#erestor my beloved

[eunoiaastralwings]

My beloved, it seemes like the ages passed by since I last saw you. How have you been? Was life treating you as the queen of my heart, that you are? I long for the warmth of your gentle hands, silken touch of your lips that chase any woe far away from me. Even in the brightest sunny days I miss your radiant smile, coming from the beauty, that is your soul. It's you, just your presence, and even the memory of you, what breaths life in me, whenever I go about my duties. I so, so yearn to see you, to feel you once again, while we let our bodies and souls dance together, lost in each other. Your's till the end od days of Arda and beyond, Erestor.

(happy Valentine's day, hun <3)

AM SORRY AM SO LATE THIS THIS

THIS IS SO SWEET - I LOVE IT AND I CANNOT WAIT REREADING IT

IT IS BEAUTIFUL - ERESTOR YOU KNOW YOUR WAY WITH WORDS. . .

[thesummerestsolstice]

See one of my favorite Rivendell headcanons is that even though it's a wonderful, peaceful sanctuary, pretty much everyone there could be incredibly dangerous if they wanted to be. Like, let's think about who lives in that valley.

Elrond Peredhel, resident healer and eldritch crime against nature, self-explanatory

Glorfindel, slayer of balrogs, self-explanatory

Erestor, probably Feanorian, definitely dangerous

Old Feanorian diehards, all of whom are probably looking for an excuse to commit morally justified violence

Old Gondolindrim/Iathrim, who, despite what they might tell you, are exactly as dangerous as the Feanorians

Garthaglir the Library Orc, who absolutely remembers how to use the giant battleaxe he keeps behind his desk

A strange, shadowy figure roaming the valley who I'm *sure* isn't Maglor Feanorian, but who is nonetheless a terrifying singer

Elladan and Elrohir, who have spent the last several centuries becoming nightmare fuel for Sauron's forces

Arwen, eldritch, bites

Bilbo Baggins, not to be underestimated, can defeat a grown man with nothing more than his scathingly polite commentary

Dunedain visitors, vaguely feral, highly trained

Aragorn, very feral, highly trained

Lindir, not actually dangerous, but if you upset him you are going to have problems with everyone else on this list

I actually really like the idea that a lot of the people who live in Rivendell are inherently kind of dangerous, because it means that they're actively choosing peace and kindness for themselves and I love that.

[windrelyn]

Glorestor ❤

[g00seg1raffe]

So there was a post a while back about Ben Solo always being told "don't do (x), that's how uncle luke lost his hand" when he was a kid - and I raise you: Elrond and Elros being told "don't do (x), that's how Maedhros lost his hand"??

Like, at Amon Ereb when the twins were newly acquired and refusing to eat their vegetables and Maglor is Mag-mothering them until Erestor, feral half-sane clinically depressed anarchist Avari hostage/patient/infiltrator and Certified Little Shit, hits em with:

"I would listen to the Lord Maglor, winyamor, he well knows the dangers that come to young elflings who don't eat enough vegetables - after all, that's how his brother lost his hand."

Elrond looks conflicted. Elros squints suspiciously. "Truly?"

Erestor, practically comatose since the massacre but ultimately saved from Fading by the biological compulsion to fuck with you, lays a hand over his heart. "I would never lie about such a thing! Just what do you take me for? This is a true tale and a grave warning - the Lord Maedhros' hand was tragically lost in the days of his youth, whilst he was still growing as you are. He refused to eat his vegetables and so, cruelly deprived of the strength it needed to grow strong, his body started to fall apart! First his fingers, then his thumb, and then his palm and wrist - all turned blue and dropped off!"

"No!" Elrond gasps. Elros looks both terrified and impressed. Maglor's face is scrunched up into something that the twins probably interpret as pained - at reminder of the horrors of limbs falling off! - but is actually just him busting a rib trying not to laugh.

"Yes!" Erestor cries with relish. "And it never grew back. All because he didn't eat his vegetables. Isn't that right, Lord Maedhros?"

Maedhros, a looming terror at the head of the table, scarred and solemn and impenetrable as his fortresses, narrows his eyes consideringly at the unfolding shenanigans and the rascal behind it. His conclusion? Fuck it. He gives a slow, solemn nod. Completely deadpan and exaggeratedly formal, because it may have been centuries since he last had his brothers smothering laughter at political dinners but the Finwëan sense of humour, once caught, is not an ailment easily cured.

Maglor conceals his wheezes behind his goblet as Erestor nods sagely to the wide-eyed twins, who suddenly seem a sight more interested in their vegetables.

