#gil galad headcanon

[earthlybeam]

I was just watching ROP and now have a need for reader helping Gil-galad with his armour before the battle and then reuniting after, maybe reader helping him with a few cuts and scrapes.

Thanks, I enjoy your writing so much!

Thank you so much for your kind words! I love the idea of exploring these quiet, intimate moments with Gil-galad. 🥺❤️‍🔥✨

Gil-Galad version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The tent was quiet, save for the occasional muffled sound of armor being fastened and the distant clamor of preparations outside. The war camp was alive with activity, soldiers making their final checks, murmuring battle prayers, sharpening blades. But within these canvas walls, there was only the steady rhythm of breath and the soft rustle of fabric as Gil-galad stood tall, his back to you, waiting as he always did. Your hands moved with practiced ease, smoothing out the fine tunic against his skin. The fabric was cool, freshly cleaned, a stark contrast to the warmth of him beneath it. The contours of his back, the strength in his shoulders, all so familiar now after countless times performing this same duty. Yet it never felt routine. Not truly.

Gil-galad did not speak at first, allowing the moment to stretch between you both. The battle ahead loomed heavy, but here, now, there was still this—your hands, your care, the quiet intimacy of dressing him for war. He let out a slow breath as you adjusted the folds at his waist, your touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. He could feel the unspoken words in the way your fingers brushed against him. Be safe.

The temptation to turn, to capture your gaze, was strong. But he resisted. If he did, he might not wish to go. Instead, he stood still as you reached for the chainmail. The fine rings of mithril shimmered faintly in the dim light, a silent promise of protection. You lifted it carefully, stepping close as you guided it over his head, the cool metal cascading down his form with a quiet shhhh of shifting links. His body tensed, just for a moment, as the weight settled upon his shoulders. The familiar burden. The price of kingship.

Gil-galad exhaled, the weight grounding him. This was who he was—High King of the Noldor, protector of the Free Peoples, the leader of this war. And yet, as you reached forward to adjust the fit, ensuring each link fell perfectly into place, he did not feel like a warrior or a ruler beneath your hands. He felt like a man. A man who, for these fleeting moments, was not alone in his duty.

Your fingers traced over the clasps, tightening them with careful precision. You always did this, checking, adjusting, ensuring his armor was secure. Not because you doubted its craftsmanship, but because this was your way of protecting him. You could not fight beside him, could not stand between him and a blade, but you could do this. And he let you. “You always do this,” he murmured suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something softer.

You did not answer right away, only smoothing one last fold before stepping back. His armor was set, his tunic adjusted, his chainmail fitted. Soon, you would help him into the heavier plates, the gauntlets, the pauldrons that would make him the warrior the world saw him as. But for now, he was simply Gil-galad, standing before you, feeling your touch lingering in the fabric against his skin.Your voice, when it came, was quiet. Certain. “Because it matters.” He turned then, just slightly, meeting your gaze for the first time since you began. The battle called to him, but for a moment longer, he remained here—with you. Silent. Grateful. Understood.

The silence between you stretched, but it was not empty. It was filled with the quiet understanding that had long settled between you and Gil-galad, a language spoken not through words but through action, through touch, through every careful motion as you fastened his armor piece by piece. the breastplate was next. The silvered steel gleamed in the candlelight, adorned with the sigil of the High King. A symbol of strength, of leadership, of a burden he bore without complaint. You lifted it with both hands, stepping close as you helped him ease it over his head. He remained still, allowing you to guide the weight of it into place, the cool metal pressing firmly against his chest.

Your fingers worked to secure the clasps at his sides, pulling the straps snug, ensuring a perfect fit. He watched you as you did, his keen eyes catching the flicker of concern in yours. You did not speak of it, and neither did he. But as your fingers hesitated, just for a breath, against the engraved patterns on the steel—against the emblem that marked him as a warrior first and a man second—he felt your unspoken plea. Stay safe.

He wanted to reassure you. To promise that he would return. But he had given enough empty promises to the families of his fallen kin. He would not give one to you. Instead, he let his hand lift just slightly, the backs of his fingers grazing yours before you moved on. The pauldrons were next. You retrieved them without hesitation, the heavy shoulder guards cool beneath your fingertips. As you secured the leather straps, making sure the weight was balanced, he felt the firm, steady tug of your hands grounding him. There was a precision to the way you worked, but more than that, there was care.

“You have always been meticulous,” he murmured, a hint of something softer in his voice. You smirked faintly, tightening the last strap. “You would complain if I weren’t.” He huffed a quiet breath, something that might have been amusement if not for the heaviness in the air. “Perhaps.” You gave the armor one last firm press, ensuring it would not shift in battle. “I do not intend to let you fight with loose armor, Aran nín.” The title—my king—was spoken with the same reverence as ever, but there was something else beneath it now. A quiet plea. A silent promise. He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head just slightly.

“It is not the armor that keeps me standing,” he said, voice low, steady. “It is those who remind me why I fight.” You swallowed, but did not reply. Instead, you moved to his vambraces. The forearm guards were the final layer before the heavier gauntlets, and as you strapped them into place, your fingers brushed against the bare skin of his wrist. The touch sent a shiver up his spine, though he did not show it. He flexed his fingers slightly once they were secured, testing the fit. But more than that, he savored the feeling of your hands on him, knowing it would be the last true warmth he felt before battle.

You lingered longer than necessary, fingertips pressing lightly over the leather strap, as if committing the feel of him to memory. As if this might be the last time. He lifted his gaze to yours. “I will return,” he said quietly, knowing full well it was not a promise he had the right to make. You did not answer at first. Then, softly, you murmured, “I will hold you to that.” A pause. Then, with the smallest ghost of a smile, you pressed a final touch against the vambrace and stepped back, giving him space. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting to the weight, but all he could truly feel was the warmth you had left behind.

The gauntlets were the last true barrier. The final part of him that would be shielded, the last place where your touch could linger unimpeded. You slid the first over his hand, adjusting the fit with the same practiced care you had given every other piece. He flexed his fingers as you fastened the straps, testing the range of movement, but his focus was not on the fit—it was on the distance it created. When the second gauntlet was secured, he lifted his hands, curling them into fists before relaxing them again. The weight was familiar, but it was not comforting. “I prefer when my hands are free,” he murmured.

Your fingers, still bare, traced lightly over the ridges of the metal before pulling away. “I know.” There was something unsaid between you. Something both of you felt, but neither spoke aloud. He could no longer feel your warmth against his skin. The last piece of you had been locked away beneath layers of steel and leather. But there was still more. You knelt before him, retrieving the greaves and sabatons. The final weight he must bear. He watched in silence as you fastened them over his legs, adjusting each strap with precision, ensuring that every buckle was firm.

The sight of you kneeling before him sent something sharp through his chest—not because of what it implied, but because of what it did not. You were not beneath him. You had never been. And yet, here you were, securing his armor as if you bore some duty to him beyond obligation. As if this was not just your role but something more. His hands, still armored but not yet burdened with a weapon, twitched at his sides. He wanted to lift you, to pull you back to your feet, to keep you near. But instead, when you rose, he did the only thing he could—he let his gloved hand brush against yours.

It was brief, fleeting, but you still felt it. You looked up at him, eyes searching, but you said nothing. And neither did he. Finally, you reached for the last piece—the helmet. He did not move to take it from you. Instead, he hesitated, watching as you held it in both hands, turning it slightly in the dim light. The polished silver gleamed, its crest unmistakable. When he wore it, he would no longer be simply Gil-galad. He would be the High King. The warrior. The commander who must lead his people into battle.

Once it was on, there would be no more softness. No more warmth. No more lingering touches between you and him. You knew this too. So you met his gaze one last time. No words were spoken, but everything was said. Then, with steady hands, you lifted the helmet and placed it over his head. The metal settled over his brow, cool and firm, its weight pressing into his skin. His sight narrowed, his breath deepened. He was sealed away now, encased in steel. But beneath it all, he still felt you.

He did not move, but he was not looking at the battlefield beyond. He was watching you. “You needn’t fuss over me, you check it 100 times already.” he murmured, his voice low, steady. But he did not pull away, nor did he stop you as you smoothed the leather straps across his wrist. You knew what lay beneath those words. You knew the things he would not say aloud. Be careful. Come back to me.

Your hands moved with certainty, securing his armor in place, yet you felt the smallest tremor in your fingers as you adjusted the clasp at his shoulder. He felt it too. As you fastened the final strap of his gauntlets, his hand moved suddenly, covering yours. The metal was cold against your skin, but his touch was not. His grip was not firm—not commanding or demanding—just there. A quiet tether, a moment of stillness before the storm. “You always do this,” he mused, his tone softer now, edged with something else. “Making sure everything is perfect.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, feeling the warmth beneath the steel. “It must be,” you murmured, though you both knew your concern ran deeper than that. The battlefield was close now, the echoes of preparation vibrating in the distance. You knew you needed to let go, to step back, to let him walk forward as he always did. Still, you lingered. Your fingers brushed against his arm, a final adjustment, a final excuse to remain close. “Promise me,” you said suddenly. The words were quiet, yet they carried a weight that even the armor between you could not dull.

Gil-galad did not answer right away. Perhaps because he did not know what you were asking for—his safety, his return, or just one more moment before the world took him away from you. Finally, he exhaled, the barest shift of his shoulders beneath the armor. “I will try,” he said. It was not a promise, not truly, but it was the only truth he could give you. Slowly, he reached up, his gauntleted hand resting gently against your cheek. Even through the cold metal, the touch was unmistakably his. “Thank you,” he murmured.

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of all he could not say. Your hand lifted, pressing lightly against his wrist, as if trying to find him beneath the armor. “Come back soon my king,” you whispered. He did not answer. Your throat tightened, but you nodded. There was nothing more to say. And so, with one final lingering touch, you stepped back, letting him go. Instead, with one final lingering touch, he turned and stepped away—toward the battlefield, toward war, toward fate. And you watched him go, feeling the warmth of his touch even as it faded.

