#gil galad x oc

[ladyoflindon]

Stressful Night (Ereinion Gil-galad, Rings of Power)

Author’s note: Itarille Peredhel is Gil-galad’s queen, and she’s Elrond’s sister. In this story, she’s bothered by a lot more work than usual, a much heavier workload. Gil is the supportive and affectionate husband behind closed doors, a comfort for her. (“Q.”  is meant to denote the use of Quenya, while “S.” denotes the use of Sindarin)

TW: Blood (from a paper cut wound)

Sighing internally, Itarille picked up her quill for the umpteenth time that day and signed the proffered document with a flourish. “Send it to King Oropher,” she spoke, exhaustion evident in her voice. “Make it hasty, or I’ll be receiving a host of complaints from the Greenwood again.”

“Yes, High Queen,” the messenger nodded before dashing out of the room, his feet barely making any sound. For that, at least, Itarille was thankul. She turned her attention to the next document, smiling as she read the elegant script. At least this one was from Elrond, about some matters he’d noticed while going about his duties as Herald of Lindon. She set it aside, deciding that it would be better to allow the High King to read about it as well before passing judgement.

Ah. The High King. Itarille had been so busy that she hadn’t been able to spend time with her husband the entire day, save for breakfast. He had headed out to the Grey Havens to speak with Círdan the Shipwright, and was absent from the palace for most of the day. He’d only recently returned, and from what his assistant, Estedir, had told her, the High King was thoroughly wiped out. She had spent her day taking up his duties at the palace, in addition to her own.

Smiling wryly, Itarille reached for another document. As she reached out to grab it, a sharp pain shot up the tip of her finger. Hissing, Itarille pulled her hand away, only to find a bleeding paper cut. Biting her lip to prevent herself from crying out in frustration, Itarille decided to look for the first aid kit. Alas, she’d forgotten to bring it back to her study after using it a few weeks ago.

She had had enough. With the mounting pile of documents on her desk, and the concern that Oropher of the Greenwood would have another complaint about her reply to him, Itarille had been driven mad. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what exactly she was feeling at the moment. She stood up from her chair and told the guard standing outside the door that she would be leaving the night. With a respectful murmur of “High Queen” from the guard, Itarille strode briskly down the hallway, the hem of her gown trailing behind her.

It didn’t take long for her to reach the quarters she shared with her beloved High King. She stepped inside, cautious of remaining silent in case he was asleep. She had assumed he was asleep, and the sight of him standing by the window, staring at the starry sky above surprised her.

“Melda (Q. beloved),” Ereinion’s smooth voice called out. He walked towards her, intending to give her a kiss. His attention, however, was drawn to the drop of blood falling from the tip of her finger and dripping against the marble floors. It was soft, but he heard the sound as the drop made contact with the marble. “What happened?”

“Paper cut,” Itarille huffed. “I need a bath, can we discuss this later?” Ereinion was taken aback by the intensity in her voice. She shot him a brief glare before heading to her closet to grab a robe and walking to the adjacent chamber to take a bath.

When Itarille emerged, she was clothed in a white nightgown. In Ereinion’s opinion, a vision, like Varda herself. He rose from their shared bed, reaching out towards her to grasp her hand. “You’ve dealt with the wound, I see,” he spoke glancing briefly at the bandage on her finger.”

“I have,” Itarille said. “Can we go to bed now? I’m exhausted. It’s been such a long day.”

Ereinion was about to nod, when he saw the look in her eyes. It was one he hated seeing, the look of utter defeat. “What happened today, my starlight?” He murmured, gently easing her into bed and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“I prefer not to talk about it.” Itarille sniffed. Ereinion almost laughed out loud internally; he knew his wife was a hypocrite when it came to matters like this. Sooner or later, everything would spill forth from her perfect lips.

“You know, Oropher sent another message today. He wanted me to sign it and send it back to the Greenwood the same day it arrived,” she said. “And your courtiers, they just won’t get off my back. Insufferable, the lot of them!”

Ereinion allowed himself a small chuckle. “Ah, but you’ve been handling it with such grace, my darling. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s an understatement,” she replied huffily. “There, I’ve told you everything. Can we go to bed now?”

The High King smiled briefly, lying back in bed and opening his arms to her. Itarille snuggled up to him, her head on his chest. She heard the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as she traced her fingers along his arm. “Yes, we can, my love,” Ereinion leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve done so much for me today, helping to take over my palace duties. I cannot thank you enough.”

Itarille’s patience was almost worn out. “Thank me by sealing your lips shut and letting me get some sleep. Shh!” The High King smirked. “You want to shut me up? Why don’t you do it yourself?”

There was a daring gleam in his eyes. Itarille knew exactly what he wanted, but her need for sleep was more pressing. She picked up a pillow and threw it at his face. “Goodnight, High King. Go to bed.” The last thing she recalled hearing before drifting into slumber was the soft laughter of Ereinion.

Her silly High King.

Author's note: Wow, churning out two fics in one day! I'm pleasantly surprised, but Elrond and Gil-galad are my comfort elves.

[vintagerivendel]

VINTAGERIVENDEL MASTERLIST

Adar, Gil-galad, Glorfindel, Haldir, Vorohil, Lindir.. below the cut.

ADAR

Stories

Of starlight and madnes

Chapter one

A reunion ( to be posted

One shots

TBD

Gil-Galad

Stories

Beating heart

Chapter one ( to be posted )

Oneshots

Vorohil

Stories

None listed yet

Oneshots

A light in the dark ( to be posted )

Thranduil

Stories

Protected secret

Chapter one tbd

Oneshots

TBD

Glorfindel

Stories

Oneshots

Haldir

Stories

Oneshots

Lindir

Stories

Oneshots

[dopecollectorbarbarian]

Cuddles

Gil-galad, evening

He must maintain the reputation - objective, calm, wise…

And it may require a lot of energy. So when he finishes his duties, he needs time to shift between being the king and the lover. And it may take a lot of time for him and patience for his partner.

