#galathil

[hobbitinnumenor]

d'aww he's such a wife guy

Okay this isn't mairon or adar themed idea, but please. Please 🙏🏽

would you be able to at least make a sketch of Celeborn and Galathil? The two are brothers in the Silmarilion and there is only a handful of art that have both brothers.

Here you go, anon! Celeborn yapping to Galathil about his new girlfriend for hours.

[aldanil]

Galathil enjoying spring

Because I’ve read the books again this year, I have an headcanon where LOTR books also exists in the Forgotten Realms (with few differences, like the hobbits are called Halfling but the places remain the same) and Galathil is a fan of it.

In background is theirs and Aniel’ (adoptive mother) house.

[jolidei]

Of the reunion in Valinor.

Celeborn : So, who is this guy you're dating?

Maeglin : Oh valar, are you serious?

Thranduil : Very seriously, we must know who is courting with our little cousin.

Maeglin : ...

Galathil : Spoiler alert, he is a Fëanorian.

Celeborn and Thranduil : What!?

Celebrimbor, entering the room at a moment's notice : Hey babe, I need your help with some things in the forg-.

Celeborn : Tyelpë!?

Thranduil : oh, that Fëanorian. Honestly you could have done worse.

Celebrimbor : I beg your pardon?

Galathil : You are forgiven boy.

Celeborn : I think my blood pressure is low, I need to sit down.

[lost-in-thedas]

Nyloth, aka Galathil before being adopted

I wished to draw them with drow clothing but was lazy at same time

They are very young there. During the very short years they spent to Menzoberranzan (they don’t have memories of there or very blurry).

[inthehouseoffinwe]

i know it is a small thing but would you be interested in drawing the two brothers Celeborn and Galathil?

Hi! I had no idea Celeborn has a brother and had to do some googling 😂 But sure, I’d love to! Anything specific?

This will probably be a sketchy piece, similar style to the one below :)

[pengumi12]

Thingol's Family (and others)

[mareenavee]

WIP Whatever? Yeah.

Hi Everyone! I have been buried in some work for Skywind lately, and I am tired.

But I have been writing for prompt fills for the most part so, stay tuned for a few words. :>

I was tagged to share some writing by the amazing: @thequeenofthewinter, @dirty-bosmer, @kookaburra1701, @rainpebble3, @ladytanithia and @skyrim-forever!

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @thana-topsy (🫂), @orfeoarte, @changelingsandothernonsense, @saltymaplesyrup, @snippetsrus, @archangelsunited, @gilgamish, @throughtrialbyfire, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @nuwanders, @viss-and-pinegar, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2 AND YOU -- yes, you, if I've forgotten your tag, you're more than welcome to be tagged honorarily and tag me back so I can read some words >:}

For now, here's a bit from my prompt fill for Harvest -- it's from Galathil's POV and is World Canon. It happened a few years before Nyenna's story begins. Untitled so far. Below the cut! Just shy of 800 words.

Galathil felt the shift in the Ratway before the stranger’s arrival, if she was being honest with herself. There was a certain nervousness in that liminal place between solving the Mercer issue and everyone’s attempt at starting over again. And if anyone knew anything about starting over, it was her. One was never content to simply reap what they’d sown. She would not be part of the Guild, nor be seated here on a bench crafted of sodden wood in a seedy tavern under the worst possible of cities if things had gone to plan, after all.

She watched as Delvin plunked crates of fresh vegetables on the table across the room from her, his brow creased with worry. The harvest in this case would go solely to feeding the stranger who had settled into the Warrens, himself averse to the consequences of his actions— or existence. Galathil hadn’t managed to parse exactly what his trouble was, but it was enough to stir up unease. Mention of Thalmor had floated around, and, while it had made her nervous…she’d used her own power on herself long ago. It didn’t stop them from trying to find her. Her magic was rather…unique. The fear of that recognition gnawed at her in an abstract way. She would be defended against Thalmor inquiry without needing to ask for the Guild’s help, true. But then the debt would once again stack in their favor, even if they never came to collect. She still felt outside of things, despite her years settled in the damp amongst them, and despite their hospitality and their attempts at including her.

She fussed with the edge of her sleeve, though even this was going threadbare in places. She’d learned to do without, to stop accumulating social debt and asking for favors, nervous to be seen and, therefore, known. She could never outrun her crimes—the ones from before she fled. The jobs she was forced to do on pain of death for treachery. That she had made it out of Valenwood by the end at all was by the grace of one god or the next. And she had to live with what she’d done to escape, as well as just what she’d run from, and all the consequences of the path she’d chosen to walk.