…

The battle was over. The cries of war had faded into silence, swallowed by the vast, aching hush of the aftermath. No more clashing steel, no more battle horns or desperate shouts—only the distant murmur of the wounded, the quiet sobs of those who had survived, and the weary shuffle of boots across bloodstained earth. The weight of it all still lingered in the air, thick and unrelenting, pressing down with every breath. Smoke curled in the distance, its acrid scent mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the damp musk of churned soil.

The field was littered with the remnants of war—discarded weapons, shattered banners, the fallen lying still beneath the mournful light of the moon. And then, amid it all, you found him. Gil-galad sat in the quiet, his usually radiant presence dimmed by exhaustion. His armor, once gleaming, was dented and streaked with blood—some of it his, some of it not. The royal sigil upon his breastplate was nearly unrecognizable beneath the grime of battle. Yet, even beneath the weight of war, the burden of leadership still clung to his shoulders.

His head was bowed slightly, his hands resting limply against his knees, fingers still curled as if they had not yet learned how to let go of his sword. The golden circlet atop his brow remained, though dulled with dust and sweat, a silent testament to who he was—who he had to be. But then, as if sensing you, his gaze lifted. Your breath caught. The moment his eyes found yours, something in them shifted. The hardened steel of a warrior softened, just slightly, just enough for you to see the relief beneath it. He was here. He had come back.

You swallowed past the knot in your throat and stepped forward. Your hands moved before you could think, reaching for the damp cloth at your side, your fingers trembling with the need to touch—to reassure yourself that he was real, that he was still warm, still breathing. Wordlessly, you knelt beside him. The firelight flickered over his face, highlighting the shallow cut along his cheek, the smudges of dried blood against his skin. He barely flinched as you pressed the cloth to the wound, wiping away the remnants of the battle that had almost taken him from you. His skin was warm beneath your touch. Alive.

“I’ve had worse,” he murmured, voice rough from exhaustion, edged with quiet amusement. “I don’t care,” you whispered back, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary, brushing lightly over the curve of his jaw before you pulled away. His lips quirked, the ghost of something almost amused, but he did not argue. He only watched you, allowing you to tend to him in the way you always did.

The world beyond this moment was still broken, still stained with loss, but here—here, there was only the quiet press of your hands, the hushed breath between you, the unspoken relief of survival. Slowly, you began the painstaking task of unbuckling his battered armor, peeling away the layers of metal and leather that had shielded him in battle. Beneath them, his tunic was torn, revealing a deep gash along his forearm. Your breath hitched.

“You’re hurt,” you whispered, your brows drawing together in concern. Gil-galad exhaled slowly, his body finally surrendering to weariness. “Nothing I wouldn’t endure again,” he said softly, “to see you standing here.” Your fingers tightened slightly around his wrist, your grip betraying the fear you had not spoken aloud. The battlefield had taken so much. Had nearly taken him. And yet—here he was. You reached for the bandages, hands steady despite the weight of emotion pressing against your ribs. He did not resist as you wrapped the cloth around his arm, securing it with careful, practiced movements. He let you take care of him. “You fuss over me,” he mused, voice dipping into something gentler, quieter, as if he were afraid to disturb the stillness between you. “As if I am not a warrior.”

You glanced up at him then, arching a brow. “And yet, you do not stop me.” A low hum of acknowledgment, almost a laugh. “No,” he admitted. “I do not.” His eyes fluttered briefly shut, the rigid composure of a warrior melting beneath your touch. His breaths slowed, deepened, as if, for the first time since the battle had begun, he was allowing himself to rest. Your fingers moved before you could stop them, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, smoothing back the strands that had fallen loose from his braid.

And then—his hand moved. He caught yours gently, his fingers wrapping around yours, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palm. “You were right,” he murmured, thumb tracing absently over the back of your hand. Your throat tightened. “About what?” His grip firmed, grounding himself in the feel of you. “That I would return to you.” Your breath stilled. You had asked for a promise he could not give. The battlefield was cruel, fate unyielding. And yet—here he was. Alive.

With you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Words felt too fragile, too small to hold the weight of what lingered between you. Instead, you moved closer, pressing your forehead gently to his, the warmth of his skin, the scent of steel and earth and him filling your senses. He sighed, the sound soft, his breath mingling with yours. And in that moment—away from war, away from duty—he was just Gil-galad. And he was home.

[doodle-pops]

˖ ࣪ .Giving Them The Silent Treatment˖ ࣪ .

Headcanon: Amras, Argon, Angrod, Egalmoth, Gil Galad

Synopsis: In which they attempt to end the silent torture via their skillful methods.

˚₊‧꒰ა Amras — 𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕, 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐.

Amras walked softly into the room, glancing at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The silence between you was heavy, each of his attempts to break it met with your determined silence. “Are you still angry with me?” he asked gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You turned away, unable to meet his eyes, leading to him approaching, and sitting down beside you on the bed. The warmth of his presence was comforting, even though you still refused to speak.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he continued, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “But I want to make it right. Please, let me try.”

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small, delicate flower, its petals a soft shade of blue. With a smile, he tucked it behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You know,” he began, his voice laced with sincerity, “this flower reminds me of how I feel about you. It’s rare and beautiful, just like you.”

His eyes met yours, filled with an earnest hope. There was softness in his gaze and sincerity in his voice as they broke through your stubbornness. Turning to him, your eyes reflected a mixture of frustration and affection.

“Why do you have to be so charming?” you finally spoke, your voice softening.

Amras’s face broke into a relieved, affectionate smile. “Because I’m in love with you,” he said, leaning closer. “And I’d do anything to see you smile again.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the warmth of his love melting away your stubbornness.

˚₊‧꒰ა Argon — 𝑨𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕, 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐, 𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔. 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

His usually bright and cheerful demeanour dimmed with each moment of your silence. “Are you really not going to talk to me?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. You on the other hand, remained silent, your eyes focused on anything but him.

He pouted, his lips forming a perfect, sorrowful curve. “You know I hate it when you do this,” he whined, but you stood firm, arms crossed.

Trying everything he could think of to get your attention, he started by bringing you your favourite flowers and holding them out with an apologetic smile. And when you didn’t respond, he’d place them gently on the table next to you, hoping their fragrance would soften your irritation.

“Please, just talk to me,” he pleaded, his voice almost a whisper while you remained silent with your aching heart.

Next, he tried to make you laugh, performing exaggerated antics and telling jokes that usually had you in stitches. But today, you didn’t even crack a smile, urging his frustration to grow as he huffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Finally, he resorted to his last tactic: sheer stubbornness. He followed you around, a constant presence, or rather, a pest, at your side, refusing to leave you alone. “I’ll stay right here until you talk to me,” he declared, his tone both petulant and determined.

You sighed inwardly. His persistence was endearing, and you knew you couldn’t hold out forever. With a soft smile, you turned to him and said, “You’re more annoying than you give yourself credit. You do know that?”

His face lit up with relief and joy. “Ah, you had finally spoken! I’m sorry,” he said quickly, wrapping his arms around you. “I promise I’ll do better. Just please, don’t ever stop talking to me again.”

��Fine then, I won’t ignore you,” you whispered. “However, because I’m still upset, no cuddling for a while.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Angrod — 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒓, 𝒉𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔, 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

The silence between you and Angrod had stretched for days. You sat in the common room of your shared quarters, reading a book while deliberately ignoring his attempts to bridge the gap. Each time he approached, you responded with nothing more than a silent nod or a hum, your eyes never leaving the pages.

Angrod tried to mask his frustration, though his usual easygoing demeanour was slipping. He’d attempt small talk, casually asking about your day or mentioning something interesting he’d learned, but your responses remained minimal. It was clear he was struggling to decipher what had gone wrong.

But it wasn’t until you started sleeping on the sofa, leaving Angrod to his solitude in the bed, that the full weight of your silent treatment hit him. The normally calm and composed elf began to crumble. He’d mutter to himself as he walked through the room, bumping into furniture and huffing with annoyance like an insane person.

When you finally noticed him pacing and mumbling, it was clear that the silence, while intended to make him reflect, was also gnawing at him more than you’d anticipated.

Hence why the next morning, you woke to find Angrod asleep on the sofa beside you, his face creased with worry and exhaustion, making him appear like a wrinkly old man.

“Hey,” you said, your voice warmer than intended. Angrod blinked open his eyes, seeing you with a mixture of relief and lingering frustration.

“Are you finally tal—Yes, my love,” he answered, quickly, recollecting himself and rubbing his eyes to fully wake up before he said something out of turn.

You nodded, your heart softening as you took his hand. “Yes, I’m finally awake and ready to talk, but let’s have breakfast first. You’re cooking though, so don’t burn anything.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Egalmoth — 𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐, 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑯𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

Egalmoth paced the length of the garden, his usual composed demeanour replaced by visible frustration. You sat on a stone bench, steadfastly ignoring him, your gaze fixed on the blooming roses. It had been three days since you’d last spoken to him, and he was growing increasingly desperate.

“Will you please talk to me, my love,” he said, his voice a mix of irritation and pleading. “The silence is too loud.”

Giving no indication that you heard him, maintaining your silence, Egalmoth sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “I’d rather you punish me any other way than this silent treatment,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

His words hung in the air, but you remained calm which caused him to huff in frustration and storm off, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Minutes later, the sound of a clatter reached your ears, and you glanced over to see Egalmoth sprawled on the ground with a nearby ladder and several fallen books scattered around him.

“Curse this clumsiness,” he groaned, holding his ankle. Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to remain seated.

Egalmoth’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of genuine pain—not just from his injury, but from your silence. He had gone out of his way to create a situation where you had no choice but to speak with him, even if it meant injuring himself.

You stood up, your stubbornness wavering. As you approached, he winced, clearly in discomfort. “Are you alright?” you finally asked, unable to maintain your silent treatment any longer.

Relief washed over his face despite his pain. “I will be, now that you’re talking to me,” he said, his voice softer. “I’ve missed your voice more than you know.”