Before that moment he is quiet, in his head he is processing everything that happened on this day. Sometimes there is no chance to make him pat attention and it may lasts for five or more minutes.

But when finally the moment comes… He wraps his muscular strong arms around you and he won’t not likely to let you go anytime soon. Exception for bathroom. And food. And of course if you don’t want cuddles he won’t make you do so.

Bonus: he may ask for attention during the day, but it’s a rare case. But when it happens, it’s something so small, but full of meaning gestures - a kiss on tips of fingers, a stolen look, whisper “i really want to spend whole day with you in warm bath”.

(Sorry for mistakes, English isn’t my first language 🤫)

Do not repost the pic, it’s drawn by me

[lya-dustin]

The Stone Table

or a rewrite of a one shot i did when rings of power first came out in my now deleted lotr blog erinti-of-the-maiar

Gil-galad x Erinti(oc)

could be read as part of both The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin(silmarilion version)and I Sang of Leaves of Gold(Rings of power verision

inspired by this post made by @queenmeriadoc

summary: Gil-galad’s Maia wife wants a baby but his schedule is too busy so she uses their bond to spice things up during a feast to get what she wants.

cw: sex, telepathic dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, breeding, table sex, breast play

Her husband has always been too serious.

He had been serious and sensible with a perpetually stern brow despite his youth when they first married. While Ereinion Gil-galad had never been wild, he has always been bold.

The burden of kingship weighs heavily on him as does a strange hint of evil growing in the air. He smiles less and less these days, rarely takes a day off and Erinti has found him too tired to seek pleasure as of late.

She aches for him, to feel him move within her and see his troubles melt away as he sows his seed into her womb.

The Maia wants a child, to have their feä join and create a life inside her that will become a babe in her arms for them to love and nurture for the rest of their days.

And that cannot happen if her husband refuses to fuck that baby into her. To have him be rough with her, to have him overpower her and fuck her until all of Lindon feels the effect of their orgasms.

It would soon be autumn, but no plant would die nor leaf fall if the High King were to take her bent over his desk, or against the wall or on the balcony like they did a while ago.

Gil-galad’s hand on his glass tightens as his wife’s desire is felt through their bond.

Elves can hold a strong bond to the point of feeling one live and die no matter the distance, a Maiar could even manipulate a person so long as there is an opening.

Erinti and her husband have a bond so strong she knows the Halls of Mandos wouldn’t stand a chance against it. Sometimes they do not even need to speak out loud, his thoughts and hers can be heard and even seen as clearly as if each other were part of their psyche.

She is half expecting him to ask her to stop and yet her husband does not. Instead, her stick in the mud husband matches her desire with his.

Despite the regal and rigid as stone aspect he has, Gil-galad has quite a filthy mind. And, of course, the stamina to tire his maiar wife.

Something he reminds her with a hidden smile as he drinks his wine. Wine he claims is not as fine as that nectar that flows from her womb.

A womb he will fill the moment the feast is cleared, or so he promises.

But it does not end there, no, he doesn’t allow her to concentrate on the things said by those speaking to her as he takes his revenge.

He likes the low cut of her dress, the swell of her bosom on display like that for him, the fact that she wore no shift, or any other undergarments, had not gone unnoticed by him.

The king wants to tease her over the clothes, to knead and brush his thumb over her sensitive nipples as he kissed his way down her fair neck and collarbone until he is tearing off the dress to free her body from its confines. He intended to lavish her perfect breasts and use his mouth and fingers to string out that beautiful melody she makes when she comes.

A good prelude for what he had planned after the feast is over. By the time she’s readied for him to breed her Erinti of the Flowers would be naked and exposed to the cool autumn air.

The stone table would suffice, stone does not grow roots and leaves when he fucks his queen on it. Their bed had become a living tree with great roots and thick foliage with how attentive her husband usually is.

This particular stone was of great strength, carved from deep inside the mountains of Eregion and able to withstand the might of an Ent if it is to be believed.

A maia in the throes of passion may test that myth. Erinti’s hands had broken many things when her control slipped, while her ability was to nurture the earth as a servant of Yavanna and Nessa, her strength could destroy towers and castles with ease.

Gil-galad prided himself in making her lose control and admire his handiwork after. Not all furniture survived after he and his Queen were done.

It would not end with the table; he wants to take under the stars like he did when they wed. To have her ride him as the stars frame her like the goddess she is. To have the heavens and the earth witness the creation of a second Lúthien Tinúviel.

Not a princess, she corrects, but a son, a prince whose name she has seen from the moment she first laid with Gil-Galad.

Finnellach, flame of hair and eye.

The feast is scarcely over when the king makes good on his promise.

The king wastes no time in picking her up and setting her at the edge of the table, hiking up her dress until she could feel his hardness pressing between the heavy robes separating it from her cunt, feel how their game and his victory have affected him.

If she was as wet as the Lhûn before the final course had begun, the Maia Queen was sure to drown her husband with the waters from her womb.

“Has your husband been remiss in his duties, Lothíriel?” he asks between kisses with his sharp eyes dark and voice dripping with arousal.

Lothíriel, maiden crowned with flowers. The name he gave her when they first met, the name she wears as his wife just as he is Rodnor to her and the only name he cries out in pleasure.

“Our bed has wilted from your neglect, Rodnor.” The maia locked her long legs at his waist and let her hands roam up his chest and breaking the gorget he was wearing and tossing it aside as if it were nothing. “The leaves have begun to change color, but you’d notice that if you didn’t come so late and leave so early each day. I had half a mind to file a petition and demand a private audience with his grace to fix the issue.”

“You should have, I would have remedied the issue right there on my throne.” The vivid memory of all those times they had defiled his throne had her as wet as the Lhûn. “Her grace shall be crowned with oak blooms before dawn tomorrow.”

There is no promise of him taking the day off tomorrow, but the maia will fix that before the night is over.

“I better be, or his grace will not be leaving our bed.” The red haired being struggled to contain her desperation for him and effortlessly tore his robe of him to leave him only in his breeches.

