oath of Fëanáro

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all…Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[scalpelsister]

i think ive finally decided what my ren faire look is

[tacticalgrandma]

Online dnd group is talking about starting a new game and I am eager to make progress on my “play every subrace of elf pc” quest. The only issue is the ones I have left are eladrin, sea elf, and astral elf, and all three of those feel like big swings at the scope of whatever plot he’s setting up.

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React to You Being Different From Other Lifetimes

AN: The what ifs in my brain go crazy.

Pairing: Lads boys x (varying) reader

Genre: angst, fluff, drama, everything

Summary: In another lifetime they meet a different you.

(I do not own these characters)

Xavier: Vampire reader

What if the prince of light met you, the evil in the dark?

He found you in an alleyway, crouched over a withering man beneath the same pale light where he'd first seen you in Philos.

But you were not the same.

Your eyes, once shimmering pools of hope, were now blackened depths of corruption. Your lips, which once curled into soft smiles, were pulled back in a wicked snarl, dripping with blood.

"Hello, princeling." Your voice slides through the air like silk laced with venom. And then, you're next to him, breath ghosting along the curve of his ear. "Came here for this body?"

The hair on his neck stands on end. A dangerous warmth coils low in his stomach.

He can still feel the ghost of you, the whisp of the light you once carried. And yet, standing before him now, you are everything dark and unholy.

In that lifetime, he drove the stake through your heart. His hands trembled. His breath shattered.

And never before had he felt so hollow, a bone-deep melancholy that clung to him like a curse, long after your body turned to ash.

Rafayel: Older reader

He feels the pull for the first time as he walks toward his seat on the plane.

The ancient pull of his oath, mercilessly reminding him of the emptiness of this lifetime. He hadn’t found you. Across countries, towns, and villages, he had failed, lost another chance.

He had given up and was now on his way home, to the shores of seas that reminded him of Lemuria. He had boarded the plane and now… here you were.

You look up at him with the same eyes he’s been searching for. But now, in this life, they sit beneath crow’s feet. Lines of age carve your face.

He has never seen you like this. The sight steals his breath away.

Gray hair, a kind face, glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

In this lifetime, you lived, longer than any.

He wishes for nothing more than to grow old and blissful with you. But time had not been kind to him.

Instead, he sits next to you, listening to your chatter about your grandchildren, your late husband, and the life he had been denied access to.

Zayne: Soldier reader

He holds a saw and, without a flinch, chops off your leg.

The screams of a young soldier fill the tent, only to be drowned out by the explosions outside. The world was coming undone, with you.

The blood of millions failed to sate its hunger.

But Zayne cannot think about that now. He looks at your terrified expression, the pain and anguish of hurt mixed with hysteria.

"My leg..." you whimper.

He cups your face. You are so young. A peasant, shoved into the war between kings who could not care for life.

"Shhh, poppy will make it better," he murmurs, tipping the warm milk to your lips. "You’ll be fine. I will take care of you."

He sits next to your bed, holding your hand until your eyes droop shut.

There are so many others to tend to. But just for a moment, he steals time to sit with you, to the cruelty of watching your innocence shatter.

His eyes land on your broken spear, all that you had. In a battle of fire and steel, all you were allowed was a rusted spear. His heart twists at the unfairness of it.

Sylus: Elf reader

The old world was fading. That’s why the sight of you. your form, was astounding.

An elf. In the modern world that bowed to mortals. You were a peredhel. Half elven.

But this was not your world. Even if it demanded your very core. Tt was not yours.

You knelt beside a man who bound you in chains of servitude.

Sylus felt bloodlust flood his mind.

His other half, his mate, treated as such.

Immortal, untouched by time… this was perfect. He would have an eternity to remind you of the past.

He would find another way for the world to function, and if that came at the cost of others, so be it.

Ignoring the room full of Onichynus members, he walked toward you, breaking off the chains with his bare hands. Your captor was already headless on the floor.

Without a word, the scent of the past fills his mind as your hand slips into his palm.

You look at him, terrified. And in the tongue of sea elves, you say, "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

Caleb: Male reader

Brothers, many assumed. Or cousins, on occasion.

But Caleb always made it a point to state that you were friends, that you shared no blood.

Once, it had hurt you. Your soft, childish heart had feared being the cause of his shame.

If he wanted a friend, you chose to be just that, though the idea of a brother had always been dear to you.

It would be years later when you would come to know his side of things.

How the prospect of being your brother, or a long-lost cousin, had been his greatest nightmare.

Not because he loved you any less. But because he loved you differently.

And when his words are said out loud, he finally allows himself the love he had held back, to have this.

Holding hands, kissing, matching gear, he does it all. Without ever caring about others.

Now that it wouldn’t mean being perceived as your brother, but as your lover.

[sun-snatcher]

Elrond has a conch shell.

Not one of the prettier ones you would imagine, with the spikes and spots— No, this is a weathered and lumpy one; Sandy coloured and boring, for lack of a better word, only offset by the fact there’s a weird star-shaped hole you can peek through.

He brings it everywhere he travels.

Theory goes that it’s a magical trumpet gifted to him. Or, that he keeps secret messages in it for safekeeping. And his favourite: that he’s bound to the shell by oath, and if he steps a mere pace away from it, Ulmo would transform him into foam like a cursed sea-nymph. (You can imagine that one was debunked quite easily.)

No matter; the most important thing the Elves have come to learn about its peculiar existence is that above all: You do not touch it. (One of the younger elven recruits of a party learns this the hard way mid-travel, when he’d— bless him— grabbed the shell and suggested the idea to cast it aside, in exchange for more space to fit a spare skin of water.

It’s the first they’d ever seen Elrond snap like a whip.

Nobody dares question it since.)

That is, until young Estel had found it.

They can hardly blame the little child. Idle hands and curious trinkets never mix well, after all, much less with that of a 6-year-old who’s come to learn his bright-eyes and daisy-face lent him the ability to get away with almost anything.

“Look, Atya!” He’s skipped his way up to one of the open galleries of Imladris, hefting the coveted conch over his head as he peers at the night sky. “I can see the Evening Star through this hole!”

The Elves pale. They wait for the tongue-lashing, but the storm never comes.

“Not like that, Estel,” corrects Elrond patiently, bending to lower the child’s arms. “Put it to your ear, and close your eyes. Yes, now tell me, what do you hear?”

“…The sea!” he exclaims, after a focused minute. Then Estel lights up, and so Elrond lights up, and suddenly there’s a laughter in the air akin to a musical ring of bells, so high and sunny it dispels the witnessing Elves’ tension from the air.

“But how? We’re too far from the shores, and I can’t hear as well as you. Do you hear it too? Listen, Atya, listen!”

“Yes, yes,” Elrond laughs, and holds his hand over his son’s to bring the shell to his ears. And yes, indeed, if he closes his eyes, he could almost see it: The great rushing shores of Sirion, the pitter patter of Elros’ feet splashing at the rolling tides, the salt-winds carrying Maglor’s distant singing and Maedhros’ disgruntlement over grains of sand in his hair.