You sighed, kneeling beside him to assess his injury. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, but there was no anger in your tone—only a reluctant affection.

Egalmoth smiled, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “And you’re everything to me,” he replied, his eyes filled with love. “Never leave me in silence again.”

You nodded, helping him to his feet. “Just don’t hurt yourself next time,” you said, your voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

“I’ll try,” he promised, leaning on you for support. “But only if you promise to talk to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “Deal.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Gil Galad — 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈, 𝒉𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒅𝒅 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

Gil-galad found you in the garden, the serene beauty of the flowering landscape contrasting with the cold silence you were giving him. For days, you had been distant, offering only curt nods and avoiding eye contact. He respected your space, but it was beginning to wear on him. He approached cautiously, his expression a mix of concern and gentle resolve.

“Is there an limit on words, or have I simply been unlucky in conversation?” he asked, attempting a lighthearted tone. He knelt beside you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of the warmth that once was there.

You remained silent, focused on the vibrant petals of a nearby flower. Gil-galad sighed, sitting down beside you. “If this is some form of punishment, I must say, I’m terribly uninitiated,” he continued, his voice softening. “But I’d very much like to understand what’s troubling you, or at least, share a smile.”

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Tell me what I’ve done wrong. Even a King can be humbled by the silence of someone he holds dear.”

The sincerity in his voice finally broke through, bringing your eyes to meet his, and your vexation melting away gently.

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[inthehouseoffinwe]

I have this hc that Sauron’s obsession with vanity led him to spend years studying Maedhros’ features and trying to emulate them. When he couldn’t get it right, the proportions always a little off, red hair never deep enough, he took his anger out on Mae and when that option was gone, tried to pull from others also renown for their beauty instead.

Fast forward a few centuries and turns out all that work wasn’t entirely useless. And Sauron knows exactly what to do with the features he was able to recreate. Weaving them into his new face, the line of Maitimo’s smile, the set of his eyebrows, the crease of his eyes, he puts just enough to be familiar, but not enough to set off any alarms.

Celebrimbor doesn’t know *why* he trusts Annatar so easily, just that he’s got a good feeling about him. The Maia reminds him of someone he can’t quite put a finger on, but it’s a good association and he doesn’t think on it too deeply. Grows to call him a brother in all but blood.

Of course we all know how that ends. And the last thing Celebrimbor sees is his eldest Uncle’s smile, a mockery of the warmth it should hold as Sauron finally ends his torture.

(Elrond, on the other hand, never saw Maitimo who used to laugh easily and play silly games with children. Only grim Maedhros. The gentle features Sauron steals are alien to him. A stranger with too many familiar features he can’t quite place, twisted the wrong way, leaving him deeply unsettled. It’s why he immediately tells Gil Galad to send Annatar away, hiding trembling hands in his sleeves.)

[thatlittlered]

rings of power men | tropes

warning(s): light TROP spoilers, gn!reader used throughout

author's note: most of these will be turned into actual fics :)

-.-.-

Elrond + friends to lovers

GIF by @fukutomichi

As kind as summer, as gentle as the soft rays of sun upon your faces whilst you sit in each other's company and he is weaving, unbeknownst to you, tales of your wit and beauty in his mind; poems he would never dare show you. It was love long before either of you knew what to call it.

Gil-galad + opposites attract

GIF by @fukutomichi

Born and raised the son of kings, Gil-galad has known nothing but duty during his lifetime. A King neither ventures, nor tries his hand at passing affections, and yet the curse of a still beating heart inevitably finds him when his lieutenant and trusted friend Círdan is apprenticed by a lovely lowly elf.

Celebrimbor + soulmates

GIF by @dailyflicks

It is instant, absolute. As if the two of you were born a mystical creature, bearing two faces, four arms and four legs, until the Valar separated you and forced you to spend eternity searching for your other half. In the worst of times and the most unlikely of places, the search has come to cease. Alas, so has the time of peace.

Arondir + forbidden love

GIF by @lousolversons

The Silvan elf comes to respect the race of men for what they are during his time in the Southlands and whilst he dare not admit it, it does pertain with knowing you. It is hard to care for the hateful gazes of villagers when your own gaze is so tender under the moonlight, your hands cold and decisive when you touch him here where no one can hear or see. Though he has not tasted mortality, it must taste like you and the urgency you kiss him with, as if in fear the sun might never rise again.

Elendil + forbidden love, age gap

GIF by @frodo-sam

This man was born to be your dutiful protector, loyal like no other and sworn to serve you as his ruler with everything he has. Loyalty and love tend to melt into each other, merge so that it is impossible to tell them apart. It is a tormenting, silent agreement that neither of you may speak on these feelings and yet, it... overwhelms.

Valandil + childhood sweethearts

GIF by @fukutomichi

To know and love Valandil comes as easy as breathing air. You have been doing both for just as long, you think. Childish adoration blossoms in time until your souls are tethered and he will commit his life to earning rank and making it official, from the streets of Númenor to the edge of the world, where he hopes to travel with you.

Isildur + love triangle, second chance

GIF by @vidalharkness

Isildur has always held a deep admiration for you, a childish infatuation even, but your bond with Valandil always comes before all and he happily accepts things as they are for a long time. Friendship is of equal, if not grander, worth and he considers both of you his dear friends above all. Until Valandil is killed, that is. The love each of you have for him and each other perseveres until grief threatens to swallow you whole. On the precipice of desperation, a teary kiss is meant to bring comfort. Yes, of course. That is what this must be.

-.-.-

bonus:

Adar + enemies to lovers

GIF by @anthemias

Sauron saw in you every weakness, every earthly, pathetic desire to be appreciated and loved when everyone and everything has been cruelly ripped from you. To be part of something larger than the pain eating away at your chest until your days in Middle Earth are over and you can find refuge in the arms of those who unlike you, gave their lives for a greater cause. He saw and took full advantage. Adar sees it now too when he looks at you; the agony of knowing you have played into the hands of evil itself just as he has. There is always a sliver of affection in understanding another, is there not?

[sakasakiii]

when i first designed erestor 3 years back i wasnt totally aware of his potential half-elf status, and since then ive come across some more fanon interpretations of him being haleth and caranthir's kid which i really liked!!!! so ive decided to rework him a little by combining my original lore for him into this concept 👉👈 i ended up getting carried away on whole different tangent with his backstory which ive summarised down below HAHA

tldr to expand on some key points under the cut:

born in F.A. 371 to haleth and caranthir; his parents' romance is short but passionate, and while many of the haladin are initially unsure about the nature of this union, they dont oppose it. for 4 years they live an unconventional but happy life together

haleth leaves thargelion in F.A. 375 and raises erestor with her people once they resettle. he's too young to remember much about caranthir. throughout his childhood she never tells him who his father is, but he also never really feels the need to ask.

he's captured in F.A. 460 (40 years after his mother's death) and escapes in F.A. 510. two years later, he finally finds refuge in Amon Ereb-- six years after the deaths of caranthir, celegorm and curufin in the 2nd kinslaying.

is tasked by maedhros to assist maglor with elrond and elros' education after they're taken in following the 3rd kinslaying in F.A. 538. he becomes a weird mix of a nanny/older brother/teacher figure to them, and a strange but sweet bond forms between them.

entrusted to protect elrond and elros following the break out of the war of wrath. he leads them to the Host of the Valar, where the twins are given the choice of the half-elven; to his surprise, he's afforded this choice as well, and decides to remain elven out of compassion for elrond after elros chooses mortality.

remains by elrond's side to watch over him for most of the 2nd age. during this time he resides in lindon as a healer, translator and archivist; later joins elrond in imladris, and partakes in the war of the last alliance as a combat medic.

in the 3rd age, is beset with sea-longing after what he regards to be a long and tiresome existence; he's also filled with guilt for being unable to help elrond heal celebrian’s psychological wounds, and contemplates following her back to Valinor. ultimately decides to stay back a bit longer, however, and lingers until after sauron’s defeat when the rest of the elves finally depart for the West. 

that's just a very condensed version but one day i hope to explore in some 4th age stuff where he finds out who his dad is...?! or will he?!?! who knows lol

[astral-aromance]

Grandchildren

Imagine being Nerdanel, sure that your family is lost to you forever. You're completely alone. Even after over 6000 years, your bed still feels empty without your husband there. There's no noise in the kitchen where the brothers are fighting over the last apple, despite all of them knowing there's a whole apple tree right outside the window. No smoke coming from the smithy, no papers with blue prints and miracles scattered around. No dog hair clogging up the drain. No music at 3 am. Nothing.

But then, one day, this Elf shows up at your door. He's shorter than usual, and he looks older than you have ever seen an elf look. He says, "I'm your grandson," and suddenly, you are not completely alone anymore. Elrond is nice, you like him. The music room gets used again, even if only a little. It brings you joy.

A few decades go by, and a Raven brings you a summon from Mandos. You except Tyelpë is finally coming home to you, but instead, it's an elf you have NEVER met before. Tall, stoic, and dark-haired, Nolofinwëan in all ways, but his eyes are unmistakably those of your husband. Those of your eldest son. He is just as surprised to see you there, as is Anairë, but you work it out. Turns out Ereinion and Elrond always thought of one another as brothers, now they actually are. One morning, you go downstairs for tea, and you hear the King yell at the Lord about stealing his strawberries off his plate.

Elrond goes to the havens to meet his sons. Surprisingly, the Seagull carried a summon for you as well. Two identical faces greet you, and your heart stings with old grief. You turn to leave, but spot something unusual. Another Peredhil, shy and distancing himself from the others. He looks like Elrond in hair and build, but... Elrond didn't have any other children, did he? One of the twins tugs on his arm and tries to pull him into the crowd, and the newcomer scowls at him. His face turns bright red. Soon after, you find detailed descriptions of Finarfin's failure as a king when it comes to finances on your coffee table.