He was built like an ox, trained in the same weapon that killed his beloved sister and as darkness grew around them, ready for war.

The scars from the Wrath have long since faded, you would not be able to tell he is a seasoned warrior and commander from looks alone. His physical strength could almost match her own, something Erinti Lothíriel has always loved.

“I won’t leave it either way.” With a smile he tears her dress apart until it pools around her waist on the table, and he is free to kiss his way down her neck and collar to her chest.

Gil-galad loves her breasts, the way they fit perfectly in his hands and their rosy peaks stiffen even more in the autumn air after he’d taken each of them into his mouth. He doesn’t stop there, the high king pushed her gently down to lie on the stone table as he continued down to her cunt as her hands threaded themselves in his dark mane.

The first time he had done this, the maia had turned made the meadow bloom to its fullest and remain so despite summer turning to fall soon after. The other times had resurrected the oak trees their bed had been.

Now as he threw her long bare leg over his shoulder, they would see how the stone would fare against the Scion of Kings putting his mouth and fingers to better use.

He is not the stern king with the weight of the world bearing down on him when they make love. He is simply her husband, her lover who knows exactly how to make her lose control of this fair form she made to be with him.

Her hand gripping the rough edge of the table feels nothing of the discomfort the stone against her soft palm nor does the stone show any sign of crumbling in her hold. Who was to say what would happen when Gil-galad makes her come undone?

She tries to hold back, not an easy task when Gil-galad uses every trick he knows to have her unravel with pleasure.

As great a singer and orator her husband is, Erinti things tongue fucking may be his best talent. The first time he had pleasured her this way the ground had shaken in tandem to her first orgasm and the hold on his hand had resulted in a hard to explain injury.

Still the stone does not break when the crescendo comes to its grand finish. They may have to procure more of it now.

“It passed the first test, but can it pass the second?” Gil-galad wiped her spent from his chin with the torn fabric of her gown, it won’t be of use anymore either way.

His manhood needs little help in reaching full mast, but the sight of it with some seed at its tip has desperate to feel it inside her. To feel it hitting those places only Gil-galad knows as they fuck hard and loud in open air without a drop of shame.

It was far too difficult to stop people from taking notice of their rulers’ sexual habits when their queen’s moods affected the life around them. So difficult it no longer mortified them almost two thousand years after.

“Only one way to find out.” The Maia breathes hard from the peak he brought her to, leaned back on her hands and spread her legs wide for her husband waiting for him to plow into her until Elbereth herself feels as if she too has been fucked senseless.

“The way her grace behaves, one would think she was a courtesan of the Edain and not a holy being.” he snaked an arm around her waist as the other pulled her face to his.

“Perhaps this holy being likes to be worshipped differently.” The maia kissed her husband deeply, tasting herself in his mouth as she pulled him closer to her until he dropped the hand on her chin to guide himself into her.

The wholeness that comes with being with him like this is heavenly, their feä melds into each other’s own as their bodies join in ways forbidden to anyone else.

“Then I will make this table a second altar to worship you on, Lothíriel.” His voice is low with desire and groans as he begins to move within her. Slow and steady, savoring every contour of her perfect body and driving her slowly to madness.

She may be Maiar, but Valar, did she find sexual compatibility the best thing Ilúvatar could bless his creations with. Her womanhood fit him like a glove, or so he says.

Perfection even Valinor would envy, his thoughts fill her head as he goes deeper and harder and brings his deft fingers to her button as his mouth seeks out her breast.

Their lovemaking brings the much-needed release Gil-galad desperately needed. Too many troubles coming seemingly out of nowhere and the lack of respite to find the why of it.

He is not the stone king teetering on the edge of a burst vein in his cerebrum, he is the elf groaning his wife’s name as their lewd sounds and smells fill the air. Time passes by around them and yet nothing exists beyond the two of them and their bliss.

Gil-galad comes just as he brings her to a second climax, a beautiful melody ending with a kindling of a new life.

“The stone didn’t break.” The King of the Noldor is still catching his breath when they remember to see if his theory proved correct. “We shall need more of this stone.”

“The table at your war room will need replacement.” The Maia grins hoping to see how they break that great round table hewn from a weaker stone.

[gulnarsultan]

[maul-of-shame]

Hey hi hello there, my beloved gremlins of chaos and literary despair!!! 🌸✨🍷 Welcome to Fanfics & Updates n°3!!

So.... Not to be completely unhinged (and late) on main again, but I somehow managed to post EIGHT FICS IN A WEEK while also revising for exams AND battling the most unstable WiFi known to Middle-earth AND mankind. 🫠📚💀 Like, genuinely, I think my router saw me thriving and just went, "Nope, let’s make this harder for her." But did that stop me? Absolutely not.

I fought, I struggled (and complained about it in the discord server XD), I refreshed the pages 67 times, and in the end, I prevailed!

Honestly, I have no idea how I did it, but clearly, I thrive in chaos. Maybe I’m just built different, or maybe my brain just decided that writing 10k of emotionally repressed elves pining was more important than studying for literally anything. (Spoiler: It was.) 📖✨

That said, after this absolute sprint, I’m officially putting requests on hold for a bit!! As much as I’d love to keep the fic flood going, I do, in fact, need to pass the new exams and maybe even sleep at some point. (Crazy concept, I know.) But don’t worry!! Once I survive this next week, I’ll be back to yelling about fictional men and writing entirely too much angst. (I still have two requests to post this week but it's way more chill, I just need to edit them)💖

Anyway!! Time to grab your snacks, your middle-aged emotional support traumatized dad, and let’s get into the updates!! 🚀✨

(NB 1: I am also currently recovering from getting finger tattoos, because clearly, I looked at my schedule of exams, unstable WiFi, and fanfic madness and thought, You know what this needs? More pain. 💀✨)