Elros had had a Conch of his own. His was bright and ivory-coloured, long since laid to rest alongside him in Númenor. When they were younger, they used to believe they could communicate with each other through the shells no matter their space apart— some imaginary fancy planted by Maedhros (“You two are twins. That’s a magic no force nor distance in the world can unmake.”) which was inevitably nurtured by their child-like wonder.

Years after Númenor had sunken, Celebrían caught Elrond once or twice, speaking to the old conch, and bringing it up to his ear in hopes of a reply.

“What do you hear, Atya?”

“My brother,” he says. “Amidst the heart of the sea.”

[silmarillaure]

Something I noticed about the Feanorians…

A&A seem to take mostly after Nerdanel, specifically in the later drafts

Amrod clearly had very different ideas from Feanor at Losgar, wishing to leave & get back to his mother who initially pleaded with him to stay. Or if he wasn’t on the ships to go back, he at least seemed to expect the ships would be sent back to his uncle’s host.

Amras was brave enough to speak against Feanor after losing his brother, something the others did not do, & then minded his own business in ME instead of causing trouble besides his involvement in the Kinslayings, which may be inherited wisdom from Nerdanel as she also stayed out of conflict.

3C almost take exclusively after Feanor

Celegorm is Feanor with a greater fall from greatness

I think Celegorm started out as a better person than Feanor. Maybe it was due to lacking the trauma & grief that plagued Feanor since birth, but he seemed to have held no ill will towards even those his beloved father held in contempt. He was once someone who befriended so many of his half cousins with little reason to have an ulterior motive for doing it, and was a valued companion of Orome, being the most famous elven hunter in the Legendarium.

He doesn’t sound like someone rotten from the start, yet he became someone more infamous & hated than Feanor had ever been.

Caranthir is Feanor who changed for the better

The dark one, the angry harsh one, the loner. You’d think this would be the son of Feanor who turned out the worst & most hated right, rather than his fair & social brother who was once favored by a Vala?

Caranthir’s descriptions do not paint him pleasantly. He inherited a temper from Feanor & he was undoubtedly being a little cruel, like his father was capable of being, in that scene with Angrod. Yet unlike Feanor, he changed. He never became a perfect person, but he learned to keep his emotions in check & became a better person. He went from a haughty a-hole who fought with everyone he was displeased by to a guy who helped others, made alliances, & saved people.

Coming to Middle Earth improved him as much as it worsened Celegorm. Had it not been for the oath & kinslayings, I think he could have been fulfilled to his greatest potential as much as Finrod & Turgon were.

Curufin is Feanor without an identity

I have less to say on him than I do the other 2 Cs because we already know how Curufin is like Feanor. He’s Curufinwe, but he’s not Feanaro.

He has the face & body, but not the soul. The spirit of fire, an essential component to who Feanor is.

Feanor was revered as much as he was hated, Curufin is just hated. Feanor was everything Curufin is, yet Curufin is nothing close to what Feanor was.

M&M have both so much of Feanor & so much of Nerdanel in them at once, yet in different ways

Maglor's temperament is canonically his mother's. He has her gentleness & rationality. But though he is kind, he has a brutally unforgiving side to him, which likely comes from Feanor. He's an artist like both his parents, but like Feanor, he's a prodigy.

Maedhros's most famous feature, his hair, is Nerdanel's. His kindness, wisdom, & morality are his mother's.

Everything except for his father's craft, Maedhros's shares with Feanor. His fury, his pride, his fierce unshakable love, his loyalty, his bravery, his soul, are all his father's.

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Princess

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (Princess of Elves, daughter of Gil-Galad) Rating - 18 + nudity/ virginity/ kissing/ breast play/ fingering/ pinv/ full sex/ raw sex/ Word Count - 3197

Elrond paced his chambers in the city of Lindon. Doing his best to think over this impossible choice. To break his oath to one of his most dear friends and give hope to all his people, or to keep his oath and be complacent in the death of many as well as himself. The king asked so much but it was not without its matter.

Suddenly the door to Elronds chambers knocked rather hurriedly,

"Come in," he said, his attention breaking from his thoughts to look at the door, his eyes looking curious at the hurry of the knock

the door opened and closed as quickly, The young princess Y/n, daughter of high king Gil-galad stood before him. Her hair was put up with a long hairpin, her eyes puffy from tears, wearing a long sage green gown laced down her front,

"Herald Elrond. I pray I am not interrupting but ... I must speak with you. On a matter, I find most urgent'

Elrond's expression softened as he saw the young woman, looking at her with a look of concern and care. "You are not interrupting princess. I am always available to speak. What is the matter that is so urgent?"

"I have heard of what my father asks of you. I find it... A matter of such cruelty. Such ruthless ambition has blinded him to care. That he asks this of you. To place the fate of all our race on your shoulders, those same shoulders he has already burdened with so much... It... It makes me weep why he asks... Nay demands. You break this oath. To your friend of so many decades."

Elrond's expression darkened as she mentioned the demand, sighing as he sat on the edge of his bed, his hand rubbing his temple "It is a... A heavy ask of me. An impossible choice, one I do not think I can make. But what do you want me to do little princess? I cannot defy the king. I owe much of my life to him."

"I owe him my whole life and yet I still would defy him in this moment. Your word is your law and what is any of our immortal lives at the price of breaking such oaths of trust and loyalty." She explained "If you break this oath... You will lose your beloved kin in Durin. Lose the faith of all dwarves for generations to come. Sour the good word of elves and the Valar themselves. Please... I know this weighs on you herald Elrond, but do not bear this alone."

Elrond sat silent as the princess gave her words, his expression conflicted. He knew she spoke the truth, that the price of breaking his honour was great. But to break it he would bring hope to his people. After a moment of silence, he let out a weary sigh, looking up at the princess sadly. "What do you think I should do little one? What would you do in my place if it came to it?"

"... I would slap my father for making such a request," she chuckled, "and then I would set my wisest to the task of the tree. Send elves I trust to every kingdom that holds more than ten souls. And I would beg them for their words and try everything that could be done. There must be another way beyond this... Ore my father lusts for so desperately.”

Elrond chuckled slightly at her comment, his expression showing a hint of amusement at how quickly she answered, her ideas certainly weren't unwise. He crossed his arms as he hummed in thought "That is not a bad idea, my little princess, though I'm not sure the king would take too kindly to you slapping him" he joked

"In this matter he deserves it. When he told me what he asked of you I almost did so myself."

Elrond laughed softly at the idea of his little princess slapping the king, his hand raising to his mouth to contain it secretly, "He would have your hand for that, my princess. But that is not necessary" he said, "I will do what you suggested, I will send word to all of the elven realms and see what I can do"

"it was necessary." She said firmly "he demands you break an oath, sour your name, dirty your hands and not his own." She explained

Elrond's smile faded at her firm and harsh tone, his expression turning slightly sombre as he nodded his head in agreement. "you're right, my princess. It is not right of him to demand this of me, to force me to break my honour. He should not use my loyalty against me like this. You are a lot more insightful than I give you credit for"

she softly smiled "... I wish I could do more. I know my words provide little comfort in this matter." She sighed "but... I do have another comfort I may offer?"