Tyelpë returns too, turns out he knew all of them, and they get along great. Maybe a little too well, because they start shutting you out. They stop talking when you walk into the room. They hastily hide documents beneath their robes when you pass them. You don't know what they're up to, but at least your house isn't silent anymore, and the forge burns again.

You realise that they are indeed of your house when it comes to stubborn determination when on a quiet Tuesday afternoon 8 Ravens show up to your house with summons, and none of the grandchildren seem surprised.

You are happy as you step out the front door toward Mandos, carrying a basket with 8 sets of robes, a blanket, cups, some bread, some cheese, and a very strong bottle of wine.

[mahtariel-of-himring]

When Elrond stepped upon the ship that was to take him, Galadriel, Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and a few others to Valinor he was nervous. So long had imagined what it might be like, and for some time even questioned if he would ever sail.

But here he was, stood upon their ship with the undying lands finally in sight after months of sailing across the unending ocean. He might be a mariners son but he certainly had no great love for boats, he didn’t have a problem with them, but the knowledge of not having ground beneath his feet still made him uneasy.

At their arrival many awaited them, to welcome the newcomers into the blessed lands.

High King Arafinwë, in Middle Earth better known as Finarfin, and his other children had come to welcome Galadriel.

Gandalf reunited with some old Maia friends of his and then escorted the hobbits that had joined them to a nice little cottage for them to spend their days in.

He himself recognized many of the faces in the small crowd. First he spotted Gil-Galad, who welcomed him with open arms. Then his beloved Celebrian, who pulled him into a hug the moment he saw her, she was much better now.

A few soldiers of Rivendell were there as well, happy to see their Lord again.

Elrond ended up settling in Tirion with all the others and moved into Celebrian‘s home. It was a nice house with a good view and easy access to the market and other nearby shops and market places.

Tirion was flawless. The white towers with their pointy roofs, the elegant guards with their silver spears, the market place with its various stalls and merchants.

He met many of his ancestors, some he got along with and some he didn’t.

The first he met was Turgon, it took half an hour for them to end up in an argument about the moralities of handling delicate situations within one‘s own city and when to help those in need.

Luckily his second meeting went much better. His great grandfather, Fingolfin, was much more sensible and they got along quickly due to their shared knowledge on leadership and experience of hardships throughout their lives. Though the late High King did comment to his wife Anairë later about how he was sure he‘d bite his teeth out on Elrond eventually, comparing his stubbornness to someone else’s.

When he at last met Fingon it took the elf exactly five minutes to ask if he had been raised by Maedhros. To this day Elrond didn’t understand how he did it, for he himself wasn’t aware of the small details. Like how he did his hair exactly like the fëanorian had or that he held himself with something of Valinorian regalness he definitely didn’t pick up in Lindon.

But as time went on Elrond began to realize something.

Tirion was truly perfect.

Too perfect.

Everyone seemed to have collectively decided to ignore any pains and hardships experienced in Middle Earth or Beleriand and live their lives as if everything was perfectly fine.

When bringing this up to Gil-Galad he just said that they preferred it that way, even if it wasn’t perfect, not everyone had made the journey and seen war, and those who didn’t weren’t comfortable of discussing or displaying it.

The more time Elrond spend in the white city the lonelier he felt. It seemed as if he was the only one prepared to speak of or even mention anything of the things that happened to so many of them.

The more he realized that the more he felt out of place.

Because he wasn’t perfect, he was far from it actually.

He had gone through things most couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares and had seen horrors he wished he could forget.

He had seen his city attacked, had been kidnapped, even though that did turn out positively in the end. Had witnessed war and bloodshed from young on, had served as Herald and later taken on the mantel of Lord. He had seen so much that he just couldn’t ignore.

So one day he mounted his horse and rode out of Tirion. He didn’t have a destination or any idea where he was going but he just kept riding until he was exhausted.

When he looked up he saw a large city with high towers, but no pointy roofs were atop them, instead there stood guards. The walls weren’t made of white stone and marble but steadfast and resistant cobblestone and tall pillars.

The front guards let him in after he explained his situation, and the moment he stepped through those gates it was as if he had entered another world. No excessive jewelry was worn, but rather detailed braids and head dresses or simple circlets.

Scars of all types were openly portrayed instead of covered up and hidden as if they were sometimes to be ashamed of.

Elrond saw elves with walking sticks and missing limbs and crippled bodies. They were warriors, they were survivors, they were the ugly but real truth, and it felt so relieving too see them.

He had no idea where he had ended up in, but he already knew it was much better than Tirion.

No one was putting on a fake mask of perfection and instead just acted as they truly were.

Elrond walked through the streets, talked with some of the locals and listened to their stories.

He heard everything from ex soldiers to healers like him to guards and even some escaped thralls of Angband.

It was so much better than the flawlessly perfect white city. It wasn’t fake.

Elrond ended up in what seemed to be a throne room. At the end of it stood a elf, dressed in a long robe, his hair littered with many braids and a elegant silver hammer in hand.

His eyes were of piercing grey and his hair as black as the night, but his gaze familiarly gentle.

Elrond knew before he spoke.

Elrond knew before he looked up.

Elrond knew before he stepped closer.

Elrond knew before he even acknowledged him.

He knew where he was, and he knew he would stay.

[poetryvampire]

✨️trop men and if they could get you off based mostly on vibes ✨️

💕Now to level the playing field let's give a simple y/n on if they could get the job done during your first time together and the overall mood of the evening. Mildly nsfw (I'm not gonna get too detailed...unless 👀)

Adar💀 Yes. Woof, not to get too crass right off the bat but daddy is the name he earned so yes absolutely. Also brace yourself it will be kinkier than you think and it will awaken something in you. And it would start off painfully slow just easing you into it lightly. Seems like a great opportunity to try things you've been curious about but beware you're getting into like five kinks that haven't even crossed you mind before. One minute you're having a romantic candle lit dinner then Bam youre wearing a chain collar with his name on it.

Elrond 😇 Oh, god bless. No. Baby I'm sorry but no. That being said it would still be a great time with really positive vibes. But Elrond would get too in his own head thinking about options and the best 'plan of attack' to actually deliver. Plus he would play it super safe not wanting to off put you in anyway and thus would kill the passion a bit. Still would be the biggest sweetheart and over all give you a fun time. (Give him time to build his confidence though lotr Elrond Fucks for sure)

Halbrand 🐶 LISTEN Listen listen...No. Hear me out. I just-I feel it in my blood that this guy will rizz you so hard and talk such a big game and than when he time comes it's just ok at best. Like he's made at least one person come before and thinks he has cracked the code. Still his heart's (seemingly) in the right place and its pretty romantic over all. Lots and lots of cuddling.

Annatar 🐱 Yes. And it's amazing but the vibes are terrible. He gets way too intense too fast. He's the kind of guy to say some really weird shit during. Like not even anything dirty just waxing poetic about how you're part of each now and the bond of your bodies is inescapable even in death. And he waaay into talking about how you belong to him now and you're just like?? Is he just talking crazy in the heat of the moment or ?? Also no aftercare and he's 100% gone when you wake up.

Arondir 🏹 Yes. And it's Good but not as romantic as you were hoping. He's into you but Arondir def doesn't realize what a catch he is and is surprised that you're so here for him. Also buddy's got a lot going on so he's still gonna be pretty guarded emotionally. Still he's extremely respectful and such a good kisser like he's got your head spinning and you've barely started.

Elendil 🗡 No. But he tries hard and it's a great time. He's kinda got that big puppy Halbrand thing going on but like genuine. Def more into you than you are him. Elendil will rizz you with care. Pays very close attention to what you like/want. Even if it doesnt happen he's fine with talking about it, even makes a few light jokes at his expense. He's terribly good at putting you at ease. By the end of the night you're more smitten than you first thought.

Celebrimbor 💍 Yes. Are you kidding me?We're talking mastery, we're talking attentiveness, we're talking about a very smitten old man that's going to court you with his whole heart. The vibes are impeccable and he's going to make it known that taking care of you is his top priority. Additionally I can't explain why but you know this man's head game is god tier.

Gil Galad 🏵 Yes. Don't even get me started on how this man is gonna rock your world. The high king is a big guy so it's go big or go home when it comes to love and affection. He doesn't allow himself to pursue romance often but when he does he goes hard. In terms of the act itself and the amount of extravagance and detail he'd put into wooing you. Plus cmon you know he's stressed and pent up as hell. Brace yourself for being be absolutely worshipped All night. You're in for a wicked case of jelly legs and you're not going anywhere.

[havenotwillnotreadthebooks]

I love the idea of Gil-Galad just being A Guy while Elrond and Celebrimbor are insane, actually.

Consider;

Elrond, so pissed that the indoor plants are rattling: Fuck That Courtier 👁️⭐️🗡️

Gil-Galad, wondering if he can still eat his salad if it’s sprouted ominous flowers: Yeah, what a bitch.

And

Celebrimbor, setting a jar on Gil-Galad’s desk: I have discovered a new chemical 😁

The Chemical™️: *eats through the jar, eats through Gil-Galad’s desk, sizzling as it tries to eat through the stone flooring*

Gil-Galad, seeing an Opportunity: can you move the jar a little to the left? That’s where the complaints from Lord Oropher are stacked.

Love the idea of Gil being a regular dude while his alleged cousins are the resident eldritch horror and the mad scientist next door.

[lady-raidia]

May I request some fluffy headcanons for dating Gil-Galad?