[eunoiaastralwings]

haha - aye, what you mean imagine?

I AM LOL </333

Erestor 🥺

Imagine being Erestor’s wife.

Author: @thatkgrl

Artist: Arvalileth

[sauroff]

Commission of Erestor for @maglor-my-beloved for their fic Lord of my Love ✨✨

A small extra for it below the cut

(I'm making myself do these to not forget how to use AE during holidays, cause I'm boomer when it comes to learning to use new softwares)

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

Oh, this is a nice item. Thank you for sending it!

I'll take a passage from my latest fic, Closing the Circle:

Watching Erestor watch Glorfindel in the distance, with the stars beginning to appear in the sky behind him, in that moment, Ecthelion thought that Erestor’s smile lit his face like gentle moonlight.

This line was made to be a turning point in the fic. The task for this fic was: 1) Ecthelion letting go of his resentment towards Erestor, and 2) Ecthelion finding what it was to love about him.

What I love about Erestor's character is that he has a subtle presence. He has a strong personality, but he is not one to take the limelight, so I imagine that when you meet him, it takes time to appreciate him. Glorfindel is an exception in that typically I write him taking an instant liking to Erestor, but also Glorfindel is unique in that he practically lives life based on vibes, so he sees Erestor and goes, ‘Ah! Yes, that one!’

Meanwhile, Ecthelion is a more cognitive, calculating character. The approach to him is more logical, and things have to make sense for him to go for it. I knew I needed a moment when he sees Erestor, lifting the veil that used to color his opinions of Erestor simply because he was the Elf that Glorfindel chose (over Ecthelion, in Ecthelion's mind). I knew the moment needed to be different from their previous interactions, so it needed to be at a time when Ecthelion was distant enough to finally be open to who Erestor was as a person. As for Erestor, he needed to be softer and with his guards down, without the filters he naturally puts up around Ecthelion.

Originally, the line was, “Erestor smiled like gentle moonlight.” I thought it was good imagery, and would be useful for future fics when a Glorfindel = sun, Erestor = moon comparison would come in handy 🤭 Then I got to writing the scene in which to put it, and it became the way it is, as I found that just read better given the rest of the scene.

[eunoiaastralwings]

ERESTOR YOU SNEAKY LITTLE BASTARD

. . . I love him *sighs*

Meeting Erestor again awkwardly – after an argument the previous night:

“Here!”

Almost shoves a plate of flower cakes in front of Erestor’s face – while looking away to the right.

“I made flower cakes. . .just the way you like them”

Y/N Grumbles – but voice lowering into a quiet whisper towards the end.

I missed this blog <3

Darting his eyes between you and the plate, he raised his hands to accept the plated desserts from yours with a nonchalant smile. Lifting his eyes to meet yours, he frowned.

“You know, if you're going to offer me my favourite treat, you might as well complete it with a kiss,” he hinted with a small tilt to his head in your direction.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Snow Day

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to @maglor-my-beloved for having submitted that beautiful drawing (please share it!!!) for me to get out of my writer's block.

It's my joy and honour to share the result of my toiling with you! <3

Characters: Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel

Words: 1550

Warnings: It's pretty cold, there's a sword, a bit of sadness, use of the M-slur for Melkor 😂

“Morgoth be cursed,” Erestor muttered, looking out of the window with boundless annoyance that made his face look drawn and pale. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s actually not,” Glorfindel contradicted, strolling into the study with a sunny grin. “It has just stopped. We could steal a few shields and slide down a hillside? Make the best out of it?”

At that uncautious suggestion, no matter how enthusiastically it was presented, Elrond lifted his head sharply from the letter he’d been perusing, hitherto having desperately tried to shut out the ongoing discussion between his friends.

He now realised that this had been a grievous mistake!

Neither one took well to being cooped up inside—the reasons for their mounting cabin fever might have been opposed, but the nerve-wracking effect of their continuous arguing was unfortunately much the same.

“I have too much work as it is,” Elrond finally interrupted the ensuing squabbling patiently. “I’d much rather you don’t add to it by wilfully engaging in dangerously reckless behaviour.”

Erestor nodded smugly, but his eyes returned to the icy desert outside longingly again and again as if he was earnestly considering Glorfindel���s proposal.

Shrugging, Glorfindel meanwhile leaned against the wall, crossing his long legs and smirking deviously at the much put-upon Lord of Imladris. “If you’re so opposed to a bit of innocent fun,” he drawled seductively, “I guess you’ll have to set aside your boring paperwork and come with us. Just to make sure that we won’t do anything you deem too foolhardy.”