Elrond returned her soft smile, his eyes looking curious at her words. He chuckled slightly and raised a brow "and now you have piqued my curiosity. What is this other comfort you wish to offer me?"

she softly blushed before she stepped back slightly away from him, "My father asks of you an impossible task. To break an oath sworn to your greatest friend. To soil your honour and dirty your hands in a matter he wishes to wash his own off." She explained pulling the long pin from her hair and letting her hair fall loose "And I offer you, a turn of stone. An eye for an eye. A broken oath for a broken oath" she said unlacing the gown, "in comfort for my father's demand for you to break your oath to prince Durin. I shall break in turn an oath to my father." She said letting her dress pool at her feet standing innocently completely naked, "and allow myself to have my own honour broken by you."

Elrond watched her as she stripped down, his eyes widening in surprise at her words and her actions, not having expected this at all. He stared at her in silence for a few moments, his heart racing and all although he did not intend it his body hardening at the meer sight of her like this, he was speechless, before finally gathering his words and speaking "My little princess... You would... You would have me stain your honour? That is most noble... And most foolish" he stood up from the bed, moving towards her. He looked into her eyes, a mix of concern and care in his gaze. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb "My sweet little princess, are you sure this is what you want to do? To throw away your honour at the price of mine own?"

"I am sure." She whispered

he let out a weary sigh, his expression soft, he looked at her for a few moments, the conflict clear within his eyes, his mind in turmoil. He cared for the princess, he had for a long while. She was young, innocent, carefree, and he sought to protect her honour. Yet here she was, willing to throw it away. His heart couldn’t say no. "Very well... If you are sure, my little princess”

she nodded Blushing softly her lips parted and her eyes on his,

he let his eyes roam over her form, taking in the sight of her. An ethereal beauty that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from, his hand gently brushing down from her cheek and down her neck, onto her shoulder, and then along the side of her body "You are certain, my princess? Once this is done, it cannot be undone”

"I am certain." She whispered moving to her tiptoes to press her lips to his

his eyes widened slightly before gently closing as her lips met his, his other hand moving to the small of her back, gently holding her in place against his body as he kissed her back. He could feel his heart speeding up as he enjoyed the feeling of her lips against his, his mind overwhelmed with the sensation. After a moment, his tongue gently moved against her lower lip, gently asking for entrance

she happily parted her lips for him and softly moaned into the kiss

he let out a soft moan of his own as her lips parted for him, his tongue slipping into her mouth and gently exploring the soft, wet cavern. His free hand moved from her back and up to the nape of her neck, gently holding her head in place as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing gently against hers as he felt his self-control waver

he broke the kiss, pulling back slightly to catch his breath, his breathing shallow and eyes darkened. He kept her body flush against his own as he looked down at her, his heart racing and his body heating "Are you still sure of this, little princess?" he asked, his voice low and gruff. He couldn’t deny the need he felt, the desire to take her here and now against the wall. But he would never do anything without her consent.

she giggled and nodded excitedly jumping onto his bed and hooking her index finger to summon him to bed with her.

he laughed slightly at her little command, finding her adorable while also finding her immensely sexy, especially now with her lying on his bed. He approached her, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself over her. He looked down at her with a look of want and need in his eyes, his body pressing gently against hers as he knelt between her legs. "You are far too impatient for one so young, little princess"

"Then surely... You must be even more impatient than I?" She teased

he chuckled and lowered his head down, until his lips were nearly touching her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke in whispers "Oh, you have no idea how impatient you've made me, little one... I'm trying to stay in control, but you've made it rather difficult" his hands moved down her body, gently caressing her curves as he spoke. he left a trail of soft kisses down her neck as he moved down slowly, savoring each one. He left a soft kiss on her collarbone, then her chest, and then her ribs, his tongue leaving a wet trail as it moved over her skin. He gently nipped and sucked at her skin, leaving soft marks in his wake

she gasped and whimpered twisting her fingers in his hair innocently keeping her knees together

he moved his hands down and gently placed them on her knees, gently moving them apart as he continued his kisses further down her body. He glanced up at her from between her legs and smirked, his eyes darkened with desire "No need to keep them together, little one... I'll take care of you" he murmured before gently nipping at her thighs, leaving more little marks on her pale skin

she softly Giggled clearly a little nervous but excited still,

he could feel the nervous energy radiating off her, a mixture of excitement and inexperience. He could only imagine this was the first time she'd done anything like this, making him pause his actions. He looked back up at her, his expression softened to one of care and comfort, his hands moving to pull off his clothes, leaving him bare to her eyes, "If you become uncomfortable at any time, you need only tell me, and I will stop." he said, his voice gentle and soft

"I will, I promise." She cooed "but you need not stop, my darling."

he returned the smile as she spoke, his heart fluttering at the sweet name she called him. He chuckled a bit before his expression darkened with desire again, his eyes looking up at her as he spoke "You are an absolute treasure, my princess, with your little commands and sweet words" he moved his hands up stroking her thighs his eyes watching her expression to gage her comfort level, his mind awash in thought. He wanted her so badly that he could hardly control himself. Yet he wanted to be gentle and caring with her, to make sure he didn't overstep her comfort level. His eyes looked at her bare form, admiring the sight before him her own eyes looking back with the same admiration. his gaze roamed over her body, drinking in every curve and contour, his eyes lingering on the delicate folds of her sex. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he took in the sight before him, his desire for her growing with each passing moment. Reaching out, he gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, full of emotion. “I've been wanting to see you like this for what feels like an eternity.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss, the touch sending sparks flying through her body.

she softly blushed her legs trembling with excitement, "as have I."

His mouth lingered on hers, savouring the taste of her lips, his tongue dipping inside to dance with hers. He felt her tremble beneath him, and a surge of possessiveness ran through him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the sensations coursing through his own body. As they broke apart for air, he smiled down at her, his eyes burning with desire “My love,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts. “Let me show you what I've been waiting for.” He reached out his hand closing around the base of his cock, giving it a slow stroke as he gazed at her.

she gasped and whimpered slightly in fear at the sight,

Her reaction sparked something primal within him, and he felt a growl rise up in his throat. But he suppressed it, not wanting to scare her further. Instead, he reached out and gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw “It's okay,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “I'm not going to hurt you. I promise.” He leaned in close, his nose brushing against hers as he spoke. His warm breath danced across her skin, “Trust me,” he urged, his eyes locked on hers. “I want to pleasure you, not frighten you.”