Of course, my love! :) And I know it has been ages since I posted anything and I am truly sorry for that!😭 I still hope that you like the headcanons even though I've got a bit carried away. (hopefully I did not miss the dating part). Please enjoy! 💕✨

⭐️ GIL-GALAD DATING HEADCANONS ⭐️

he is a serious man who always keeps his composure

he is also serious when it comes to love

the moment he laid his eyes upon you, he was in love

he is so in tune with himself that he instantly realises what he is feeling for you but doesn’t want to force himself upon you

slowly over time, he made sure that you felt the same way

In the beginning, it was little gestures that gave away his feelings: complimenting your skills, brushing a strand of hair from your face, the little space he left between you both when he talked to you

then, when he made very clear how he felt about you his behaviour around you changed

instead of little touches and words that you could barely hear, he became more openly affectionate with you

of course, he had to maintain his authority as a king and didn’t want to come across as a lovestruck young elf, but in the private moments without prying eyes on you, he shows you how much he adores you

he is showering you with words that are filled with pure love, a love that was rarely seen in Middle-Earth

his love is eternal and every day that you wake up together he reminds you that his heart only belongs to you

he will write little poems to you, as a reminder for you that you are truly loved

he loves to hold you tightly, your face pressed against his chest

loves to give you forehead kisses but what he loves more are the kisses you give him; may it be on the lips, cheeks or forehead - when your lips are touching his skin, he feels the burden that was placed upon him, melting away

for you and only for you he created a little garden filled with flowers that reminded him of you

will call you “my little flower” “my heart” or “my moonlight”

he loves to watch you when you read because in moments when you are completely lost in thoughts, your beauty shines the most

when he has a bad day he wants to hear your voice so badly because only the sound of it will soothe his mind and will bring peace to his soul

will kiss the ground you walk on as if you are a living goddess

[earthlybeam]

Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

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Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Versions are below.

Thranduil, being the proud and poised Elven King of Mirkwood, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𐂂 You grinning mischievously “I made us friendship bracelets!” Thranduil He raises a single, imperious brow, his expression hovering between amused indulgence and mild exasperation. “Bracelets? What purpose do these trinkets serve?” Before he can decline, the metallic click of the handcuffs echoes through the room. He freezes, staring down at his wrist, now bound to yours. His icy blue eyes narrow dangerously. “Is this some sort of mortal jest?” His voice is calm, but there’s a subtle, deadly edge to it. You beam at him. “Now we can really bond!”

𐂂 Thranduil exhales sharply, as though summoning every ounce of patience within him. He tugs lightly at the chain, his gaze flickering between the cuffs and your unapologetic grin. “You dare shackle the King of the Woodland Realm like a… prisoner?” As you shrug cheerfully, his lips press into a thin line, though a flicker of reluctant amusement dances in his eyes. “Fine. But you will remove these before the feast. If my court sees this, I will never hear the end of it.”

Another version

𐂂 You Grinning mischievously, you extend two shiny, interlinked metal cuffs toward Thranduil. “I made us something special—friendship bracelets!” you announce cheerfully. Before he can fully grasp your intent, you deftly clasp one cuff onto his wrist, the audible click resonating through the room. Without hesitation, you secure the other cuff onto your own wrist, binding the two of you together.

𐂂 Thranduil For a moment, the Elven King simply stares at his wrist, his expression frozen in shock. His usual graceful composure wavers as his piercing eyes shift from the unyielding metal band now encircling his wrist to the matching one on yours. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet yours, his brows arching high in disbelief. “You did… what?” he finally manages, his voice calm but laced with incredulity.

𐂂 When he gives the cuff a light tug, the movement pulls your arm forward, making it abundantly clear that neither of you can stray far from the other. His sharp features twist into a mixture of irritation and exasperation as he leans back in his chair, his hand lifting to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Explain yourself,” he demands, his tone low and commanding, though there’s a flicker of something—perhaps amusement—beneath the sternness.

𐂂 You Smiling innocently, you lift your cuffed wrist with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s symbolic! You know, like how our lives are intertwined now. It’s a human tradition—or… well, maybe I improvised a little.” Thranduil He lets out a long, slow sigh, clearly summoning every ounce of his legendary patience. “Bracelets, you said,” he mutters under his breath. “This is hardly what I would describe as a bracelet. These are shackles fit for a dungeon!” His free hand gestures toward the cuffs as his lips press into a thin line, his irritation palpable.

𐂂 You Trying to stifle a laugh, you grin up at him. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually wear a regular friendship bracelet… but these? Now you don’t have a choice.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing, his keen eyes narrowing as he studies your face. Then, without warning, he gives the cuff on your wrist another firm tug, pulling you closer until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. “And what,” he says, his tone dropping to a dangerously low register, “do you intend to do when I need to address matters of state? Shall I drag you into my throne room before my council as my… ‘symbolic companion’?”

𐂂 Despite his stern words, the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying his inner struggle to keep a straight face. There’s something undeniably absurd—and, dare he admit it, endearing—about the entire situation. With a sigh of resignation, he leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

𐂂 “Very well,” he says, his voice softening as he casts a sidelong glance at you. “But if you think this means I will tolerate being hauled about on some wild human adventure, you are sorely mistaken.” His gaze lingers on the cuffs, then flicks back to you. “And pray, do not think this will go unpunished. I shall expect a full explanation… after you find the key.” The evening wears on, and though Thranduil maintains a carefully aloof air, his occasional glances and faint smiles betray his growing amusement. For all his bluster, he seems far more entertained than he would ever admit.

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You Burning your tongue on hot food despite claiming it’s “too hot.”

𐂂 You taking a bite “This is too hot. Thranduil He watches you lift the steaming food to your mouth, his expression betraying mild concern. “Then why—” Before he finishes, you yelp and fan your mouth, visibly in pain. His piercing blue eyes widen slightly, though his lips press into a thin, disapproving line. He sets down his goblet deliberately, studying you as though you’ve just confirmed every suspicion he’s ever had about mortal impulsiveness. “You knew it was too hot, meleth nîn, yet you ate it anyway. What were you hoping to achieve?” His tone is cool, bordering on exasperated, but there’s a faint undertone of amusement he can’t quite suppress.

𐂂 You try to respond, only to wince and motion wildly for water. With a resigned sigh, he reaches for a goblet, handing it to you with his usual elegance. “Drink. Slowly, if that is within your capabilities.”

𐂂 As you gulp it down, he leans back, one brow arched. “Mortals truly lack self-preservation instincts. I shall have to monitor your meals now, lest you burn yourself into oblivion.” His smirk betrays his fondness.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal)

𐂂 You bursting into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your sides as you snort between hiccups.

𐂂 Thranduil He stops mid-sentence, his refined demeanor frozen in place as he stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and horrified fascination. His elegant brows draw together, and for a moment, he seems genuinely uncertain if you’re choking or… some kind of woodland creature mimicking laughter.

𐂂 “Are you… quite well?” he asks cautiously, his deep voice laced with incredulity. But your hiccups only intensify as you wheeze, your snorts breaking through like a startled piglet. His lips twitch as though caught between a frown and a suppressed smile. He clears his throat, his regal composure teetering. “I fail to see what could be so amusing as to warrant… this display.”

𐂂 You clutch his arm for support, tears streaming down your face as another snort escapes. His icy blue eyes narrow, and he leans back slightly, as if distancing himself from the chaos. “Are humans always this… undignified when amused? Or is this a unique trait of yours?” Still laughing, you manage to hiccup out a garbled apology, but it’s clear you’ve lost all control. Thranduil exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, though his lips curve into the faintest smirk. “If nothing else, meleth nîn, you have proven to be a source of endless… surprises.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𐂂 You pausing in the doorway, staring blankly around the room with a furrowed brow

𐂂 Thranduil He looks up from his desk, the faint flicker of a candle casting shadows across his regal face. His piercing gaze lands on you as you stand there, motionless and perplexed. “Well? Are you going to say something, or shall I simply guess the reason for this intrusion?”

𐂂 You frowning, scratching your head “I… forgot why I came in here.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing. He leans back in his chair, one perfectly arched brow rising higher than you thought possible. He steeples his fingers in front of him, his expression caught between amusement and disbelief. “You entered my chambers… and you don’t recall why?”

𐂂 You nervously laughing “Yeah, I guess I just forgot. It’ll come to me in a second!” His lips press into a thin line, and he releases a soft sigh, one that speaks of centuries of patience worn thin by mortal antics. “You are aware that I rule an entire kingdom, are you not? That my time is valuable?” he remarks dryly, though his voice carries an undertone of exasperated fondness.

𐂂 You grinning sheepishly “I’m sorry, I’ll just—uh—go.” As you turn to leave, he raises a hand, stopping you. “No. Stay.” He gestures to a nearby chair. “Sit there until you remember. Let us not risk you wandering aimlessly and forgetting your way back as well.”

𐂂 You obey, his sarcastic quip making you chuckle nervously. He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mortals,” he mutters softly, returning to his work. “Endlessly baffling. And yet, I find I do not mind nearly as much as I should.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𐂂 As you lie beside Thranduil in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the grand windows of his chambers, you let out a small, frustrated sigh. Carefully, you flip your pillow over, smoothing your hand across the “cool side” before settling your head against it with a satisfied sigh.

𐂂 Thranduil He notices immediately, his keen elven eyes watching every movement, even in the dim light. His brow furrows slightly as he props himself up on one elbow, his silver-blond hair spilling over his shoulder like liquid starlight. “What peculiar ritual is this?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur edged with curiosity.

𐂂 You glancing at him, a bit surprised “It’s… flipping the pillow to the cool side. It feels better. He blinks, his expression a perfect mixture of incredulity and faint amusement. “The cool side of the pillow?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the absurdity of the phrase. “And this… improves your comfort?” You nod earnestly, hugging the pillow closer. “Absolutely. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

𐂂 Thranduil’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening his composed facade. “Mortals,” he muses, leaning back against his own array of perfectly arranged pillows. “You are remarkable in your ability to find solace in the most trivial things.”

𐂂 You grinning playfully “Don’t tell me you’ve never done it.” He arches a brow, as if the suggestion alone is preposterous. “I have endured centuries of life, meleth nîn, with pillows precisely as they are. And I assure you, I have managed quite well without this… cooling ritual.”

𐂂 You teasing “You don’t know what you’re missing.” With an air of regal exasperation, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps not. But I find your mortal habits endlessly fascinating. If such a small thing brings you joy, I see no harm in it.” As you settle in, he lies back, watching you with a faint, affectionate smirk. “Though, if you attempt to flip my pillow, you will find my patience has limits.”