(NB 2: And to that anon who deleted their comment on AO after whining that I wasn’t posting fast enough—bestie, I posted THAT MANY FICS IN A WEEK while battling exams, cursed WiFi, and freshly tattooed fingers. What more do you want? My soul? My firstborn?? A signed contract in blood guaranteeing you instant fic delivery??? 💀💅 Listen, I write these for free, on my own time, purely fueled by spite, coffee and emotional damage. If you want an automatic fic dispenser, feel free to PAY ME A SALARY and we’ll talk. ALSO, if it ain't fast enough for you, Lightning McQueen, feel free to send a raven to my teachers or do my exams for me. 😤

Until then?? Kindly take a deep breath, touch some grass, and let me work my magic in peace. ✨)

(NB 3: Before anyone says something—yes, I KNOW I said (and repeated) that I severely dislike Halbrand/Sauron/Barbiennatar (yes, I’m still calling him that), but listen, LINDA LISTEN- This is the ONLY TIME this will happen. An exception for a request, if you will. Just this once, I got a random burst of inspiration that turned into 8.4k+ words with him, including smut, and honestly idk how I managed to write for this long XD)

"The Embers Beneath": For @wantingsweetmeringues

Summary: Laeriel’s fingers twitched, and she rolled over, propping herself up on one elbow. Her eyes, wide and full of that wild energy, flicked to Galadriel. “It’s strange,” she began, her voice taking on a thoughtful edge, “because I didn’t expect it. I thought I was done with it. Love, I mean. But then… I saw him. And there it was. This pull, like something had shifted, like the world tilted just enough that I couldn’t ignore it.”

Galadriel’s brow arched, a faint hint of surprise in her otherwise unreadable expression. She had never seen Laeriel this… grounded before. The words, the way she spoke—they were raw, unguarded.

It wasn’t like Laeriel to be this vulnerable, even with someone like her.

“He is kind,” she said, voice quieter now, more serious. “Kind in a way that is not performative, not for show. He listens—not just to words, but to what is unsaid. And he sees people. Truly sees them.”

Galadriel’s hands stilled..

Ship: Elrond/Galadriel.

You can click here to access the link! I don't know why but the link sharing features is not working, hasn't been for a while (if you have a solution, please do let me know)!

"A Slice of Yule": Requester cut contact, a Gimli/Legolas fic!

Summary: “This is madness,” Gimli grumbled, glaring at the misshapen lump of dough in front of him as if it had personally insulted him. “Lambas bakin’? Leave it to the Elves, I said. But nay, you had to say it’d be a fine way to celebrate Yule!”

Legolas, serene as ever despite the fine layer of flour dusting his golden hair, raised an elegant brow. “You agreed, my friend. And you claimed to be ‘unmatched with an oven.’”

“I meant with a forge oven!” Gimli growled, swiping at the flour on his face, only to smear it further. “Not this dainty, elf-lovin’ contraption that barely cooks a squirrel, let alone bread worth eatin’.”

The Elf smirked, deftly kneading his own dough. His hands moved with the grace of a harpist, the lump of dough responding to his every touch. “You are free to blame the oven, Master Dwarf, but I seem to be managing just fine.”

Gimli glared daggers at the perfect braid Legolas had tied back to keep his hair out of his face. “It’s ‘cause yer kind are born with bread skills, ain’t it? Yer all probably singin’ lullabies to dough before yer out o’ the cradle!”

Ship: Legolas/Gimli but can be read as platonic.

Fic link available here!!

"Of Scrolls and Secrets": Requester not found/blog deleted, a Lindir/Reader fic!

Summary: As a member of Thorin Oakenshield’s company, your arrival with Bilbo and the dwarves had been met with curious glances and raised brows. The dwarves grumbled about elven pomp and over-polished halls, but you couldn’t help feeling at ease here. Still, the same curiosity directed at the company extended to you, though with a different flavor. Your presence, a half-elf amongst the stout and sturdy dwarves, was a puzzle many seemed eager to solve.

Wandering aimlessly, you found yourself drawn to the library. The towering shelves were lined with ancient tomes and delicate scrolls, their spines gilded with intricate script. The faint smell of aged parchment and ink hung in the air, a scent that wrapped around you like a warm cloak. The tranquility of the place settled your restless thoughts.

It was there that you met him.

Lindir stood by one of the shelves, a scroll unfurled in his hands. His long, dark hair spilled over his shoulders, catching the light as it swayed with his movements. He was speaking to another elf, his brow furrowed as they exchanged words in Sindarin. You caught the faintest hint of his voice—soft, melodic, yet tinged with a kind of scholarly seriousness.

And then he saw you…

Ship: Lindir/Reader.

Fic link here!!!

"Through Frost & Flame" request for @n0tamused , a Legolas/OC fic!

Summary: Snow drifted in thick, lazy flurries, settling over the earth like a downy quilt. The world outside was still, wrapped in a hush so deep that even the trees seemed to be holding their breath beneath the weight of winter. Jien stood by the window, fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea, letting its warmth seep into her skin. The scent of herbs, earthy and familiar, mixed with the crisp chill that bled through the wooden frame.

This was home. Quiet. Steady. A life she had built with her own hands, far removed from the clash of swords and the thunder of war drums. She had chosen this—this solitude, this peace—though her small farm and its ever-growing collection of animals made sure she was never truly alone. It was a good life, if a simple one.

The sudden knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts, her fingers tightening instinctively around the cup. A visitor? In this weather?..

Ship: Legolas/OC

Fic link here!

"Behind the Sea", Gil-Galad/OC fic request for @serenni !!

Summary: Elros was leaving.

Ereinion had known this day would come. Had seen the shape of it forming in every step Elros took towards his destiny, in every word he spoke of the Edain, of their future, of the land that now called to him. It was right. It was his path.

But that did not make it easier.

He swallowed, jaw tightening as he forced himself to breathe through the ache that settled in his chest. He had lost friends before. Had lost family before. But this was different. This was a choice—not an end, but a parting nonetheless. And he could not help but wonder if this was merely the first of many, the beginning of a slow unraveling that would leave him standing, alone, as the world he once knew drifted into memory…

Ship: Gil-galad/OC

Fic link here!