"I trust you... I... I fear you are to big for me." She blushed

A low rumble of amusement escaped his chest as he heard her words, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. He gently pulled back from her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled “Oh, my little princess,” he teased, his voice dripping with affection “You worry too much about size. It's not about being big enough, it's about fitting together.” He leaned in close once more, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered “I'll take care of you,” His hot breath as he continued to whisper in her ear “We'll find a way to fit together perfectly.” His hands moved to her hips, his fingers digging gently into the flesh as he guided her closer. He could feel the tension building between them, the air thick with unspoken desire. Slowly, he began to move against her, his cock sliding along her labia lips, “You're so wet for me already,” he breathed, his voice husky with approval His fingers tightened on her hips, holding her in place as he continued to rub himself against her. The friction was intense, and she felt herself getting hotter by the second.

His grip on her hips tightened, and he lifted her onto the edge of the bed, his mouth descending to claim hers once more. Their lips crashed together in a fierce kiss, tongues tangling as they devoured each other. He could feel her heart racing beneath his fingertips, her pulse pounding in time with his own. As they kissed, his hands began to roam over her body, tracing the curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts. His fingers danced across her nipples, sending shivers down her spine as she arched into his touch. Breaking away from her mouth, he trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at the tender skin with his teeth.

She gasped, her head falling back as he licked a path down to her collarbone.

“I need you now,” he whispered, his voice rough with urgency he couldn't resist it anymore, he reached down and grasped his cock once more, guiding it towards her entrance. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed inside, feeling her tight heat envelop him like a vice. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his as he began to move within her, their bodies moving in perfect syncopation.

The sounds of their lovemaking filled the air the creak of the bedframe, the soft gasps and moans that escaped her lips, the ragged breathing that came from both of them.

As he thrust deeper, she let out a cry of pleasure, her nails digging into his scalp as she arched her back. He could feel her walls contracting around him, milking him for every last drop of pleasure. With a final, savage push, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, and then froze, savoring the moment of pure bliss that had washed over them both. For a long, suspended moment, they hung there, locked together in a tableau of passion and desire.

Then, slowly, he began to move again, his strokes growing slower and more deliberate as he coaxed her towards a second climax. Her eyes were still locked on his, burning with an inner fire that seemed to match the flames that were raging within him. And as he looked into those depths, he saw something there that gave him pause a glimmer of recognition, perhaps, or a hint of understanding that went far beyond mere physical attraction. Whatever it was, it struck a chord deep within him, and suddenly he was moving faster, harder, driven by a newfound sense of purpose and urgency.

She hit her second orgasm screaming his name and her whole body reacting, which in turn gave him his own orgasm,

Elrond quickly pulled out and came across his sheets already missing the feeling of her the moment he left, “...Uhh… ughh I uh… Little princess,”

“Yes My Darling,” she cooed between her own gasps,

“I adore you my little princess, my love… I mean it when I call you that. I love you,” He cooed stroking her cheek,

“I love you more,” she smiled pulling him into a kiss, “Humm my father will be angry with you,” she giggled,

“Humm… he will, but I will happily face the wrath of our father a thousand times over for another night with you.”

“You need not,” she smirked, “You can have every night for all of eternity.”

“Then I shall savour every last one.” He smirked back pulling her into a deep and loving kiss, “Humm…shall we continue my little princess?” He growled moving his hand to rub her clit,

“Yes, my darling.” she happily jumped on him flipping them over so he was under her with her straddling his legs, and pulling him into a hot and heavy kiss,

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

By moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part one, Part two- Oaths

Summery: Things are tense with the Uruks and especially their Lord father but you make a decision.

Shorter but more ADAR. There will be more parts as things heat up with our Lord

When you were taken to their Lord Farther, a part of you assumed he'd be...more orcish? Before your kneeling form was what at first glance someone you'd assume your kin. Pointed ears and a tall broad form. Long onyx hair slicked back with stray strands framing alabaster skin. That skin seemed to be the only thing that set him apart from any elven man. It was marred with scarred flesh from his cheeks up past his temple. In fact the same pits and valleys stretched down his neck and bellow midnight armor.

You met his eyes, pale green as new growth. The Uruk Lord kept your gaze, challenging your claim as he shifted closer to you. His body seemed to follow after his head, smooth and graceful but predatory. Then his eyes closed and he took a sharp intake of breath. You were certain then that you would die here in the mud. Your heart felt like it would burst from its cage but you wouldn't close your eyes. You'd face what was to come, shivering and fearful as you were.

Before he could speak or draw his blade you heard a clamor from further down the tunnel. Raised voices, clattering and then Thrak stumbled past the corner. He scrambled in his turn, fists in the muck to change his direction before he slamming against your side at speed. You gasped, just able to keep your balance, as his little arms encircled you, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Lord Father!" He cried, breathless from his flight. "Please if I could explain!"

More Uruk rounded after him, scowling at him before dropping their heads in reverence to their Lord.

"Sorry Lord Father, we'll take this one back with the other little 'uns." An Uruk spoke as he entered the space.

Thrak dug in tighter his hair tickling at your throat. You tried your best to return his embrace but with your hands still bound the best you managed was resting your chin on his head.

"No." Their Lord said, his voice far softer than before. He moved in close now, dropping to his knee to meet Thraks eyes. "I wish to hear what you have to say my child."

"It was man who attacked us, not her! She killed them, burnt the one who burnt us!" Thrak rambled on, jumping up from your side to imitate sword slashing. He continued his descriptions of your heroism till his Lord raised a hand. Still on his knee he moved his gaze to the Uruk captain, brow set low.

"One rescues our youngest, keeps them safe from harm and returns them to our hands... and they are brought to me in chains?" He rasped, his low tone taking a sharp edge. The Uruk behind you shift. You could hear them stammering for a response.

"Release her!" Their Lord snaps voice just barely raising from a whisper but it's effect is immediate. Thrak stands straight and the captain is at your wrists immediately. The manacles snap open and you feel their weight pulled away from you. The Uruk doesn't meet your eyes, grabbing the length of chain and hurrying away out of your line of sight.

You rubbed your wrist before a large pale hand reached to you. You paused a moment to consider the Uruk's Lord before placing your uninjured hand in his. He rose, letting you use his hand to pull yourself up gracefully with him. He withdrew quickly, passing to a group of large rocks he offered you a seat.

The other Uruk made their exit, tugging Thrak along. He made to protest but a glance from his Lord made him comply. You felt increasingly tense as the atmosphere of the room shifted. Without Thrak again a fear returned and tightened your throat.

If the Lord Father notice he made no show of it. Instead just running his gauntlet clad hand over a map on a small table. He picked up a roll of fabric, unwinding some. He hummed, a deep and throaty sound that reverberated through your skull.

"You truly have my thanks..." His deep voice scratched. "However I am regretful that your kindness won't be repaid."

"I did not do what I did for reward..." You began but stopped when you met his gaze again. There was solemn look across his features that set your hairs on end.

"Adar, that is my name. And I fear you do not catch my meaning. This..." He said with a wave to the walls. "Is a sanctuary for my Uruks. I will not have it known."