📜𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond, lord of Riverdell being the proud and poised would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

✶ Elrond watches with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise as you present the friendship bracelets, his elegant features softening into a rare, genuine smile. “Ah, how thoughtful, meleth nín,” he remarks in his usual, measured tone, admiring the delicate craftsmanship. The idea of bonding in such a simple, yet intimate way seems to resonate with him.

✶ But then, as you reach for the handcuffs, his brow furrows, and he instinctively steps back. “What is this?” His voice, usually calm, carries a hint of bewilderment. The concept is unfamiliar to him—metal handcuffs, a binding that holds his wrist captive to yours in a way that neither aligns with his elven customs nor his understanding of affection. His ancient mind, accustomed to more refined and deliberate forms of connection, pauses for a moment to process.

✶ As the handcuffs click shut, he glances at his bound wrist and then meets your gaze, his eyes soft yet filled with confusion and a flicker of amusement. “This is… certainly unexpected,” he murmurs, adjusting his posture to avoid discomfort. He shifts his focus, feeling the weight of the metal and the subtle tug between you. “I did not know that this was how you humans chose to express your affection,” he adds, his voice laced with a mix of bemusement and fondness. Yet, despite his hesitation, there’s a warmth in his expression as he gently takes your hand, his fingers delicately brushing against your skin. “I admit, this is a new experience for me. But, it seems I shall have to adjust to it, as I always do for you.”

✶ The notion of you choosing to bond him with such an odd but sincere gesture fills him with a surprising sense of tenderness, even if it is, by his standards, rather unconventional. He could never deny your earnestness or the bond you share, even if it comes in the form of metal handcuffs. With a faint, wry smile, Elrond allows himself to soften further, clearly amused. “Shall we walk like this, then?” He asks, his voice steady yet laced with affection, knowing full well this gesture is just another example of the delightful quirks that make your relationship uniquely yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

✶ Elrond sits beside you at the table, his demeanor calm and composed as always, yet there’s a slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he watches you eagerly reach for a steaming dish. You’ve made a meal together, and though Elrond typically prefers his food to be perfectly prepared, he appreciates the gesture you’ve made.

✶ You lift a spoonful to your lips, only to immediately flinch. “This is too hot,” you murmur, but despite your own words, you take a bite anyway. Elrond’s sharp eyes catch the slight wince on your face as you quickly pull away, feeling the burn on your tongue.

✶ His brow furrows, concern flickering behind his composed expression. “Meleth nín,” he begins, his voice tinged with both affection and mild reproach, “You knew it was too hot, yet you persisted?” His gaze softens, and his lips curve into a slight smile. “You should have waited, love. Such impulsiveness may not be wise, even for someone as remarkable as you.”

✶ He watches as you try to recover from the burn, unable to stifle the small chuckle that escapes him. The contrast between his measured patience and your impetuousness amuses him, though his worry for your well-being is apparent. Reaching for a napkin, he gently dabs at your lips with it, his touch tender and careful. “Let me care for you,” he offers quietly, his voice soothing.

✶ Elrond, always the one who considers every action with utmost deliberation, finds your momentary lapse in judgment endearing, and though he would never make such a rash decision himself, he cannot help but love the spontaneous, human nature that you display. “Next time,” he says softly, “allow me to help you, so you do not suffer such a simple burn.” He leans in closer, brushing his lips lightly across your forehead, a silent promise that he’ll always be there to care for you, in all your little quirks.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting.

✶ Elrond, ever the dignified and composed elf, is quietly enjoying a moment with you, his keen eyes studying your face as you recount a particularly amusing story. As the words tumble from your lips, the melody of your laughter fills the air, and Elrond finds himself enchanted by the sound—a light, melodic laugh, so full of life and warmth.

✶ But then, in an unexpected twist, your laughter becomes a bit too much for you to control. It starts as a simple chuckle, but before long, you let out a hiccup, followed by another, and then… a snort. Elrond’s eyes widen in surprise, his usually controlled expression giving way to a rare, genuine look of shock. He watches, almost frozen, as you hiccup again, and this time, the sound resembles a pig’s squeal, high-pitched and almost animalistic.

✶ He can hardly believe what he’s witnessing. His mind races for a moment, unsure of how to respond, his elven dignity momentarily shaken by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Yet, as you continue, each hiccup and snort seemingly more ridiculous than the last, a deep, melodious laugh escapes his lips—completely uncharacteristic of him. It’s low and rich, the sound flowing out naturally, filled with both amusement and affection.

✶ “Ah, meleth nín,” he says, his voice both amused and tender, his lips curling into a soft, affectionate smile. “I must admit, I have never known anyone so… charming in their displays of joy.” His voice is filled with adoration as he watches you, utterly captivated by your unrestrained laughter. “It is… an unexpected sound, but one that I find utterly endearing,” he adds, his gaze softening as he watches you struggle to control yourself.

✶ Elrond’s usual calm demeanor returns, though he can’t quite hide the amused sparkle in his eyes. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender. “You are quite a wonder, my love,” he says with a quiet, affectionate laugh. “I have seen many strange things in my long life, but none as delightful as this.” His voice is a perfect mixture of warmth and playfulness, the image of his centuries-old wisdom softened by the joy you bring into his world.

✶ Elrond, ever the one to maintain control in most situations, finds himself thoroughly enchanted by the vulnerability you display in this moment—your laughter, so unrestrained, so human, only deepening the bond between you both. “Shall we continue, my sweet troublemaker?” he asks, his tone filled with a soft, affectionate teasing as he watches you try to compose yourself. “I believe I shall need time to recover from such a display of… charm.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

✶ Elrond stands by the window, his gaze sweeping over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, his mind occupied with matters of great importance. The stillness of the moment is disrupted as you enter the room, your steps light yet purposeful. However, when you reach the center of the space, a sudden pause overtakes you.

✶ For a moment, you simply stand there, looking around the room as though you were searching for something. The air between you both is filled with a quiet tension as Elrond notices your confusion. His brow furrows slightly, his keen elven senses immediately catching the subtle shift in your demeanor. “Is something troubling you, meleth nín?” he inquires, his voice gentle yet filled with concern. His deep eyes, which have seen so much in the long years of his life, soften as he studies your expression. You stand there, still, seemingly unsure of why you entered the room in the first place.

✶ You blink, slowly processing, and then, with a soft sigh, you murmur, “I’ve forgotten why I came in here.” A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Elrond’s lips, and for a moment, he can’t help but feel a deep fondness for you. He steps toward you with quiet grace, his long, elegant strides never once faltering. His touch is light as he gently places a hand on your shoulder, an anchor in your moment of confusion.

✶ “It is not the first time,” he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. “Such things happen even to the most diligent of minds. Fear not, my heart. The memory will return, in time.” He watches as your face softens, a hint of amusement returning to your features. His smile deepens as he regards you—your quirks, your humanity, the way you so often forget, yet always seem to be so effortlessly yourself.

✶ “My love,” Elrond continues, his voice laced with a gentle teasing, “it is in these moments I am reminded of the beauty in your simplicity. A thousand years of wisdom may not protect one from forgetting the smallest of details. I, too, have had my share of such lapses in thought.”

✶ He steps closer, his presence enveloping you with calm and reassurance. “Perhaps you were simply drawn in by the peacefulness of this room. Or, mayhap, you were distracted by thoughts of us, as I often am.” His eyes twinkle with a soft affection as he regards you. “Whatever the reason, do not fret. You are in no way alone in this. I, too, have often found myself lost in my thoughts, only to be reminded by a gentle nudge from the world around me.”

✶ He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and full of affection. “Shall we sit for a while, then? If the reason for your visit escapes you, perhaps a moment of rest will bring it back to mind.” As you take a seat beside him, Elrond leans in just slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch delicate. “Do not worry, melethril nín. Sometimes, it is not the purpose of the visit that matters, but the quiet presence we share in these moments.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

✶ Elrond watches quietly from the corner of the room as you prepare for the evening. His long, jet black hair gleams softly in the gentle light of Rivendell’s hearth, his dark eyes following every movement you make with an intensity that betrays his usual calm demeanor. He’s no stranger to the simple acts of daily life—after all, he’s seen countless years pass in Rivendell, where the moments of peace are as precious as gold—but there’s something endearing in the way you go about these small routines.

✶ As you prepare to settle into the bed, he notices your particular attention to the pillow, your hands moving to flip it to the “cool side,” a habit that has become second nature to you. There’s a slight smile on his lips as he observes, his expression softening with fondness. The simple, human gesture is both quaint and deeply charming to him, reminding him of the beautiful uniqueness of your nature, so different from his own.

✶ He watches you with an air of quiet admiration as you finally lay down, the cool side of the pillow now beneath your head. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, a mix of awe and tenderness in his eyes, before he slowly approaches the bed, as if drawn by an invisible force. “Elvish pillows, though soft, do not have the same… comfort,” Elrond muses, his voice low and smooth, with an underlying note of amusement. “I have often wondered about this particular custom of yours, meleth nín.”

✶ He stands at the edge of the bed, his tall form casting a long shadow across the room, his presence as steady and eternal as the stars themselves. There’s a warmth in his eyes now, a tenderness only visible to you as he regards you, the love he feels for you evident in every glance. “Do you find it truly so different from the way we do things?” he asks, taking a seat beside you with a grace only an elf could possess. “I confess, I am fascinated by these small rituals that make you… you.”

✶ His fingers brush lightly against your hair, and there is a deep, quiet reverence in his touch. The cool pillow, the little quirks of your routine—he cherishes these moments, knowing they are part of what makes you human, what makes you his.

✶ “If it pleases you,” Elrond continues, his voice soft but sincere, “I will see if I can find a way to make your pillow more… to your liking. I will take whatever steps I can to ensure your comfort, for that is my duty as your partner.” His eyes search yours for a moment, his hand resting on the pillow now beneath your head. “But perhaps it is not the pillow that brings comfort, but simply the presence of another to share the night with.”