“Can’t you just build snowpeople?” Elrond asked tersely, exasperation colouring his fatigue-laden voice. “That should keep you out of trouble.”

As he returned his attention to his correspondence, he missed the exchange of meaningful glances between the other two who’d instantly recognised the minute crack in Elrond’s usually so impervious mask of calm efficiency.

"Glorfindel is right," Erestor declared slowly.

Elrond’s head snapped up again in wordless shock—clearly, the bad weather had driven them stark raving mad if Erestor had taken to agreeing with Glorfindel.

“You should rest a little. Why don’t you come with us? Not everyone has had the chance of being parented by a hundred different people,” Erestor continued with that corrupting mix of petulant aggression and wide-eyed vulnerability that made him so wickedly convincing. “You could show us how it’s done.”

Before Glorfindel could snigger that there was but little mystery to the matter, Erestor had firmly kicked him in the shin to keep him from destroying their joint efforts by innocent bluster and ill-advised encouragement.

“There were hardly a hundred,” Elrond muttered, his resolve and interest in the dry reports about taxes and weather changes already waning inexorably. “And I would think that the two of you can figure it out on your own.”

Two mouths, pouty and rosy, opened to protest, and he lifted his hands to placate the storm of remonstrances and well-meant sermons before it could arise.

“As you wish. Please make sure that you’re wearing appropriate apparel—the wind can be quite chilling—and meet me by the Eastern gate. I’ve got to drop these off and retrieve my winter cloak and mittens before I even think of venturing outside.”

Watching them scamper away hastily before he could change his mind, Elrond wrenched his thoughts away from the duties he’d have to postpone until his return and, with an indulgent shake of his head, swiftly made his way to his own chambers.

When he finally arrived at the appointed meeting point, swaddled in several layers of insulating fabric, Glorfindel and Erestor were already waiting for him—they were also already viciously fighting about something the late-comer could not yet discern.

Elrond sighed and joined the fray fearlessly.

“I can’t believe you’d double-cross me like that!” Glorfindel muttered, visibly vexed, while eyeing the short sword in the other’s hand. “When I propose we take a detour to the armoury, I am an imprudent fool, but when you simply sneak in and out, you’re a genius!”

“Your words, not mine,” Erestor laughed and danced away when his colleague lunged forward to pluck the weapon from his grasp in a petulant attempt at checking the other’s glaring aura of petty triumph.

“Let’s go!” Elrond, growing uncomfortably hot as he helplessly watched them chase one another through the deserted hallway, exclaimed.

He sincerely hoped that the bracing cold and the creative endeavour would distract them sufficiently from their spat so their little outing would not end in the kind of grievous injury he had so adamantly wanted to prevent from the beginning.

In sullen, determined silence, they trudged up the snow-packed path leading away from the sheltered, cloistered paradise of Imladris until they reached a small hill, covered in fluffy, white powder and cruelly exposed to the presently dormant violence of the weather.

“So,” Elrond said quietly. “As Erestor has previously remarked upon so brazenly, this snowstorm might well be one of Morgoth’s curses which linger still within the darkness plaguing our world. When I was…young, we’d craft effigies to dismay and mock him so we’d be less afraid...”

Struck by the incandescent intensity of his friends’ regard, he fell silent for a moment, kneading the strap of his bag nervously for fear of having already said too much.

“I like this,” Glorfindel finally cheered after having given the idea some thought. “Let’s create cool guardians for Imladris. How about that?”

Thus, it was decided. Snow was progressively heaped, rolled, and pressed into the approximate shape of three lumpy Elven bodies under much grunting and giggling until they were satisfied with the raw building blocks they had assembled.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” Glorfindel thundered as he watched Elrond reach into his trusty satchel and extricate a handful of sturdy chiselling tools from an old leather cover. “Erestor! Come look at that—our Lord Elrond, who claims to be blessedly free of the curse of ambition, has dragged scalpels and tiny hammers along.”

“Didn’t expect anything less,” Erestor mumbled, entirely enthralled by his own project—he envisioned a fierce warrior, armed and armoured, who’d stand stolidly atop the knoll and keep a cold, watchful eye on the landscape,  ever-vigilant to the enemy’s scouts growing bolder and roaming closer to Imladris with every passing day.

Miffed by the others’ clear attempt at cheating, Glorfindel rushed down the hill and into a nearby grove of tall trees to countervail his evident disadvantage by gathering supplies and aids that were readily available by nature’s grace.