He turned back to you, the sudden movement causing you to jolt to your feet. The Uruk Captain still had your sword and Adar stood between you and the tunnels. Your eyes scanned but fell upon nothing that would aid you.

"Be at ease mellon." Adar spoke. You surmised the elvish was for your benefit. Despite his appearance it seemed an ill fit for his tongue.

"What will become of me, friend." You asked hoping the shake in your body didn't affect the clarity of your voice. Adar stepped back across the room to you. You stood taller, though you still had to lift your head to meet his gaze as he came in close.

"For now, you will stay here. I'm sure the little ones would appreciate your company again." He said. Adar's voice was so calm and sure, the gentle rasp soothing. His hands took your injured one, gently binding your wound. You felt in this moment you could trust his honesty.

...

The Elleth remained at the tents far behind the front of the tunnels. Adar was surprised she'd accepted her imprisonment so easily. He supposed she wasn't quiet a prisoner. Her body was free of chains and she hadn't even swore to him. She came and went from the children and through the tunnels. Though he'd instructed Glüg to shadow her. Still she never strayed beyond his eyesight, even when she'd go into the sunlight beyond his grasp.

She had some skill with herbs and had been diligently caring for the baby she'd taken in. Adar couldn't deny the sight of an Uruk baby in her arms stirred something old and forgotten in him. He wondered how it might feel to have her hands caress his own face but shook himself from such imaginings.

She seemed as happy here as she could be anywhere else. Though Adar did wonder why she was so content. He'd shared few words with her over the last month but even so she'd made no mention of her own. Nor had he spied any ill will on her part, tending to the children with the utmost care. He often found her with Glügs expecting mate and the other women. Normally with one or more still sat in her lap as she listened to them talk.

Adar left the tents, walking past his children with a nod. He had been called forward to the front of the dig. They'd hit the first of the villages some weeks back and now had many new hands to work. The most troublesome were elven guards. They're faces were a far cry from hers. Drawn into scowls and curling lips.

...

You followed after Adar. A part of you screamed at yourself, to let sleeping dogs lie. A curious voice was louder still, risking rocking the boat for an answer you weren't even sure you wanted.

Why the tunnel?

You'd spent so much time passing through that it was little surprise that the Uruks paid you no mind. You smiled and greeted as you normally did and received the grunts and nods as usual. Whilst you'd grown a nicer reputation amongst many, you understood their stoicism. It wasn't too long ago they'd have been at war with Elves. What was a thousand years when that much blood had been spilled.

You slowed your approach when you heard Adar's voice ahead. Every time it sent the same chills through you. After so many weeks you'd hoped you could keep focus around him but alas you slipped up. You weren't even sure what he'd noticed but you saw him glance to you.

You tore your eyes from him and finally noticed the scene ahead. An Uruk, the Captain, lay still on the ground. His blackened blood pooled against the dirt, his face serene as in sleep. Then to the left an Ellon, dark skinned, cropped hair, the fair face of his kin set in barely hidden rage.

You watched as the elven man was taken away, the chains that bound him taken. He left your sight into the daylight beyond the tents edge. There you spied more chain, leading to more who dug into the earth.

"Don't lurk Andúnë." Adar called, his back still to you.

You flushed at his little nickname despite its frequent use. A jest to your kind not being known to have come so far west. It meant sunset in the language of men. You fought past the feelings it stirred in you and stepped into the sun beams the broken tent let past.

"The chains?" You asked, your eloquent words dying on your tongue. You wanted to say more but you could see Adar understood. His slumped shoulders rolling back as he straightened out.

"A necessary precaution." Adar grunted. You kept your eyes on him, his profile lit by the golden light. "We lost more than just Magrot."

You followed his eyes to the captain again, letting them rest on him as you lost yourself in thoughts. War and death had been so far from your kin's land, further still in the depths of the caves.

"Why would they...?" You began but felt your throat close around the sounds. You didn't cry but you felt if you kept staring any longer you'd break your mask soon. You turned your face away and met Adar's. He'd stepped closer, within reach of you now. A part of you still feared what he might do and a tear broke free. It slid down your cheek as your heart beat faster and faster.

"Andúnë..." He all but whispered. "My children have long been foes to most. That is why we must make a home for ourselves."

"I was born in the deep forest, where your world was just a story." You said not moving as he took another step closer. You took your eyes from his, looking to your hand. The scar was new, still wine dark against the surrounding skin. You ran your thumb against it until your hand was taken.

You suppressed a gasp as Adar held your palm between his rough hand and gauntlet. His thumb brushed the mark with a reverence that had your heart jump to your throat. Your fear seemed to slip away all at once and your cheeks flushed.

"You are not bound to stay Andúnë." He rasped, pale green eyes rising to meet your own.

"I know." You answered, placing your other hand over his.

[serene-faerie]

Thinking about the gradual corruption of the Lay of Leithian in late-age Númenor.

The King's Men tell the story of a Beren who is "bewitched" by Lúthien's dancing. He is enamoured not by Lúthien's singing, but by her Elven beauty. They speak of a Beren who rescues Lúthien from her treehouse, stealing her away from Doriath. To the King's Men, Lúthien is a damsel in distress, oppressed by the ways of the evil Elves, and Beren is just a mortal man who "liberates" her. The King's Men erase Beren's genuine love and respect for Lúthien. They get rid of Beren's oath to Thingol. And most of all, they erase Lúthien's agency in the tale; they erase her own brave deeds like fighting Sauron and singing Morgoth to sleep. Instead, they give the credit to Beren alone. At this period, Elves aren't yet completely hated, but they are exoticized and fetishized by the King's Men. And they exoticize Lúthien so much until she is just a submissive Elven princess who is nothing more than a prize for Beren to "win".

The King's Men erase the sacrifice of Finrod Felagund and the ten brave Elves of Nargothrond. They ignore the hunting of Carcharoth, Beren protecting Thingol at the cost of his own life, and Lúthien's pleading song to Námo. To the King's Men, the Quest for the Silmaril ends when Beren takes the Silmaril from Morgoth, then brings it to Thingol and Melian. To the King's Men, Lúthien's immortality was stripped from her by her cruel parents, and she was banished from Doriath for daring to love a mortal man. They erase Lúthien's own choice, they ignore how Thingol and Melian accepted Beren in the end. And fundamentally, the King's Men misunderstand the lesson of the Leithian, that Lúthien chose mortality of her own free will for love.

Under the King's Men, the Lay of Leithian is stripped of everything that made it so beautiful and poignant. It's no longer a story of love and hope, but a story about a submissive Elven princess who runs away with a strong mortal man to escape the tyranny of the Eldar.

But thankfully, the true Lay of Leithian was well-preserved by the Faithful Númenóreans.

[themalhambird]

Sauron, dragging Celebrimbor- still alive- from the forge by his hair into the courtyard where Gil-galad, Elrond, and Arondir are held by the orcs he's pulled over to his side.