"A Dwarven Dilemma", a Gimli/Reader fic for anon on here (Tumblr)!!

Summary: You had never seen a dwarf blush so much.

Not that you made a habit of flustering dwarves, but in your defense, Gimli made it far too easy.

He was gruff, sturdy, and walked with the solid determination of a mountain, yet the moment you turned your mischievous gaze upon him, all that steadfastness melted like snow in spring. His ears burned first, then his cheeks, and finally, if you truly pushed him, the back of his thick neck. It was a sight to behold.

Not that you were keeping track...

Ship: Gimli/Reader

Fic link here!!

"Call Me By Your Father's Name", an Elendil/Reader fic!

Summary: The worst part about all this? You had agreed to it.

With full awareness of what you were signing up for, you had looked Isildur in the eye—your best friend, the human embodiment of chaos and last-minute plans—and told him, Fine. I’ll cover for you, but you owe me.

Because what kind of best friend would you be if you didn’t let him have the night off for a very important Valentine’s date with Estrid?

Now, standing behind the counter of the most aggressively decorated coffee shop in existence, you were beginning to regret every single decision that had led you here.

You turned away before you could start feeling bitter about it.

And then the door chimed.

You straightened automatically, pasting on your best customer-service smile—only for it to falter slightly when you saw who had walked in.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark-haired, with a short beard framing a strong jaw. His eyes—deep-set and kind—crinkled at the corners when he met your gaze, and his mouth curved into a warm, easy smile.

Elendil.

Isildur’s dad...

Ship: Elendil/Reader

Fic link here!

"Under Númenórean Skies", a Halbrand/OC fic for @ladyofrings (TW+18)

Summary: In the early dawn, Númenor lay shrouded in a gentle hush, save for the faint rustle of a warm, sea-salted breeze drifting through Lothien’s small, cozy room. Light flickered in through the window, brushing Halbrand’s face where he lay beside her, eyes half-open but brimming with unmistakable admiration as he watched her slowly wake. Her hair, long and dark as night, cascaded over her shoulders and over the bed like a cloak, leaving him practically mesmerized.

“Morning, love,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing as he leaned over, brushing his lips across her forehead, then down to her cheek in lazy, lingering warmth. There was a wicked gleam in his eye, one that said he knew exactly how his touch made her feel, and he relished every second of it.

Lothien’s eyes fluttered open, a faint smile curving on her lips as she took in the sight of him—Halbrand, ever roguish, looking at her with the kind of intensity that bordered on devotion. “You’re here,” she said softly, a hint of that mischievous spark in her own gaze, though gentler than his. “Didn’t get bored and flee into the city, after all?”

Ship: Halbrand/OC

Fic link here!!

[random-writerings]

Full Name: Mírien

Face Claim: Olivia Coleman

Age: 2,394

Race: Elf

Birthplace: Valinor

Family: Gil-galad (husband); Lúthiel (daughter)

Occupation: Queen

Skills: Leadership; Diplomacy; Wisdom; Archery

Fic // Playlist // Cover

[miko-of-mirkwood]

Chapter one - The Ghost on The Shore

Warnings: descriptions of trauma, violence, torture in the form of a memory. Words: 4000 A/N: read here as well!! also I hoped u liked the prologue, I tried hard to make it sound fancy.

The commotion was quiet, secretive, the guards and their horses a breath on the wind, speeding silently towards the shores of the heart of elf lands. Lindon was slumbering peacefully, ignorant to the preparation of weapons and heeding of orders, a threat residing no more than a few feet from those deemed innocent and gentle. The High King rode surrounded by the best of his guards, his face serious and his hand solid on his sword resting on his hip. He had received the message only a few minutes ago, that a boat bearing white sails docked at the Grey Havens and its passenger was one not of this world, of this Age even, speaking a name that struck fear deep in all those who heard it. Many were torn in their feelings about the owner of the name, knowing them to be the Vanquisher of Darkness and Breaker of Chains, while also bearing the title of Servant to the one Morgoth and Creature of the Chasm; they had achieved many deeds during their past life in Middle-Earth, deeds both good and evil. 

The High King kept those deeds at the forefront of his mind, the speckled lights of his destination coming into view as well as the escorts waiting on their arrival. They were not expecting him to ready so eagerly and so quickly, asking if he wished for them to banish the passenger without question or simply slay them on the spot. He wished for neither and demanded an audience, his choice strange and surprising and putting many an elf at ill-ease. Though the presence of his sword and the number of guards around him was rather more agreeable, coming to a halt before the Lord of the Havens who wore what could only be assumed was a fond little smile, 

“She is in the oldest boathouse,” Círdan spoke slowly, tilting his head in the direction, “She put up no fight and has been told of your request for an audience. Must I remind you of who she is High King, you must heed the words you speak for there is no one greater and more gracious in song than the First Daughter,”

He was perplexed as to why the Valar sent no word of her journey or expected arrival, why now they chose to return her to her birthplace and expect the impossible. Everyone knew what she had done. And it was why there was a small gathering beyond the boathouse where she dwelt, the elves who had heard the commotion tittering amongst themselves at the prospect of their guest. They grew silent as the High King strode forward, nodding his head at the two guards stationed at the door and dismissing the rest, as well as their arguing against his choice to go in alone,

“What if she entraps you?”

“Do you think she is as fair as the songs tell? Do you think it is true how her hair still glitters with the first stars?”

“I have heard she cast illusions strong enough to destroy even the greatest of minds!”

“I wonder if she found a husband in Valinor, surely she deserves love the most given the turmoils of -,”

“Enough,” he exclaimed before taking a long breath to steady himself, “Enough, she is here by the will of the Valar, or did you not see the sails on the ship? Whether it be a trap or not, if legend speaks true; that creature vanquished Morgoth and deceived the Great Deceiver, do not let your guard down,”

The door shut behind him quietly and all of a sudden, there was silence save for the gentle wash of the waves against the wooden stilts. This house had not been used for ship building in centuries, used mainly for storage of tools and off cuts that had potential to be reused in the future. Moss grew up the waterlogged structures and barnacles threatened the integrity of the entire place, but there was still a charm about that had Gil-galad reminiscing about the times he visited to see the birthing of a new ship. There were a few candles sitting around, low in their cradles with their wicks having witnessed an Age of shipwrights coming back and forth, and now witnessing the shadow looming before him.