That was likely why she felt so distant from most—there was a certain trepidation about what they all would think if they really knew her. It was better not to let them in, not to answer their questions with any semblance of truth. But one, of course, managed to worm his way in. And it was because he, too, carried a secret like one might carry a festering wound.

Teldryn Sero, bravado set aside for once, grit his teeth as he sat down next to her. The bench groaned in protest. He was silent for a moment, the only sound the steady clunk of chitin as he bounced his knee, agitation and nervousness palpable. His eyes were distant and dark in the poor lighting. She gently brushed her fingers over his gauntlet, and he grasped her hand. He was shaking. She knit her eyebrows and looked up at him in concern.

“They’re housing a Blade here, Galathil.” He picked his helmet up off of her table, where he’d left it before he’d gone off to assist Vex and Brynjolf with the stranger. “He knew me. He looked right at me, and I… How? How could that be possible?” He paused and closed his eyes. Galathil squeezed his hand.

She knew why he was here, then. Since the Mercer issue, he’d been distant enough, which was to be expected. He’d said once he’d never meant to get roped into cults and guilds. He wasn’t necessarily the best thief she’d ever seen, either, to be perfectly fair. He would be running again. She knew that peace was fleeting, if it even existed at all. And they had had peace, even if it was just for a moment. Consequences seemed to demand it as payment whenever they caught up.

“You can’t know for sure if he recognized you, Teldryn.”

“I can’t be sure he didn’t.” He still gripped her hand. She could see, even through the armor, the tension in his shoulders. Could hear it in his voice, too. “Galathil…please. I just. I know what I said about your skills. I know. But I’ve changed my mind. Can you help me?”

“And rid the world of a face like yours?” she asked. Her smile was wistful.

[elronds-library]

leaves unfurled

by ambrorussa (@welcometolotr)

Part 6 of The First Oath

Above Celeborn, his family tree is dead and withered. These are the consequences, he thinks, of growing up in an Age of war. Of having a nurse raise him after his parents were killed in the First Battle; of the stories of his grandparents fading away. This is the tale he doesn’t know; the events that coalesced before he existed and those that slipped under his notice once he did.

Teen, No Archive Warnings

Words: 5,685

[ladysternchen]

“What are you doing, my love?”

Beren’s voice sounded mildly amused, which Lúthien chose to ignore as she placed the lamp before their door, playing for time. Would it be easier, she wondered, to play astounded and claim that they had put the lantern up every year since Dior had been born, after all, rather than admit to her behaviour being strange, now that they were all gone from Tol Galen? It was, after all, a tale that the Secondborn told, Lúthien reminded herself firmly, and she herself most certainly did not believe in it.

“It has become a tradition, has it not?” she replied evenly, opting for something of a mid-way between the two.

Beren chuckled some more.

“Verily. But it is a children’s tale, and alas, the children are no longer here.”

“No.” Lúthien agreed, bending down to light the flame within.

The evening seemed to have gone suddenly cold, even though it had been an unusually warm day. But the chill of being left behind, nothing could chase away.

“They will be alright.”

Beren’s grip on her shoulders was firm, and she fled into his embrace, doing her best to ignore how age had already started to bend him like a gnarled tree, had made his joints stiff and his bones brittle.

She knew not whether the gloom that gripped her was foresight or just the age-old grief that ailed all Elvenkind when autumn passed slowly towards winter and took all life with it, but in any case, she could not bring herself to answer her husband.