Telling Celebrimbor to either tell him where the nine are, or chose which of the three elven Commanders is tortured first and how. Counting down as Celebrimbor begs him not to do this. 5, 4, 3-

Arondir and Elrond and their competing shouts to tell Sauron nothing, they can take it.

2,

Gil-galad steadily, calmly, meeting Celebrimbor's frantic eyes and speaking into his mind that he will shoulder this- protect the young ones, Celebrimbor already has Gil-galad's forgiveness-

1.

Celebrimbor blurting out that Fëonor told him how he made the Simirils. When Celebrimbor was a child, he asked and Fëonor told him.

Saying that he'll tell Sauron, if Sauron swears- swears on Morgoth's crown and on his own skill at the forge, that he will not harm the elvish prisoners- not the Gil-galad, not Elrond, not Arondir, not any survivor yet to be found in Eregion- if he swears not to harm them, not to kill them or have them killed, Celebrimbor will tell to Sauron what Fëonor told him. Annatar, melon-ni, swear it and I'll tell you-I beg this of you, is it not a worthy trade?

("No!" The High King shouts, struggling in the grasp of his captives. "No- Celebrimbor I forbid this!")

And Sauron swears a binding oath because of course he does. He'll have to deal harshly with the Lord of Eregion for concealing this from Annatar- and of course he's not going to let any of the four *go* and Celebrimbor *will* tell him where the nine have gone eventually....

But he swears, even as the high king rages- forbids Celebrimbor from making such a trade-

"Now," Sauron says, "tell me."

And Celebrimbor grins, feral, teeth bloodied. "My grandfather said to me:He made the Simirils with his hands and his hammer. "

Sauron:...

Thirty minutes later, Celebrimbor is somehow still alive after being backhanded THROUGH his grandfather's statue by a furious dark lord, sniggering to himself as he lies with his head in Gil-galad's lap, while Elrond and Arondir try to mitigate some of the broken bones and also previous torture related injuries the smith has suffered. (Gil-galad is using his secreted ring to reverse any head trauma and is also lecturing Celebrimbor about stupid, foolhardy bargaining tactics which nearly get him KILLED, honestly Tylepë-)

[pontipines]

THE NOLDOLANTË

Noldolantë is the fifth studio album by the elven minstrel Maglor, released on October 31, 590 E.P by THREE-FINWE SOUNDS. The album received critical acclaim, being defined as an "instant classic" by specialized critics of the genre,and as "the best elven album of the year" according to the Rolling Silmarills Belerian magazine. Composed of twelve songs, the album is the result of a period of isolation lasting one hundred years (two elven years) and nine months caused by personal vicissitudes

»"The album is the result of overcoming a hard, dark and desperate moment. For one hundred and forty-five years and nine months I lived in isolation, I tied myself to a "toxic" person from a sentimental point of view. I went to Mandos because I felt empty. A warrior who had lost his fire. Then the songs came out like blood from a wound in just three months, it was a catharsis. Macalaurë had to kill Maglor to be reborn.» - Maglor,in an interview for Elven Today

The concept album focuses on the theme of the double through the meeting between the two personalities of the minstrel: the artist (Maglor) and the person (Maracaule). The common thread is represented by a hypothetical journey through the members of the Finwe family, on which various themes are based, such as mental health, anxiety or bad relationships. The macro-theme of the album is the existential crisis.

Tracklist: Of Flight of Gnomes (3:15), Noldolantë (7:00), Oath of Feanor (4:32), the Exile of Noldor (3:56), Finweg (3:12), Kano (4:20), Alqualondë, Out of Valinor (4:18), Kin of a Slayer (3:44), Fall from Manwë (3:50),When a Star Die (3:23),Seven Stone(s) for Seven Son(s) (8:00).

(this Is a deeply unserious shitpost don't take il too personal)

[dhampling]

one fem!reader, 2k

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

-

astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that's it. that's the plot.

word count: 2,028

an: fluff, fluff n more fluff. no smut this time. soon. promise. parts ONE and TWO linked respectively but can be read alone.

-

“She’s asleep, Astarion!” 

You are wide eyed, furious; speaking in a whispered shout at your husband.

His pale hands flit across the ties of your shirt, frisking every which way they turn. You slap them off like flies on fruit.

“Even more reason to take advantage of the situation, if you ask me.” He murmurs hungrily in your ear, hands now circling down to your waist to tug on your waistband.

“It’s a fine job I didn’t ask you then!” Gritted teeth. Eyes aflame. Cornered against the dresser.

The crib beside your bed holds your infant daughter - skittish and fresh to a world wholly unknown in every sense of the word. She rests rarely and wails often for company in these early months of being alive with you both. Pallid and red-eyed yet beautiful beyond comparison and entirely yours. 

Seeing you together brings him joy unparalleled. 

He has, genuinely; never been prouder of anything of his doing - saving the Sword Coast is a drop in the ocean that is completely and utterly awash with love for your youngling. The mistaken mess of his own bastard elven vampiric genetics now born unto another. This time it would be right. The hunger, the rot; the abuse and neglect, they were hundreds of miles away.

He would make it right. 

But it was already so. She was here, and you all cried together in that dark, sweaty birth chamber. His great guttural sob at her birth, wracked with emotion he never knew he could possibly be permitted to feel on this immortal coil. Your genuinely feral howls of pain turned weeping with pure joy.

Two full days of agony unlike any you’ve ever endured and she had arrived, breathing; wailing; skin of a changeling in birthing viscera and lungs keen to rival any bellow of the Gods.

Astarion weakly clinging to you both; tears salting your lips and wetting her tiny head for hours on end. 

The great weight of another being on your shoulders. His sincere - yet cliche - fervently whispered oath to her just moments after being placed in his arms.

She is home. She is loved beyond any unit of measure. She will want for nothing, and she will never know anguish like that of her parents and their complex lives. No matter who she is or what she becomes, she has two people who are in her corner. She will be fierce if she so desires. Cunning. Witty. Roguish. Barbaric. Horrid. 

It didn’t matter. It never would. 

She was yours, and his; and she would always have a choice.

He had spoken with her for hours, the nurse whispered to inform you once you had awoken from the deepest slumber of your life. Even then when you looked he was hanging over her small form in her cot, running his lithe fingers over her tiny hands and feet in a repetitive soothing pattern. 

When you queried the topic of conversation he simply looked at you with a grin so lovesick it would flip your stomach completely. Butterflies.

-

“We deserve a bit of fun though, darling. Mummy and Daddy’s evening off? No?” 

Astarion pouts, wrapping his arms around you - still pinned against the dresser - and inhaling your scent deeply. 

You return the gesture and cough reactively.

“You stink of Noblestalk. I know your tricks.”

You playfully shove him away and tiptoe from your room to the landing, the pale elf hot on your heels.

“I have never stunk in my life, thank you.” He sulks. 

You pointedly stop to look at him, before picking up a basket of waiting laundry and descending the stairs. He follows.

“I’m trying to fuck you, dear. Don’t make it weird.” He rolls his eyes and huffs. 