She was haunting if he had but one word to describe her, beautiful or monstrous he had yet to decide. A dress of black trailed over her feet with embellishments of dark blue and red curling over the soft sleeves and bodice, her neck free of jewels and no circlet sat atop her head, though with the light of the moon overhead; it might have been like a halo encompassing her. With hair as pale as the stars, it fell down her back in salt stained waves, uncaring for appearance when she had her face open and inviting, and unwavering under his gaze. He noticed, startlingly that her ears were adorned with metal studs and chains, tinkling when she tilted her head in greeting, longer than typical elvish ears, mutated and mutilated,

“My choice in being here is just as dismissed as yours High King,” her voice was tragic, throat weak with something tiresome and painful, “But unfortunately, the will of the Valar is not so easily swayed even with the threat of my life and I sincerely apologise for the turmoil my presence will ensue in your lands,”

Her words struck deep, bowing her head and avoiding his scrutinising gaze,

“And what, if you would care to explain, is the will of the Valar in regards to you? I have my reasons to be cautious, as does the entirety of Middle-Earth, for what you have done and what you could do,” he explained calmly, diplomatically and all together distastefully, something she caught hidden behind his teeth, eyes flicking to his full of mirth and a sudden defensive malice,

“I have a parasite to exorcise from this realm, a life to live according to their design and moves to make according to mine. You do not have to pay heed to my duties but I shall tell you if you so wish it,” Gil-galad closed his eyes briefly as is reconsidering holding such an audience if all she was going to do was speak in riddles, 

“And what duties does Môrúan, servant of Morgoth, have here under my watchful eye?” he all but spat, a challenge and a threat, and the change was so sudden, he might have blinked and missed it. 

The sea suddenly roiled under the gaze of the moon, bubbling and clawing between the boards of the floor, dark clouds drawing near but never obstructing the white light, and her shadow grew suddenly, looming before him and threatening to encompass him entirely. But through it all, through the choking tension that filled the space and the heavy weight that settled on his shoulders, she wore an expression of such sorrow that it brought tears to his eyes, 

“Do not speak that name!” her voice covered all corners of the land, deep and chilling, but there was no threat in her tone, no poison as they had all come to expect. Only pain, a torturous turmoil that took a hold of their hearts and squeezed painfully, “Do not speak of my slavery with such contempt, not when it was I who cast the Great Wrath into the abyss by the ache in my bones and the skin of my hands!”

She surged forward in the blink of an eye, startling Gil-galad enough to draw his sword, though not fast enough for the creature before him, wretched with grief and turmoil, reaching out to touch his forehead with her palm. 

And the world turned on its head. He found himself thrown into a chasm of fire and nightmarish terror, the ground swallowing him whole and spitting him out into a body that was not his own. 

Images flashed before his mind’s eye; lying on a table bound in leather and chains, in a room filled to the caverns with monstrous objects and devices, liquid black lurking in the back of his throat as a gruesome face hovered over him. Pain tore his skeleton apart, lust put it back together again, gums aching and burning, belly eating itself in the hunger that threatened insanity. War ambushed his tired body, begging for death, for punishment, for relief from the hell of his own mind, only hearing smug laughter in response somewhere far above in the darkness that smothered him. The fire lessened to a candle in a richly furnished room, a bed lavish and welcoming meaning nothing to the shame and guilt that roiled in his chest at the images he witnessed, manipulation and intimacy making way for a new kind of torture that knocked tears from his eyes. 

In the distance, a wolf howled and the vision changed again, and in his hand burned the white fire of the Silmaril, a world away and in a realm forgotten. He handed it to an elf of fair skin and black hair, a voice not of his own joining her in a song powerful enough to entrap even the Great Wrath in slumber. And then, from the shadows and the fires, the great evil of Morgoth stood before him; petting his head and promising him riches in flesh and blood, thanking him for the desolation of the Hidden City. There was possession in his voice, longing in his shadowed eyes, lust in his clawed, terrible hands and Gil-galad felt himself resisting, but only falling into chains and knelt before the one they knew as Sauron, who held his blade above his head and struck him with lustful hate and vengeful love. And he heard his voice, her voice, crying out for help every night she could not sleep, weeping for the kin who abandoned her and the gods who turned a blind eye to her suffering. Anguish that sent him to his knees, sorrow and betrayal seizing his chest and wounding his heart, reaching out for the light and finding it bearing chains and punishment for no fault of her own. 

The sound of gentle tides roused him, eyes refocusing on the creature before him, a simple soul in the shadow of the horrors of her past, open and offering something he had yet to decipher. The memories had rendered him breathless, sweat wetting the nape of his neck and he vaguely felt the weight of her palm over his heart, racing beneath his flesh, 

“Cassiell is the name the Valar gave me upon my third rebirth in their capable hands,” she said softly though it did not quite reach her eyes, “It is my duty to rid the world of the scorn and poison I mothered, and banish that which still lives in Morgoth’s eye. I deserve that at least, having suffered by their hands when I should have been suffering by yours,”

Gil-galad said nothing, swallowing thickly and looking upon Cassiell as if there had been a veil over his eyes the first time he saw her. Starlight shone in her skin and her eyes swirled with liquid gold surrounded by seas of blood red, full of so much emotion and a dark hope he had not seen in many, many years. He reached out, fingers gracing the smooth curve of her cheekbone, nervous and discreetly shaking as he touched her, head tilting down with an overly inviting whisper of her name. 