“Let us go inside.” she said instead, shivering slightly. “It is getting cold.”

~~~

“We do what?” Elmo asked aghast, making Elu wince slightly. This was not the way one spoke to the lord of Mandos, and though Elmo’s manners had not been his problem for many thousand years, it still made him blush. Or it would have done, had he had a body. His embarrassment notwithstanding, he too was sure that he had misheard Lord Námo’s words, and by the incredulous expression on his face, Mablung could not believe his ears either. Surely this could not be true? How could it be, when not so much as a whisper of it had ever reached his ears?

Námo, however, seemed not at all surprised at their astonishment, for surely he had been met with it many times before, both on this evening and in the uncounted evenings that had proceeded it.

“You will not remember.” He said calmly, as though there had been no interruption. “No Fëa in these halls will know aught of it tomorrow. And still it is the first -and most important- step to acceptance. And without acceptance, there can be no true healing, no growth of the mind. Fear not what you may see, fear no grief nor pain. Olórin here is a servant of my sister, and he will guide you and keep you from going astray. You will not remember.”

And with these words, he moved on, leaving Elu, Elmo and Mablung to bow hastily before him.

“Shall we, then?”

Elu had not noticed the Maia before, the one whom Námo had named Olórin. Memories stirred, swirling out of his reach like furls of dust on water. Melian had spoken of Olórin to him, Elu was sure of it, but try as he might, he could not recall it. He had learned the hard way that one left not only one’s body behind at death, and that things like time and memory worked very differently within the Halls.

“Memory will return to you, Elwë.” Olórin said gently, making it very clear that he had been listening to Elu’s thoughts. “You only have to be patient. This first year marks too raw an experience for almost everyone to reclaim lordship of their senses. It will be easier after tonight.”

None of them spoke as Olórin cloaked each of them in a cloak that shimmered in every colour and yet none, a fabric clearly of Lady Vairë’s weaving. Olórin proved Elu right soon thereafter, when he explained to them that these cloaks were made to shield the unclad Fëar on their journey. At last, he also handed each of them a small lantern, glowing within with a light Elu knew well. It was the same light that seemed to shine within those one loved and sought within the Halls, visible only to the eye of the seeker. Lady Nienna called it ‘The Light of Love’, and Elu very much liked the term. It was this light that had guided him to his brother, and Mablung, too, when the recently fallen Fëar had been called before the throne of Mandos. Much though it grieved him to know that Elmo and Mablung had died so soon after him, that in fact they had gone after him, their grief too vast to bear, having them by his side still was a comfort beyond words now, as they were about to set out onto this unlikeliest of journeys- his little brother, whom he had ever kept close, and Mablung, who had never once left his side in life safe by his order.

“Where to shall we go?” Mablung asked in a subdued voice once they were clear of the Halls, making their way through Lórien among all the other bouncing lights.

“That is up to you to decide. I shall come with you regardless of where you go. Most decide to go where they found their death first, but that is by no means a rule.”

The three looked at each other.

“To Menegroth, then.”

It was strange to cross the sea once more, and stranger still to move in the world one had so long walked bodiless, free from the confines of time and space. Ghostly bridges seemed to lead them over the sea, many of them, arising from the waves before their feet and sinking back into them soon after they had passed.

It seemed to take no time at all to cross Belegaer, and soon they saw the ships of the Falathrim sailing among them, lights upon the prows, passing close by. Elu knew whom he would see on one of those ships, knew that their strange bridge would have lead them straight to Círdan. Farewell indeed.

Elmo sought Elu’s hand as they at last beheld their cousin, standing under the light cast by the lamp, looking grim and tired. If only there was a way to reach him, to comfort him. But this they could not, and so they had no choice but to watch his ship pass into the evening-mists and out of sight, and continue on their way with heavy hearts.

Covering the many leagues between the shore and the River Aros took them just as unsettlingly little time as crossing the sea, and beyond Aros lay still the forest of Region. Elu’s heart ached as they passed through what had so long been the Girdle. He still felt its remains, like one ghost greeting another in the quickly falling darkness. There were guards, many of them, many more than he himself had once placed upon their boarders. It was good to see that his people had accustomed already to being unshielded, and that Dior knew how to keep their kingdom safe.

They reached the Esgalduin almost too soon, and trod now on paths that were so achingly familiar that it marked a physical pain not to linger.

This had been home.

When they reached the gates of Menegroth, Elu could not go on, and nor could Mablung, and so Elmo and Olórin halted, too and gazed upon the hill in sorrow. The horse of a guard spooked as it felt their gaze, so they quickly averted it.