You hum. 

“Corpses tend to smell awful.” 

“Warning.”

“You started it.”

“Touché.”

A beat of silence.

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?” 

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

He captures you in a kiss as you reach the bottom of the stairs, slow and patient. Holding your free arm to keep you close. 

“Look at me. I’m the epitome of the fatherly jester!’

Waggles his free hand.

‘I have been blessed with brains and humour anew by the birth of our daughter, clearly.’

He grimaces.

‘Not necessarily superior versions of either, but I - am - changed.” 

From the moment of her conception you’d felt it. An old wives’ tale. The night you’d agreed to mother a brood alongside him, you knew she was there. That she was her. That she was brewing as something brilliant deep inside you and nothing would be as it was ever again. 

He’d called it ridiculous, gestured wildly and rolled his eyes to the deepest hells, but a hazardous hope never left them until you’d far missed your bleed and it was confirmed to be true.

From that moment onwards, something shifted even further in Astarion. 

The domestic tether to your townhouse in the city - no longer just a convenience to remain a steady base for you both, but a fundamental part of his scene setting, to plant roots and grow together. Two centuries of rot and abuse, and his reward was finally nearing completion.

His nesting phase began far earlier than yours and with greater intensity than you could’ve matched even without the issue of your later-heaving belly. Entire pinboards tacked with decadent fabric swatches for every occasion - be it swaddling or nursery curtains. Tailor’s tape around his neck each morning and notebook in hand to note your measurements and take inventory of your wardrobe; ensuring you never looked awry or felt anything less than wholly comfortable. 

Because gods forbid ill-fitted clothing stand in the way of you and your brutal vomiting spells, obviously. A pointed click of his tongue as he fixes your sleeve.

In the middle months of your gestation, the typically discerning clientele who visited you and Astarion in your tailor’s store at the dead of night were the first to become privy to the news. Rounder by the week, flushed; brimming with a deep fatigue and yet somehow absolutely aglow.

Children to be fitted for yet another presentation evening placed sleepy hands on your belly with a saccharine softness. Their parents jostle you - sometimes in congratulations, sometimes to whisper in sheer curiosity. Dhampir are a notoriously rare breed, and you’re certain there were rumours of a third party involvement in the process.

‘No, no. We just tried really, really hard.’ You’d smile, as if in a blissful stupor from just the recollection. He’d turn to you with his ridiculously brilliant hearing; needle between teeth, brow raised; lips upturned in a slight quirk. Devilishly handsome, never anything less.

-

You drop the laundry basket in the kitchen corner. A stuffed bear falls from it. Clive.

A pause.

“You never asked what I did with that shirt, you know.”

It takes you a moment to recall which shirt he’s referring to. He sits at the table and watches you lazily.

“Which? The one for Mr. Chugley? I didn’t think it needed much by way of adjustment, at least?”

A stale piece of burnt toast sits on the counter untouched. You bite and chew and bite and chew like a woman who has never once tasted a morsel so divine; so untainted by the evils of hot butter and a filling bronze crunch.

“Oh - Bunt? Gods, no.’

He sips his stone-cold tea. A fresh film wobbles on top.

‘Bunt Chugley.”

A snort of laughter sends it straight back through his nose and out onto the table. You begin to choke on your toast.

“Bunt Chugley.” You giggle, crumbs spilling from your mouth.

Astarion stands to wipe himself down, creasing over with an escalating laughter.

“Bunt Chugley.”

He waggles his hands, eyes heavy lidded with lack of rest. 

He looks purely maniacal.

“That’s- that’s what we should-’

You stop for breath, cackling now; hands over knees for a brief moment.

‘We should call the next one Bunt Chugley.”

He launches into a wheezing fit.

“How- How would that even work, darling? Like Bunt Chugley Ancunín, or- or-”

“No! No, no. Just that. Bunt Chugley.”

You hold both hands to your eye as if framing a canvas, looking through the gap at the ludicrous proposition in front of you. 

He takes a moment to still. Smiles at you dopily.

Crosses the floor and brings both hands down to your waist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He grins and holds his forehead against yours.

You look at him, dazed.

“Hmm?’

He simply looks up. 

A profoundly gut-wrenching wail becomes apparent to you from above. Your face falls.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Astarion.”

-

He’s up the stairs before you can comment further, swiftly darting back into your chambers and grinning with an unbridled joy - though, you note, with lack of rest that grin is beginning to look more insane by the hour.

“Sweetheart! My darling girl. Shush now. You’re sounding something absolutely wicked.”

You watch on from the doorway, arms folded; stale toast in hand and jaws meeting in a firm chew.

He’s far too good with her. 

It somewhat surprised you at first just how innately fatherhood came to him, but as he picks her up and cradles her intently it’s as if there are fractures of his own childhood coming back. How he was loved, how he was held. 

A piece of him, now alive and breathing again after all these years of death.  

He coos at her, bouncing her small frame gently in his arms and hushing her with each wail. It takes very little for soft mewls to take their place as she reaches aimlessly in his direction. 

He leans towards her grasping fingers and allows her to take one of his ringlets from the front of his head as he kisses her tummy. She’s enthralled by him; recognises him. She wants to know more of him. 

As he lifts his head her grasp remains firm.

“We have some work to do on your sleight of hand, I think. Not to worry.” 

Ever so gently, he unpicks her fascinated fingers and kisses them all in tow. Her face looks almost ready to crumple before he reaches for one final kiss on the very top of her head.

“There, now. All better. Back to sleep?’

A gurgle. A puzzled blink.

‘Absolutely. Mummy does look particularly radiant today, doesn’t she? I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He catches the smile on your face. Winks your way.

“You’re getting the baby to flirt on your behalf now?” You tease.

“That’s the lady of the house to you. She was simply passing on her praises.” He whispers as he places her back into her crib and steps back fondly. Sidles over to you as you finish the last bite of toast and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

“Stop playing coy. I know you feel the same way I do.’

He whispers down at you.

‘You want another one, don’t you?’

A kiss on the very top of your head.

“You’re projecting.” You smile.

You can’t deny him for long, he knows this. You don’t particularly want to. 

Since becoming a mother you’ve taken to parenthood almost as naturally as he has; and when the topic has come up since you’ve struggled to say no and mean it.

“Think, though. The sooner we try again, the sooner we can begin building our little mercenary force.” He looks at you with the face of a man who thinks he’s just had a really good idea.

“Oh! Yes! You’ve sold me!’

You pull him into a long kiss, the kind that still makes you swoon after all this time together. He tastes like cold tea and smells so clinical you can’t help but laugh heartily as you pull away.

‘That Noblestalk is getting to me. Have a bath and try again with a little less?”

He scowls before narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It just might, my darling dearest.” 

You wink this time.

The bath starts running before you’ve fully made it back down the stairs.