The door was thrown open with a sudden bang, multiple guards barging through all in equal levels of distress and determination to protect their King from whatever wizardry had occurred. However, they found him simply stood before Cassiell, one hand gripping his sword and the other resting on her shoulder, 

“Cassiell is no longer to be detained as a fugitive,” he declared, sheathing his sword and squeezing her shoulder, leading her out of the house and into the light of the rising sun, witnessed by those who remained, “The Valar have spoken through her, and now speak through me,” Gil-galad’s words carried upon the breeze to all who had delicate ears, their king speaking with a righteousness that could not be ignored, “I was there at the Great Betrayal, I was there when the Timeless Void was ripped open by her hand and I was there to witness the Great Wrath beg for her mercy, which she did not give even at the threat of her life. It is by her hand that we still stand today, and it is by her hand that we shall stand in days coming to pass. Many sang the Song of Lirillë, who stands by my side here and now, bearing a new name and a new will given to her by the Valar. I, as your High King, do not demand you put aside your fears and your anguish for we all remember the Fall of Gondolin, but it was thus by her hand that the line of Eärendil still lives and by her hand that the Silmarils were returned to the Valar. She is to be welcomed to this land as a hero and as your kin, ally or enemy, it is up to you to decide,”

The elves saw not a creature of the chasm, nor a monster by design; but an elf-kin who was denied a choice and had life taken away from her far too early. Many bowed their heads in recollection and final greeting, a few turned away with memories of the very atrocities she committed but after connecting them with those that filled their heads minutes ago; there was a new understanding in their heart. 

Gil-galad could never expect all elf-kind and all the other souls in Middle-Earth to simply accept Cassiell in this form, but he had a strange kind of hope heating inside of him, keeping his hand secured on her shoulder for as long as he could, until he was simply forced to let go in order to return to the palace on horseback. Círdan took her hand and allowed her to use his strength to hoist herself up on to the horse of honey brown, chuffing at her new presence, 

“You are most welcome here, Lady Cassiell, just send word and I shall receive you no matter the circumstance,” he pledged kindly, brow furrowing for a moment, “I - remember the day you sailed West, the day the Valar took you to be judged, the day Middle-Earth grew thankful for your actions in battle, the day we, who were there to witness it, forgave you for all that you suffered,” Círdan held her hand in his, squeezing in comfort as she looked down on him with a glassiness in her eyes, “You cried and cried, and in all my years walking this land; I had never seen tears more sorrowful and repentant than yours,”

“I still sing the Song of Lirillë, I sing it for all those who were lost and who were saved. Though tears no longer fall on my cheeks, the lament of a life I lost shall continue evermore,” she responded in kind, a hardness appearing in her eyes at the mention of her godly binding but there was no malice, no threat, just a simplicity that prompted Círdan to smile and back away with a flourish of his hand. With a lingering touch to his brow, she urged the horse alongside Gil-galad’s, eyes searching onwards and upwards towards the city that was to be her home.

Cassiell rode in sorrowful silence for a long while after leaving the Grey Havens, looking back over her shoulder every so often as if her heart longed to remain in the peace and tranquillity of the place. He noticed that, among other things, that she was innocent in the way of the living and the visions the world beheld in light of that; gazing upon the trees and how they swayed in the wind, eyes reflecting the golden rise of the sun and the way it glistened in the clouds far on the horizon, listening to the bird call and the distant cry of an elk. Her ears twitched with every sound, every rustle and chuff of a horse, every snap of a twig and every conversation being held around her. No one yet had spoken to her, in fear or in respect, and she sucked in her surprise when Gil-galad inched his horse closer to hers and asked,

“Tell me about the pale shores, I wish to know what it is like to gaze upon the great city Tirion, the home of my kin,” his tone was kind, encouraging where his host did not and Cassiell sagged in relief, as if expecting him to ask about her creation or the Sundering or her capture or -,

“Never in my life, short as it was, have I witnessed such marvel and beauty in a city,” she began with a smile, eyes glazing over at the memory though there was strain in her fists that clutched the reins and tension in her shoulders, “I resided there for a long while after my time with the Lady Nienna, and they accepted me as I was and not who I used to be. They were the host that marched to the Song of my past life and they continued to sing in my absence when I was required for - judgement,” Cassiell said nothing more on the matter, continuing on as if the guards surrounding them weren’t suddenly intently keen on listening, “A city of white, towers as tall as you could ever imagine with forges and libraries and great halls filled with music. Your people were engineers, crafters of the highest degree and none can compare to their creations in Tirion, shining as bright as the Trees that once were and visited often by Aulë simply to marvel and admire at what they had achieved. You will see it someday, and you too shall gaze upon the city of your kin as I have,”

“Will you see it again?” Gil-galad asked hesitantly and Cassiell sighed, sorrow splitting her face in two,

“Perhaps,” she answered, “They never spoke of the completion of my duties, and I fear they never shall for it is a task impossible to complete to their highest regard. One cannot simply rid the world of all that has been done in poison and malice, the hand of Morgoth still tugs on the strings of the world even beyond the Void and it seems the Valar know this, and yet still chose for me to return to do their bidding,”

Gil-galad grew stricken at the dismissive description of Morgoth’s demise, then ever so slightly amused at the frown upon her brow, 

“You speak with such flippancy towards those who took you from the world and cleansed you of your sins,” and Cassiell drew away from him, not detecting his mirth and taking his words as a criticism,

“I atoned for my sins, there is a difference, High King, and I was cleansed only of the roots that Morgoth had sewn in my soul, of the game he played with my existence; it was I who stood before our Great Creator and numbered the atrocities I committed, and faced judgement and punishment for those they saw fit,” her voice came as a hiss, retreating in on herself as if a cornered animal on the verge of being captured, “I - atoned for everything I have done, and if you will it, shall continue doing so on your command,”

Gil-galad reached over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, as to not startle her, 

“You were mistaken in my comments Cassiell, Vanquisher of Morgoth, I was merely toying with you and you attitudes towards the Valar; one would have thought you held them in the utmost reverence, and not in scorn as you do so now,” he spoke with a quirked brow and Cassiell sent him a severe look, unimpressed at his choice of conversation, 