✶ A quiet, affectionate smile spreads across his lips as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper. “Rest now, melethril nín. You are safe here with me. And if you need to flip the pillow again… you need only ask.”

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad, being the proud and poised elven king of Lindon , would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

🜲 Gil-galad would stand still for a moment, his sharp gaze landing on the metal cuffs now binding you both together. His usual composure would falter for just a second, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His lips might twitch into a barely noticeable smile, though he quickly masked it, his regal demeanor reasserting itself.

🜲 “Well,” he begins in his smooth, steady voice, “this is certainly a creative gesture, my heart.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his tone, but also a touch of wariness. As a king, he’s accustomed to authority and independence, and the idea of being physically bound, even symbolically, might make him momentarily uncomfortable. He would gently touch the cuffs, his fingers brushing over the metal as though considering the weight of the gesture.

🜲 “You certainly know how to make your affections known,” he continues, his voice softening with tenderness. His noble nature keeps him from fully expressing the sudden warmth that fills his chest, but there’s a soft, almost playful look in his eyes now.

🜲 “You’ve captured me in more ways than one, it seems,” Gil-galad would add, his voice carrying a quiet affection. Despite his usual reserved nature, there’s a vulnerability in his words, showing how deeply he cherishes this bond. Though he stands as a High King, in this moment, he would be tethered to you in a way only love could achieve, silently affirming that, despite his reservations, he was yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet concern as you burn your tongue, even though you had just warned yourself of the heat. His sharp gaze softens in a rare moment of affection, though his expression remains composed, as is his nature. He immediately shifts into a protective stance, moving closer as you react to the burning sensation. His tone is gentle yet authoritative, a voice that’s both soothing and filled with care.

🜲 “Patience, my moonlight,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You must learn to heed your own words, for even the most steadfast may falter when it comes to something so simple as food.” He speaks not with reprimand but with quiet amusement, his wisdom guiding his response.

🜲 Gil-galad places a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. “Shall I fetch something to cool it?” he offers, ever the considerate king, despite the situation’s triviality. He watches you closely, his gaze not critical but full of concern for your well-being.

🜲 Though this moment may seem small, to him, it’s a reminder of the care and responsibility he feels for those he holds dear. It’s in these small gestures, these fleeting exchanges, that his true affection for you is made evident. He doesn’t need grand displays; his love is shown in the subtle actions of attentiveness and understanding.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

🜲 Gil-galad stands motionless for a moment, his usually calm and composed demeanor faltering as he watches you laugh with such abandon that it quickly escalates into hiccups and snorting. The sounds are unexpected and unrefined, almost animalistic in their intensity. At first, he blinks in mild surprise, not accustomed to such unrestrained expressions of joy from anyone, let alone his beloved. His brow furrows ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to understand the source of this particular outburst.

🜲 But soon enough, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and his stern gaze softens with an affectionate warmth that rarely shows. His posture remains regal, but there’s a flicker of something else—an admiration for the raw, unfiltered joy you’re displaying. He never lets go of his dignified nature, but your laughter, full of life and free from restraint, melts something inside of him.

🜲 “You have a way of surprising me, my heart,” he says, his voice smooth and steady, but now tinged with an affectionate amusement. His usual solemnity is touched by a rare playfulness. As your hiccups continue, Gil-galad can’t help but chuckle softly, the sound low and quiet but genuine.

🜲 “You laugh with the sound of a creature most ungraceful, yet I cannot help but admire the joy you bring,” he continues, his voice warm but steady, his tone not mocking but filled with a sense of endearment. His gaze never wavers from you, taking in the beauty of the moment despite its messiness. The High King of the Noldor, usually a symbol of restraint, finds his heart lightened by your unpolished charm.

🜲 Reaching out with a gentleness that contrasts his usual command, he places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly. “Take a moment to breathe, my little flower,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet concern that reveals how much he cares for you in these small, personal moments. Even as you snort or hiccup, his presence is unwavering, calm, and steady. He doesn’t laugh at you, but rather with you, seeing in your laughter a vulnerability and joy that reminds him of what it means to be truly alive.

🜲 When you finally regain control, he would look at you with fondness and say, “No matter how unpolished, your laughter is a treasure to me.” His words are gentle, but they carry the weight of an everlasting love, as deep and sincere as his commitment to his people.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet curiosity as you stand in the doorway of the room, momentarily frozen, eyes scanning the surroundings as though searching for something you cannot quite place. His sharp elven eyes observe your confusion with a subtle, amused glint, but his expression remains composed, ever the dignified ruler. He knows the feeling all too well—his long life has often required a great deal of focus, and he’s had moments where his mind wandered despite his best efforts.

🜲 For a fleeting second, he stands silently, studying you with a soft, unspoken affection. His voice, when it comes, is warm but gentle, tinged with a hint of mirth that he rarely allows himself to express. “It seems that even the wisest of us are sometimes led astray by the mind, my heart,” he says, his tone calm yet filled with understanding. His words are not mocking but reflect a genuine empathy, for Gil-galad, despite his regal nature, is not unfamiliar with moments of distraction and confusion.

🜲 He steps closer, his movements fluid and dignified, but his eyes betray a tenderness as they meet yours. “Shall I assist you in your search? Perhaps together, we may uncover what was so important that brought you here.” His words are light, though there is a deeper warmth in them that only someone close to him would notice.

🜲 He would never rush you or press you for an answer, but rather, he’d patiently stand by, offering his quiet presence to help you find your footing again. His role as a leader of Elves is never far from his mind, but in this moment, he chooses to focus on your small human struggle. There’s no sense of impatience in him, only a sense of calm encouragement. He might even gently place a hand on your shoulder, a subtle gesture of support, his gaze never wavering, as though he is ready to help you in whatever way you need.

🜲 “Do you often forget what brings you here, my little flower?” he would ask softly, his voice laced with affection and concern. The depth of his care for you is evident, even in the smallest of moments, showing that his love for you transcends any regal distance.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with a quiet fascination as you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in, his sharp elven gaze observing the small, seemingly insignificant act with a kind of patient reverence. To him, such simple, human gestures hold a deep beauty. The night has fallen, and while his mind is often preoccupied with the burdens of kingship, in these moments, his attention is solely on you. His expression is serene, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he silently admires your ability to find comfort in small things.

🜲 As you settle into bed, he steps closer, his tall, commanding presence as regal as ever, though now softened by the warmth of intimacy. “I see you have found the secret of a peaceful rest,” he says, his voice smooth and calm, a hint of amusement coloring his words. “Such a simple thing, yet it speaks volumes of the care you take for yourself.” His tone carries an affection that contrasts with his usually serious nature, showing a side of him that only you are privy to.

🜲 Gil-galad would pause for a moment, watching the way you relax into the coolness of the pillow, his eyes softening. “In a world where so much is constant and unyielding, it is a comfort to know there are small, simple pleasures to be found,” he continues, his voice gentle but filled with a quiet reverence for the simple joys you bring into his life. He is a King who has borne countless burdens, but watching you find peace in such a small, human act makes him feel grounded in a way he rarely experiences.

🜲 When he finally joins you, his movements are graceful, measured, and yet filled with a quiet tenderness. Gil-galad would lie down beside you, his own pillow perhaps a bit colder than the one you had flipped, but his presence beside you is a warmth of its own. He would take a moment to simply enjoy the tranquility, allowing the weight of the day to slip away in the stillness of the night, only for a brief moment remembering how precious these quiet moments are with you.

🜲 With a final glance at your now-resting form, he might quietly whisper, “The coolness of the night is nothing compared to the warmth you bring to my heart.” His voice is a low murmur, barely more than a soft breath in the quiet of the room, but the depth of his affection is clear. Even in these simplest of moments, his love for you is quietly ever-present.

I’m working on the other characters like , lindir, haldir, feren, meludir, Galion, elros, elladan, elrohir, Legolas, celeborn, erestor, glrofindel, círdan, adar 💚🍃

[doodle-pops]

Cosy Autumn Days — Thingol, Beleg, Gwindor & Gil-Galad

Synopsis: Different activities they enjoy participating in during the fall season with you.

Thingol — Walk Through the Forest and Fall Picnic

He was always one for grand gestures, but today, he opted for something simpler. You found yourself walking through the vibrant forest of Doriath, the towering trees ablaze with fiery reds and golds, the crisp scent of leaves filling the air. The crunch beneath your boots was satisfying, and as you strolled, Thingol would occasionally bend down to pick up an interestingly shaped leaf, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over, knowing how much you enjoyed collecting them—and your extensive leaf collection. It was peaceful in a way you both rarely experienced, but you knew he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

When you finally reached the picnic spot, the grandeur of the setting couldn’t be ignored. A blanket, laid out beneath a massive oak, seemed to glow with the sunlight filtering through the remaining leaves. Thingol, ever the king, had prepared everything—he gestured toward the spread of food, his silent invitation as diplomatic as ever. You sat together, enjoying the hearty autumn meal, the warmth of the cider, and the way his arm casually wrapped around your waist as if it had always been there.

The conversation was light with no formal speeches or declarations of undying love, just the kind of easy banter that comes with a relationship so deeply rooted. He smiled more in these quiet moments, his voice softer as he teased you about your overly dramatic reaction to a particularly sour apple or how you boasted about making the best pies.

“The last time you gave me an apple pie, my love, I required two glasses of water per bite,” he reminded, earning him a groan followed by a glare.

“Hey! They’re supposed to be sweet because sugar and spice pair well,” you muttered with a sassy roll of your eyes.

Taking the opportunity to rest a crown of berries and leaves on your head, he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Yes, my love. I know this, but ease up on the sugar next time.”

As the sun dipped lower, casting longer shadows, neither of you made any move to leave, as you curled up beside him—his robe acted as your blanket considering his enormity. Upon each your head, a crown of berries and golden leaves rested as a token of his affection.