As he emerged once more and clawed his way back to his snowy canvas, though, both Elrond and Erestor had nearly finished their snow elves.

Uttering a snorting noise of dismay, Glorfindel stuck the two perfectly beautiful branches he’d found into the slender, shapely body of his creation and took a step back to let his appreciative gaze drink in the unexpected success of his opus.

Indeed, he was inordinately pleased with the ferocious, aggressive look of his crookedly grinning gelid sentinel, and so he beamed with pride as he turned back to his friends.

Of course, Elrond’s snow statue had expertly chiselled features and wore a thick, blue scarf that blew like a banner of a House long-fallen in the icy wind, and Erestor’s piece was bestowed with a sharp blade, glittering in the sallow sun, but it simply wasn’t in Glorfindel’s nature to become truly enraged with envy.

“Foresight, caution, and good health shall keep Imladris safe,” Elrond said ponderously, patting the sharp, high cheek of his snow sage, who was unnecessarily well-dressed to withstand the freezing temperatures. He truly had been made in the image of his creator, one had to admit, as Elrond now cleaned his thick gloves of the last remnants of sticky, melting snow before dutifully preparing and packing his tools.

Diligent to a fault, he certainly yearned to return to his study and letters before the weather could turn on them and make them regret ever having considered so foolish a plan as to leave the safety of Imladris in these meteorological conditions.

Scoffing, Erestor nodded at his own fearsome, sword-wielding oeuvre with grim satisfaction. “Sharp blades and unwavering vigilance shall serve us better, methinks,” he hummed gently as he further imbued it with stern tenacity.

Both turned to Glorfindel who grinned sheepishly. “I’m with Erestor on this,” he admitted. “Thus, I…made him. Erestor will keep us safe.”

For a seemingly endless moment, Elrond—who’d undeniably gone somewhat overboard in the execution of his planned distraction—merely blinked as the wind was picking up again and now buffeted them with glacial needles.

“I can agree with that,” he finally said, mellowing. “Let’s leave our brave companions to guard the Realm—each in their own way and as best they see fit—and return to our lit fireplaces and comfortable chairs.”

It looked as if the other two would demur, so he quickly swore that there would be no more work of any kind upon their return.

“Let’s merely sit together, have a cup of warm tea, and talk about our childhood traditions as if they were not lost forevermore yet!”

With a last solemn, laughably superstitious salute to the resplendent results of carefree fun and amicable competition, they threw themselves against the near-solid wall of snow-laden squalls and fought their way back to Imladris.

There are no Masterlists nor tags this time.

It's just a random art/fic exchange as we're gearing up for TRSB!

Lots of love!

[eunoiaastralwings]

I thought you headcanoned Erestor with black hair?

I do :)

[thesummerestsolstice]

More on the idea that Elrond gets more eldritch as time goes on:

See the thing about Elrond is that the human parts of him are just, fundamentally, not designed to live forever. Some may be injured beyond repair, others will succumb to illness, others to age. That's hardly unique, it's a reality all half-elves have to face. The elvish parts of a mortal half-elf will keep them looking young, even when they're close to death, but the human parts of an immortal half-elf can pose far more problems. After all, choosing to be immortal can only do so much to alter a half-elf's biology.

But life is adaptable, and often far sturdier than it seems. The human parts of an immortal half-elf are destined to die, but they do not do so all at once. And because of that, the elvish half is able to slowly replace the failing parts, allowing half-elves to attain immortality at the price of slowly stripping away their humanity. It's long been noted that half-elves often start to show more elvish features as they age, often significantly changing how they look. Erestor Caranthirion starts with his mother Haleth's dark brown hair, but as he ages, it slowly bleaches to Miriel's silver.

See, the thing is, elves aren't immortal in the truest sense either. Under stress, elves will fade, and even without it, they'll eventually succumb to sea-longing. Normally, all this means is that half-elves will have a truly elvish fate.

It's different for Elrond.

Just as elvish blood resists the aging and injuries of humans, Maiarin blood is able to overcome the fading of elves. And just as Elrond's elvish blood begins to strip away his mortal blood as he ages, so to does his ainuric blood begin to shine through more and more, as stress and time wear away the elvish parts of him.

He ends up looking so much like Luthien and Melian because those are the parts of him that are best suited to survive Middle-Earth– the only parts of him that could allow him to live through everything that happened to him.

[windrelyn]

Erestor from 2015 to 2024

My style changed a bit...

[tiutale]

Glorfindel lowered the curtains to their rooms as he entered the sitting area. Dropping his torn and bloodied tunic into the laundry bin atop his pants, he let loose a deep sigh. Inhaling he nearly sobbed at the scent of fresh stew. The herbal scent of tea and a hot bath. 