Now he came to think of it, there had always been a time in autumn where the animals seemed to have been restless, but he had never thought that they quite literally were seeing ghosts. Elu glanced at his brother. Had Galadhon visited them, then? Had he wandered among them once more without their knowing, and Thônwen, Celebren and all the others, without them being any the wiser? Oh, this was a thought that was as cruel as it was beautiful.

And Melian? Had she known? Surely, if she had, she would have spoken to him of it, would have told him. Unless, of course, she was forbidden to speak of the matter, which, upon consideration, she probably was. But Elu could not think of his wife just now. It hurt too much.

Laughter tore Elu from his silent musings, and he watched with renewed pain in his heart as the two boys frolicked around on the bridge, throwing leaves at each other, before his eyes wandered on to Dior and Nimloth, and Galathil, who carried his little granddaughter. Little Elwing was the image of her mother in face, but her hair was raven as Lúthien’s. Oh, how they had looked forward to getting the news of her birth, so much so that the anticipation had pierced even through Elu’s madness and obsession. But alas, this had not been fated to be.

Elmo eyed Elwing with equal emotions displayed on his face, prompting Elu to lay an arm around his brother’s shoulders. So he had not met the baby, either. Elu had feared that.

Dior now placed a lamp onto the steps that lead up to the doors, a lamp that was oddly reminiscent of the lamps that they themselves carried, with the same light burning inside it, though surely… surely that must be a normal candle? Why then did it shine so strangely then? Elu glanced at Olórin, but the Maia only smiled mysteriously.

“Do you think they will come?” the boys now asked their father, having come to a halt at last.

Dior and Nimloth both smiled down at them, each ruffling one of the twin’s hair.

“’tis a human tale, Eluréd. But who knows? It seems wrong not to put out a lantern on this day, and it will most certainly do no harm. But whether they visit us or not, we can still remember them tonight, and hope that our love crosses the sea, and reaches them in Mandos. But let us go inside now. There is a feast waiting for us.”

With that, Dior turned to take his daughter out of his father-in-law’s arms.

“You must think this lantern so very foolish, and it surely is, as the idea of the spirits of the fallen revisiting us one more time on this day is a mortal fairytale, but…”

“Not at all!” Galathil hastened to reassure Dior. “I find it an adorable idea, an idea that… that is a light in this darkness. As are you, all of you.”

He bowed slightly before his daughter and son-in-law, a sight that greatly moved Elu. Elmo beside him made a noise that caused Elu to hold him tighter still, the touch nothing more than memory, but nonetheless comforting.

“Elu… they… they are waiting… for us.”

Elu nodded, words utterly failing them. So it most certainly seemed, but how was it that Men apparently knew what Elves did not? Did that mean that both kindreds, allnthree perhaps, were guided back on this day to the houses of their loved-ones, guided by the Light of Love? He glanced at Olórin, who nodded solemnly.

“So it is indeed. For mortal beings, this night is their farewell also from the confines of Arda. It has ever been so.”

Elmo sobbed helplessly as they watched the royal family step over the threshold at last and the doors being pulled shut behind them, and Elu cradled him, reaching out to grasp Mablung’s arm as well. There could be no doubt that toasts would be spoken to his name as well, and that the captain was no less gravely missed among his men than Elu was himself.

It was a mark of the depths of their friendship that Mablung chose to accompany them yet further, wandering the slopes of the Ered Luin, where in a secluded cave they found Galadriel and Celeborn, huddled together under warm furs and sleeping soundly. They had not awaited them, nor could they have, but neither Elmo nor Elu would pass over this farewell, even if seeing Elmo kneel beside Celeborn and stroke his hair with a ghostly hand before gently kissing Galadriel’s brow as well all but broke Elu’s heart.

“They will be safe.” Olórin assured them once they had torn themselves away from the sleeping couple once more. “Melian’s teaching shall come to bloom within Galadriel, and that and Celeborn’s wisdom will guide them both. Their time is as yet to come.”

Following the rushing Adurant down to Tol Galen was perhaps the hardest journey Elu had ever made, each step sending longing and dread through his being in equal measure. How was he to do this? Where from should he get the strength to lay eyes upon his girl once more, and far worse, to tear them away from her again?

Tol Galen lay still and silent in the moonlight, and though Elu knew the archers of the Greenelves must be perching in the trees, he did not see them. What Elu did see, however, was the selfsame light that now shone beside the gates of Menegroth, and a lone figure moving beside it. His heart clenched as they came closer to the door, and Elu realised that it was the lord of the house himself who stood beside the flickering lantern, a wooden shawl wrapped over his shoulders and his face lined with pain.