[90shaladriel]

Theory: Sauron Did Not Kill Galadriel's Brother in the Rings of Power

In my quest to exonerate the Dark Lord Sauron of all his accusations of wrong doing I wanted to present a little theory I've been thinking about. (Has anyone shared this before? Please let me know in the replies).

The premise given to us in Rings of Power Season 1 in Galadriel's opening prologue is that after Morgoth was defeated (in the The War of Wrath) that Sauron bade any who would follow to the North.

Finrod, Galadriel's eldest brother and king of Nargothrond who canonically was killed honoring an oath to aid Beren in his quest to recover a Silmaril for Luthien's father before the War of Wrath, went on a mission to seek out Sauron and bring him to justice dead or alive presumably. Finrod was killed and Galadriel found his corpse which was desecrated with the strange markings.

This sent Galadriel on a quest for vengeance for hundreds of years looking for the Orcs who killed her brother and she believed still served Sauron.

She finds the same symbol on the anvil in the dark fortress in the Forodwaith where Sauron had ruled before being assassinated by Adar and the Uruks. Later she learns was a symbolic map of Mordor in the event of Morgoth's defeat.

In Season 1 the Uruks under Adar's leadership invade the Southlands and enact the secret fallback plan to create Mordor which Sauron in disguise even tries to prevent.

So what about the theory?

Galadriel says Finrod was killed by Sauron. She believes it.

Galadriel also believes the symbol is Sauron's symbol.

Galadriel believes that Sauron plans to return to power through the plan she learned about and that his goals are to take over Middle Earth or at least pose a threat to her people's kingdom when he does.

What if she were wrong as so many of her Elven peers believed?

Sauron never used or uses the symbol for himself

We never saw Sauron using the symbol of Mordor for himself. After the defeat of Morgoth he does not encourage the Uruks to go to the Southlands, he literally takes them in the opposite direction, to the North. As the symbol is a creation of RoP and set in the second age, it also tracks that Sauron adopts the "Eye of Sauron" symbol for himself.

Adar on the other hand, does use the symbol that was conveniently carved on Finrod's corpse. He uses it as a flag!

Sauron Didn't Enact The Successor Plan

As far as we know from Season 1 and 2, Sauron went directly North, did not pass Go and did not collect $200. He bade all others follow him there where he seemed to work on his experiments of Power over flesh.

If he had killed Finrod in or around the time of the War of Wrath. Why carve a message into Finrod's body that would tell his enemies where they were going?

Were the Uruks possibly already planning the move to the Southlands per the plan when Sauron forced them to the North instead? Hence why they were so eager to rebel against him for Adar?

When we meet Sauron in season 2 he appears to be attempting to find Adar and the Uruks, perhaps to get his own vengeance, but meeting some men along the road they easily persuade him to try to seek Numenor instead. He could care less it seemed if the Southlands did burn or not at this point.

When he had a chance to stop the eruption of Mt. Doom and to fight the Uruks and Adar. He took it eventually and tried his best to prevent it, seemingly. Talk about the 4th Dimensional Chess all you want but he wasn't acting in collaboration with Adar at this point, nor did it particularly help his cause to let Adar have this "victory".

Sauron doesn't carve messages into people's bodies

At least so far... but Adar does in Season 2 before the siege the Elvish soldiers find one of their men mutilated with a message for Sauron "Where is He". That seems to be Adar and Uruks calling card.

Again there is no reason for Sauron to carve the symbol of Mordor into Finrod. Especially if that was pre-War of Wrath: Beren & Luthien timeframe. If ROP has a different timeframe for Finrod's death which comes after the War of Wrath, it's not clear that Finrod even was killed before or after Sauron was overthrown by his own soldiers.

There's also the bit where Adar and the Orcs are branding the Southlanders with the symbol of Mordor. They don't view it as Sauron's symbol but claim it for themselves.

Sauron never admits he did it

Well why would he? It's a fair question. He did come clean with various other aspects of what he did to Galadriel. In the forge when he says "I'm sorry. For your brother. For all of it." He doesn't say he is sorry for what HE did to her brother, just for his own part in the overall war and the fact that he worked side by side with that enemy in the darkness for so long.

In the canon story, Sauron definitely orders Finrod's death. Again in ROP this might not be how it happened. If the timeline is:

Morgoth defeated

Sauron goes to Forodwaith with the Uruks

Finrod goes to hunt Sauron

Sauron is turned into the goop monster by Adar

Somewhere the Finrod comes upon Adar and the Uruks in the wild lands as they journey to the South and kill him. Carve up his remains as a message to other Orcs making that journey to their new home

Galadriel finds the corpose of her missing brother and takes up his quest for vengence, assuming that it was Sauron's doing not Adar's

In this timeline, Sauron has an alibi!

Sauron knows Adar did it and yet he is taking the blame

This might give further meaning to the exchange between Halbrand and Adar in S1E6 where he pins Adar down.

Adar says "did I cause someone you love pain?"

Sauron winces and barely contains his rage. What if Sauron KNOWS it was Adar who killed Finrod and how much that pain has brought to Galadriel? But he cannot tell Galadriel the real truth without revealing himself at this moment. As we all know now, Sauron loves Galadriel, so Adar's words perfectly reflect what Sauron is feeling.

"You don't know what he did!" Sauron barks at her when she tells him to stop.

It makes so much more sense.

Does it excuse Sauron for pretending to be Finrod when he invades Galadriel's mind in S1E8... eh.. not really, but it does change the context to be slightly less creepy I suppose?

[sbeep]

Can you talk more about your lore/history of Evaric and his brothers. Every time you post a new character I become obsessed, your art brings me immense joy.

You're very kind, I sure can! They're D&D/Forgotten Realms OCs I made for fun and RP.

The brothers are from Espar in Cormyr and they're the sons of Alice, a farrier.

Evaric was sent to train as a paladin at age 13 at the closest temple to Lathander, the House of the Morning. He refused his holy oath, dodged conscription and left the country at age 20.

Cohle is a sorcerer who won't say two words if one unequivocal action will do.

William, nicknamed Billhook/Bill is a knave and a thief through and through

Deor is a forester and painfully responsible homebody.

They do not! Evaric, Cohle and William (Alice is fairly sure) are the sons of Alice's first husband, a thoroughly horrible man whose leg she broke with a forge hammer and kicked out of town.

Deor is her son by an elven druid who came back to Espar when Alice was free to be with him and she has settled down to a much happier second marriage.

Assorted other tidbits:

Alice's first husband tried to come back when his sons were grown but Cohle dealt with him before he could ruin Alice's happiness. Only Deor knows this.

William is the only one of the brothers who can't use magic. Cohle bullies him about it mercilessly.

Cohle apprenticed at Candlekeep, Faerun's biggest repository of knowledge.

Evaric has travelled the world and plans to see more of it, he's not yet returned to Cormyr in the 15 years since he left.

Deor is the shortest of the brothers but he's also the best shot so anyone who stoops to a joke about it gets something whipped at their head.

Cohle and Evaric used to be incredibly close but Cohle ruined it. He knows what he did.