Erestor was home. 

His gut clenched as the weight of his failure nearly suffocated his breath. He had failed. He had- 

Warm hands encircled his waste. A warm chest pressing against his back. Gentle kisses peppering his sore shoulder. 

His body shook for the emotions he held at bay for so many weeks. "Erestor." 

"Do not stand here unclothed staring at memories, meleth. Come. The bath is ready. We can talk while we wash for dinner." 

Glorfindel did not move. His hair falling over his eyes. "I broke my promise." He winced as his voice cracked. Never had he broken his word to Erestor. He could face battles. He could face evil beyond the imagination. He could face Morgoth Bauglir himself. 

He could not face failure before his beloved. 

He felt the arms move from around him. He felt more than heard Erestor move to stand before him. Gentle fingers rose to move the golden curtain from his face. 

"You have broken no promise, meleth." Erestor's soft voice made the emerald eyes move to his dark gaze. "You found him. You faced unexpected odds. You came back for aid. Our warriors will heal. And you will retrieve him. You will bring him home." 

Glorfindel let out a shuddering breath. His mind replaying the events of these last days. The fury at retreat. The fear for his warriors. The guilt of abandoning Gildor. 

He did not even notice when Erestor had guided him to their bathing chamber. "Breathe meleth. Take in the now. Let the past rest for the eve. Tomorrow we can face the day. For now. You are home. And I am grateful you arrived unharmed." 

Glorfindel said nothing as he stepped into the bath. Warm water sloshed on bruised skin. Easing his hurts. Laying his head back on Erestor's shoulder as he sat behind him and began to move the soft cloth over his skin.

[arofili]

if you're still taking prompts:

Elrond/Erestor/Celebrimbor, 33 (“Forget me.”) - Autumn or winter, maybe a last farewell before the fall of Eregion? (could also be gen or queerplatonic if you'd prefer)

I hc Erestor as Caranthir/Haleth's son, include that as you'd like :) (I also usually hc Elrond as fairly Feanorian, but again, you don't need to include that if you'd rather not)

<3

~ maglor-my-beloved

Forget me, Celebrimbor’s letter had urged. Leave me behind, let me die...

As if they could do that. As if they could simply forget all their love for him, all the nights spent together, all the history they shared!

“You know we cannot win this fight,” Erestor said wearily.

Elrond set his teeth as he donned his helmet, the last of his armor before the march. “I know,” he said shortly. “But you know we cannot abandon him.”

“I know.” Erestor grasped his gauntleted arm. Even through the armor, Elrond could feel the strength of his grip, almost as firm as Celebrimbor’s own. “But—but we will lose him, Elrond. You must be prepared to retreat when it is time.”

Elrond wrenched his arm from Erestor’s grasp. “We don’t know that,” he growled. “We can save him, if we try—”

“This is war,” Erestor said. He was older than Elrond: he knew the odds. He remembered the long and bitter days of siege, of blood, of destruction.

Well, Elrond had lived through war, also. He was born into it, had come of age into it. And he was not powerless, not anymore.

“I will fight for him,” he insisted. “To the very—”

“Don’t,” Erestor begged, his voice cracking. “Elrond. I cannot lose you too.”

“You won’t lose either of us,” Elrond insisted. He had no time for this. “Now come, or don’t. Either way, there is a war to win, and I will not wait until it reaches us.”

He turned and began to stride away.

Erestor followed. He always did.

[raisingcain-onceagain]

Afire

(read it on Ao3 here!)

Artist: @maglor-my-beloved (Ao3: maglor-my-beloved)

Author: RC (Ao3: RaisingCaiin)

Elrond has found rest impossible, and ghosts all too familiar, in the wake of the Last Alliance and its losses. Now that he is learning of this, Erestor has many thoughts about the matter.

Rating: Art: G | Fic: M

Warnings: None

Relationships: Erestor & Elrond, Erestor/Elrond, Erestor & Gil-Galad (background/previous)

Characters: Erestor, Elrond

Additional tags: Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Referenced Canon Character Death, Post-Last Alliance

Word Count: 5,024

Inspired by this lovely art from @maglor-my-beloved!

[glorfindel-of-rivendell]

Just sending Glorfindel a big hug, because I feel bad. 😜❤️

[OOC] Ulan: This must come as no surprise that when Glorfindel is heartbroken and in pain, consider me thriving, in my lane, my plants are watered, my skin is clear 😌