Without thinking that he could in truth not touch his son-in-law, he reached out, stoking his hair that had turned white as snow.

“You have grown old, Beren.” he said gently, and unlooked for tenderness spreading within him. Of course, Beren would not hear him, but the words had passed his lips almost unconsciously, naturally. All the greater the shock when Beren turned his head towards him, reaching up to run his hand through his hair where Elu had just touched him, so that their hands seemed to meet for a moment.

“Have you come to bid farewell to your little girl, Adar? I knew you would not keep her waiting.” he whispered into the darkness.

Elu stood as though struck by lightening, not knowing whether he was more deeply shaken by the fact that Beren seemed to sense his presence, or being called ‘father’ by the man he had sent to hell itself. He supposed that Beren doing as no Mortal had done before and returning from the dead may be an explanation for the former, but at the latter, Elu could but marvel in gratitude.

But then Beren turned away, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“And there I old fool am, still believing in children’s stories and talking to the night’s breeze. Ah well.”

“But I am here, Beren, I am, to say farewell to you both.”

His voice sounded pathetic even in his own ears, with his sobs rendering him all but incoherent.

The inside of the house was dark when Elu at last managed to drag himself through the door, and yet he saw Lúthien clearly, lying curled under her blankets. Glowing embers still warmed the room, and though Elu could not feel it on his ghostly skin, he felt it within his heart. She was safe. She was well. Nothing else was of any importance.

“Ada…”

Elu knew that she but mumbled in her sleep, that she had likely thought of him when she had put up her lantern tonight and now must dream, but there could be no doubt now that both Beren and Lúthien felt his presence, and oh, was this bliss and torment alike. Nonetheless, he crouched down beside her bed and carefully stroked her back.

“I am here, little one. Sleep on.”

He had no idea how he had left their house, or Tol Galen, or indeed Middle-Earth, only coming to again when the lights of Alqualondë were already visible in the darkness. Both Elmo and Mablung lead him as if he were a sleepwalker, and when he stirred and they realised that he was once again with them, they both sighed in relief.

“It was better like that, Elwë. Trust me.”

Elu bowed his head to Olórin, silently signalling his agreement.

Alqualondë was almost, almost worse than Tol Galen. Elu walked the streets of his brother’s fair city in wonder, trying with all his might to take in every detail of the harbour his brother’s people -his people- had built, marvelling at the beauty of it that was so different from his own halls in Menegroth, and yet so eerily similar.

They parted from Mablung there, as he went to seek out his own family to whom he had said goodbye on starlit shores, an eternity ago, while he and Elmo went to look for the king himself, finding him at last on his own balcony. The wind played in Olwë’s snow-white hair, mingling with his night-gown, a sight so fair, so achingly familiar, so pure.

Both Elu and Elmo rushed towards their long lost brother, hugging him, bestowing kiss after kiss on him, but Olwë took no notice. This hurt, yes, but it was also a relief to find him so calm and serene, standing there completely at ease, taking a cherished moment by the sea and under the stars that belonged to him alone, his mind untroubled- or as untroubled as the mind of a king could ever be. Olwë was well. And that was what mattered most in this moment, though how Elu was supposed to ever leave his side again now, he had no idea. He simply had no strength left for sny more goodbyes.

For how long they stood side by side with Olwë and watched the gushing waves, Elu did not know. Time behaved in the most peculiar way tonight, anyway. He only knew that at some point, Olórin stood by him once more.

“The night is late, and there is one more you still may want to meet, Elwë.” the Maia mumbled quietly.

He turned in amazement and an emotion that remarkably resembled fear. Surely not? Surely the farewells did not include Maiar? Elmo had sunken into a slumber with his head on Olwë’s shoulder, and with a last, wistful look at his brothers, Elu left to follow their guide. Could this really be?

“I shall answer the questions you have on your mind now, Elwë, rather than suffer them to eat away at the time you have left with your wife.” Olórin said quietly as Elu fell into step beside him, heading back to Lórien. ”Now, as you guessed, Melian knew nothing of the events of this night, nor will she know in the future. When Arien rises, she will be none the wiser, quite like you. But in this moment she knows, and she cannot bear to wait a moment longer.”

“Neither can I.” Elu rasped, feeling suddenly dizzy. Had he known, had he even thought… but then, had he known that he would be granted his farewell from Melian as well, he would not have put one foot in Middle-Earth, nay, not even Alqualondë, and there could never have been any closure. It was better the way it was, surely. Only why did ’better’ always have to hurt so much?