Beleg — Apple Picking and Leaf Piles

Ever the competitive by nature, and that extended to apple picking. What was supposed to be a relaxed afternoon turned into a game the moment you stepped into the orchard. “Bet I can get more apples than you,” he said, already grabbing the nearest basket. His grin was wide, his hair tousled from the chilled wind, and you could tell he was serious. So naturally, you accepted the challenge.

The two of you raced between the trees, plucking apples with an enthusiasm that had the orchard workers giving you strange looks. And Beleg, with his ridiculous agility, managed to climb halfway up the trees before you’d even filled your basket. He laughed at your exaggerated annoyance, swinging down and handing you a particularly shiny apple as a peace offering. “I’ll share the winnings,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

After a while, you both grew tired and ended up in a nearby field, collapsing into a pile of leaves someone had thoughtfully raked up. Beleg didn’t even hesitate before tossing a handful of leaves in your face, and that led to an all-out leaf fight. 20/10 times he pushed you into the piles each time you attempted to crawl out, turning it into a playfight—guess who didn’t hold back and claimed another victory. It wasn’t dignified, but by the time you both lay back, breathless and laughing, with leaves tangled in your hair, you couldn’t have cared less. The sky above was the colour of a late autumn evening, and Beleg’s laugh, warm and rich, echoed in the crisp air.

Gwindor — Telling Ghost Stories and Autumn Rainfall

The autumn rain came suddenly, as it always did in Nargothrond. Luckily, you were inside, warm and dry, listening to Gwindor recount an old tale. As the fire crackled beside you, casting shadows on the stone walls, and though the rain was soft, it created a steady rhythm against the windows. Gwindor, despite his normally serious nature, had a knack for telling ghost stories. His voice was low, dramatic, drawing you in as he painted vivid images of long-lost souls wandering the woods, their faint cries echoing through the trees.

Eventually, the rain began to let up, but you stayed there, wrapped in the quiet comfort of the moment. Gwindor wasn’t always the easiest to pull away from his brooding thoughts, but here, with the rain and the fire, he seemed lighter—less burdened by the past and more present with you.

At some point, you leaned into him, his warmth against the chill of the room. Instinctively, his arm moved around you and the story faded into the background as the rain picked up, the soothing patter pulling you further into the cosy atmosphere. Gwindor shifted slightly, glancing at you with an amused smile. “I think my story’s not scary enough,” he murmured teasingly.

“Only because I have someone as brave as you around to keep the scariness away,” you laughed, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Gil-Galad — Farmer’s Market and Picking Out Treats

Your loving King took you to the market, something he rarely had time for during his reign, but today he seemed determined to enjoy it. The stalls were filled with the harvest’s bounty—bright orange pumpkins, baskets of apples, jars of honey, and spices that filled the air with warmth. You wandered together, hand in hand, as Gil-galad pointed out things he thought you’d like. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about the produce, suggesting different types of apples for pies and cider.

“You’ve got a hidden talent for this, haven’t you?” you teased, nudging him.

“Well, I mean, I have to impress you, don’t I? Show off my knowledge to make you fall for me a little more,” he grinned and wiggled his brows, not even trying to deny it. You picked out ingredients together, and by the time you left the market, your arms were full of pumpkins, apples, and a small collection of baked goods.

Back at your home, you set about making cider and treats together, the kitchen filled with the warm scent of cinnamon and apples. Gil-galad, though graceful on the battlefield, was a bit clumsy in the kitchen. At one point, he spilt flour across the counter, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him standing there, covered in a light dusting of white. “Maybe stick to leading armies,” you joked, trying to wipe some of the flour off his chest, but he only grinned and retaliated by flicking more flour at you.

By the time the cider was ready, you were both laughing, the kitchen a mess of spilt spices and chopped apples. But it didn’t matter. You sat together, sipping the hot drink as the last of the autumn sunlight streamed through the window.

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[inthehouseoffinwe]

Introducing… Spear Wielding Elrohir!!!

Hc that Elrohir is a master spearsman. We’re talking near Gil Galad levels here, nigh unbeatable by most others. Ofc it helps that he’s been trained by masters of the First, Second and Third Ages but the skill is something that makes people silently hope one day they can see him take on Gil Galad.

Elrond first notices his inclination for a spear. He sees the movements and strategies his younger son prefers and when Glorfindel comes to him one day saying Elrohir’s good with a sword, but it doesn’t seem to fit right, Elrond immediately hands him a spear.

“Try this.”

Because Ereinion told him of his own long journey to spear wielding, taught Elrond how to recognise soldiers who have a proclivity towards it. But more than that the King and his Herald often sparred and it’s hard to forget the style of someone as skilled as Gil Galad.

Elrohir of course takes to it like a duck to water and soon enough it’s his primary weapon. He still primarily sticks to a sword to better compliment the Dúnedain he so often fights beside, but when it’s just him and his brother or if there’s a serious battle, Elrohir’s spear has orcs fleeing, reminded of another spear an Age ago that was instrumental in their Master’s defeat.

[thatlittlered]

rings of power men | terms of endearment

warning(s): not even spoilers really, gn!reader

author's note: these are mostly based on my other post about tropes I am convinced these men are written for

enjoy

-.-.-

Elrond

my love, my beloved, meleth nîn, my lovely, my precious love, light of my life, my beauty, my flower, my stars and sky and many, many more

You couldn't possibly get this man to call you by name once you make your feelings clear to one another. He is a poet after all.

Gil-galad

my beloved, my dear, my darling, melethrinen/melethronen

I think that even after you are wed, Gil-galad would refrain from referring to you by your given titles, unless in public. Expressing himself in such a tender and vulnerable manner does not come easily for him, but he will genuinely try for you.

Celebrimbor

guren vell (my sweet heart), precious one, dear, my Lady/Lord

The Elven-smith has never spoken loving words before so it might take a while, but once he is assured you return his feelings, he too is surprised by how easily they roll off his tongue. He won't specify this, but when he calls you by title it is because he pictures you ruling Eregion by his side.

Arondir

guren gîn (my heart)

He is a man of few words and tends to express his affection through actions instead. Simple as it is, it overflows with emotion each time it's spoken.

Elendil

my Queen/King, my dear heart, darling, melda (beloved, dear)

For the most part, he will still refer to you by title, even in your most private moments where keen ears are nowhere to be found. It is a title of reverence by now, especially when he calls you his. You might hold his heart in your hand, but he too, is the keeper of yours.

Valandil

wife/husband

Valandil knew who he was from a very young age the two of you would be together forever since the moment you met. The rest was details. It matters little whether you are betrothed, or married or anything else; you are his and he is yours.

Isildur

love

It is not a common occurrence. It's far more common for him to whisper your name with honey practically dripping from his mouth when he is calling out for you. He does however love and need being called all sorts of sweet names and that is mostly the reason why he cannot come up with any of his own. His mind goes blank.

bonus:

Adar

enda óma (heart of my heart)

He is a man who is very protective of all he deems his and you are no different. Your size, your strength, your fighting capabilities matter not, he will always view you as a beautiful, fragile thing he's come to care for and will do anything to guard from harm.

[red-raven-reading]

Eregion headcanon. Everyone sees the very intense energy between Celebrimbor and Annnatar - not knowing all the toxic behind the scenes behaviour of Annatar - and they think of Thingol and Melian.

Here's a great elf lord setting up his kingdom and actually working with dwarves (properly!) as he rises above his blood-soaked history. People want to follow him just like they once wanted to follow Thingol, who came back from being missing and led them to build one of the strongest kingdoms in Beleriand, despite being 'lower' kindred than the Noldor. You don't get much lower than being a Feanorian after the First Age.

They see Annatar with his wisdom and his power so eager to help them, and they think of Melian, a Maia like him, who created her girdle that protected them from evil for centuries.

Yes, they realise that there won't be any new Lúthien running around (unless Annatar shifts form some mutter very lowly) but they see the resemblance, and they whisper about a new golden age for elves. A new safe haven for all elves despite their heritage...

Annatar hears all this and revels in it. He hates Lúthien and delights in making a mockery of her parents' memories. He pushes to seduce Celebrimbor more because he loves to hear this speculation and hope.

Poor Celebrimbor is just trying to make some rings and is completely oblivious to everyone's gossip. He does, however, notice that Annatar is acting really strange and keeps trying to get him to walk in forest glades. Jokes on him though, Gil-galad and Galadriel have been trying to get him out of his forge and "get some fresh air" for centuries, and he's immune.

[thesummerestsolstice]

I've always wondered what the latter generation Finweans thought of the Doom of the Noldor. Most of them lived through the horrors of the First Age, suffered alongside their parents, uncles, etc even though none of them were involved with the kinslaying– hell, most of them probably weren't even alive. How do you come to terms with the fact that you are paying for the crimes of your relatives? That you were, before you were even born, doomed to suffering and death?

Did Celebrimbor think his father deserved to be slain for what he'd done during the kinslayings? Did he think he deserved it for being a kinslayer's son?

What did Galadriel think when she was cast out, even though she'd fought in defense of the Teleri? Did she ever resent the Valar for refusing to let her back for so long? Did she feel like her actions were justified, right until the end?

How about Idril? Did she think her mother's death was fair pennance for the Noldor's disobidience and the actions of her uncle Fingon? Did she ever wonder why it had to be Elenwe who suffered, when neither her nor Turgon had any part in the murder?

Earendil? He was no kinslayer, and neither was his mother or his grandfather, but the Doom came for him and Gondolin anyways. Did he resent the Valar for that? Did he resent them for leaving Middle-Earth to suffer?

Elrond? No doubt he saw, far more viscerally, exactly what unnumbered tears looked like when he stayed with the Feanorians. Did he think it was a fair punishment? Did he think his own pain was acceptable collateral damage? Did he think all of Middle-Earth was acceptable collapteral damage?

When Gil-Galad turned Annatar away from Lindon, did he do it because he suspected Annatar wasn't a true emmisary of the Valar? Or did he just not want to speak to a representative of those who had damned his people for something many of them never did?