They found the way into each other’s arms blinded by tears, stumbling as if drunk with emotion. Nothing mattered to Elu as he found himself once more in the arms of his beloved, whose touch he could feel, spirits though they both were now. The bond of their marriage was stronger than the laws of life, stronger than death itself. Neither of them spoke a word, for words could never be enough, must always fall short of the vastness of their love and grief, so they held each other wordlessly instead, tightly enough to make it hurt.

This would be enough, Elu thought, if only he were allowed to remain so into all eternity. He longed for nothing, wanted nothing but to stay with his beloved, and he knew through their bond that she yearned for the same.

It was merciful that in the end they never knew of their renewed parting, that they still stood entwined in their embrace as Arien rose, and chased away the last remnants of the night, and with it all memory

[aldanil]

Silvanus as imagined and drawn by Galathil

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Nimloth 🌅 - Have they ever pulled an all-nighter? If so, what do they do to stay awake?

ANON I AM DEEPLY SORRY THIS REPLY IS RIDICULOUSLY LATE. anyway:

as a child nimloth pulled a few all-nighters. she was an energetic kid (just like dior, btw <3) and when something caught her attention she wouldn't even notice the hours go by with how focused she was. her mother and galathil would make efforts to put her to bed but she'd just crawl out and go right back to what she was doing. as she grows up she stops pulling all-nighters since, you know, it's hard, and she doesn't have a child's unquenchable enthusiasm to keep her up anymore.

once she becomes queen of doriath though, she starts pulling all-nighters again right alongside her husband. they've got 18273901823 different administrative matters to juggle -- doriath is reeling in the wake of thingol's death and melian's departure, and so many things that they handled by themselves are now left in the water and nobody knows how to address them -- and three young kids to raise; and so as one might expect they are the no-sleep-having royal couple of menegroth :) there's never not something to be working on -- organizing patrols, signing documents, listening to reports, etc. etc. etc. dior is the type to push himself, so is nimloth, so if one of them had an all-nighter you best bet the other did too. sometimes one of them will catch the other nodding off during the day and wake them up. when they have the opportunity they'll squeeze five minutes of zzz's together in between back-to-back council meetings. probably the only thing keeping them sane is each other. and their children, but their children also simultaneously drain their sanity, so yk. each other

[jolidei]

The Elmo House.

Okay but one headcanon that my head has developed is the following; Celeborn and Galathil are cousins of Thranduil and Maeglin.

They are grandsons of Elmo, who had as sons Galadhon, Oropher and Eöl. They belong to the elven nobility of Doriath.

Galadhon, Oropher and Eöl were in fact close, although the youngest of them used to move away a little from his two older brothers to the point of going as far as Nan Elmoth where he finally settled and betrothed (spell) Lady Aredhel years later. This act was not consented by his brothers, widening even more the abyss between them. However, this does not prevent them from visiting their nephew accompanied by their own children, because Eöl is reluctant to leave home, they do not really comment on the subject because they want to avoid arguing and just look at the baby (Lómion) and keep Aredhel company.

Celeborn, Galathil and Thranduil wish to see the new baby as well as their uncle whom they say they miss. Lómion is extremely sweet as well as small, besides having the dark hair inherited from his mother, which in their eyes makes him even more special as it is a strange color among the elves of Doriath.

As time goes by. Only Celeborn and Thranduil visit Nan Elmoth. Not often but they try to do it near the onomastic of Lómion, being that the twelfth he already had the name Maeglin which turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

However, the meetings diminished when Celeborn married Galadriel while fulfilling an active duty in the court of Thingol.

Thranduil, on the other hand, began to form like his father. With this they also reluctantly distance themselves, Galathil still frequents them both however.

Thranduil was in with the refugees of Doriath, Celeborn was visiting him when Galadriel informs them of the fall of Gondolin and the death of Lómion. They both look at each other and soon after Galathil arrives.

They have lost too much if it, Doriath was destroyed, Elmo and Galadhon himself are dead, even Thingol was no more. They know the pain, but still they are unable to deal with the pressure in their chests as they shed tears for their little cousin whom they unwillingly stopped visiting.

That night turns out to be colder for them. They gaze at the stars as they recall their few memories they have with Lómion, his sweet smile as well as his born curiosity. He may be the traitor of the great Gondolin, but in their eyes, he was nothing more than the elfing they left behind.

[lost-in-thedas]

Praise the Oak father

Random Galathil doodle on a time I forgot how to draw again

[ladywithaquill]

The Great Journey

A story about Elmo and his partner. After the journey to Aman, they settled in Alqualondë. Then first kinslaying happened and Elmo's partner had to return to Middle-earth.

I've established this HC for Oropher, Thranduil's father. Now our favorite Elvenking has a grandfather too.

Read it on AO3