“I would not even begin to list the ways the Valar have forsaken me, for it would be too long even for you to bare to listen to,” she said through tight lips that loosened into a smirk at his challenging expression,

“You would be surprised, oh Breaker of Chains, what I can listen to without comment and judgement,” 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a long while, only broken by Cassiell asking questions about the surrounding landscape and about Lindon itself, answered surprisingly by the guards who escorted them; all too proud of their city and its dwellers. They spoke of how life flourished after the War of Wrath, despite how broken the land was, the city was established by the hand of their High King who saw to the unification of many elves who had been spread far and wide by the destruction of Beleriande. The day to day lives of the elves were simple according to them, duties established over hundreds of years taking up their time with little thought, enjoying an Age of peace after all that had passed in turmoil. One guard talked about his beloved most of all, about how she was the greatest tailor in the city and clothed even the High King at his request, and how she would love to clothe her if she so wished,

“Do you have - did you find a partner, after all you had seen and experienced?” he, Olthon with his beloved Helethil, asked politely upon realising his long and arduous chatting about his own partner and Cassiell swallowed thickly, offering a sad little smile,

“There were some upon my landing in Valinor, who might have taken my hand but in the end; they grew afraid of my nature and my curse, for it prevented much from being a normal and appropriate union. It is complicated for a creature like me to accept and be accepted in the name of love, but there is still a part of me that is elven and that deeply yearns for companionship,” she spoke with grief, shoulders sagging with a sigh, “And then came the complexities of a more intimate nature, of a child I shall never sire and a carnal thirst that can only be satiated by one thing,”

The horses grimaced suddenly at the way their riders guffawed at her words, propriety and bashfulness prompting excuses from their lips on the approach to the city, many of them breaking formation to ride ahead to prepare for the High King’s arrival. Who simply laughed in spite of his seasoned soldiers and the awkwardness that ensued once Cassiell realised what she had said,

“That was one thing that always escaped me when conversing with the elves,” she spoke with a curious nonchalance that had Gil-galad peering at her fondly, “I suppose they do not feel the same desires I do, having been turned into a dangerous, seductive demon of the night,” her jests had him chuckling, nodding to the guards who came to greet them, stablehands taking the reigns of their steeds and leading them through a set of great gates, wooden in design but fashioned to mimic wrought copper in its golden glittering, 

“I would indeed advise you to keep your talks of temptation and intimacy to yourself, unless prompted of course, it is only polite to engage if one is particularly -,” with a great heave, Gil-galad dismounted and accepted a cloak of honeyed velvet, turning to aid Cassiell down from her own horse and the touch of her hand strangely rough in his, as if the skin was marred beyond what his eye could see, “ - particularly curious in their exploration of you,”

He looked down at her with heavy lids, lips parting when she returned his gaze with disbelief dancing in her eyes,

“Rest assured High King, I highly doubt your court and your people would be particularly curious about me, much less of an exploratory nature,” Gil-galad tilted his head down slightly, palm leaving her hip in favour of taking her hand, mouth spreading into a deceptively knowing smile,

“I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself in that respect Cassiell,” there was something else behind his words, distracted by the way he nodded over to the young stablehands who watched her with curious eyes and bitten lips, “there are many who see you as a legendary hero with many great and powerful deeds to her name. You might find yourself more popular than you originally thought,”

[matchamiko]

Just posted chapter 4 if anyone wants to check it out ૮꒰ྀི ୨ ៸៸៸ ୧ ྀི꒱ა

[stellar-solar-flare]

hi! saw your reblog about the “fanfics that have a permanent place in your heart” and i’m just curious about what are the fanfics that you keep in YOUR heart. (also sorry if you’ve been asked about your fav fanfics before haha). bc for centuries is certainly one of mine btw!!

Oh no worries, I don't recall being asked this and also I'm always happy to shower my fellow creators with praise they absolutely deserve!

So it's probably no surprise to anyone but the fic (series) that has captivated my heart most is the Star Trek AU by my dear best friend, soul sister, and beta reader StarfleetStgMgr. Her Star and Dove (AO3, Chris Pike/OFC, mostly explicit) is not only the best and most mind-blowing fix it I've ever read but also one of the best romances ever. She's amazing and I have no idea what kind of crossroads demon she bribed to get this good at writing.

She also has multiple amazing Steve Rogers/Reader fics and I recommend all of them but the one that has stayed in my heart most has to be Keeper, (AO3, Explicit) which is a great Halloween read by the way, if anyone is looking for that! It's a story about love, healing, and battles we all fight - and a Reader who takes... quite an interesting job and meets an interesting gentleman. Lots of mythology elements and some horror elements and again, amazing romance.

I love @anika-ann's Steve fics, so again, I'd like to recommend so many, but the ones that I think about on a weekly basis are Anika's takes on Medieval Knight Steve in her two series, In The Name Of Duty and The Witch and Her Knight (both Steve/Reader and ranging from T to Explicit between the fics in series). Anika's Steve characterization is beautiful, and she writes great team dynamics and has a knack for inventing very Avengers-like missions in her non-AU fics! Links lead to AO3 but she's also on tumblr.

I very rarely read Blip/Endgame fics but @darsynia's Ephemera (Steve Rogers/Reader, Explicit)is so absolutely beautiful and even though it's been a long time since I read it the first time, it has stayed in my heart.

Recently, I've been beta reading for my writer friend @wild-typo-turtle - her The Rings Of Power fic Threads (Gil-galad/OFC, Explicit) is incredible and I'm enjoying it tremendously. It has one of the best OFCs I've encountered ever and the romantic soulmate aspect of the Elves is so well done. I haven't watched The Rings Of Power but I love Tolkien and especially The Silmarillion, and it's been wonderful to enjoy this take on the Elvish society and the war against Sauron.

Another recent discovery that I've been enjoying a lot is @steviebbboi's Steve Rogers/OFC longfic Red, (Explicit) which has another awesome OFC character and very well-handled themes of complex emotions and trauma, and a lovely (right now) budding romance.

There are so many amazing fics in the world but I made myself limit to the reply to the ones that have had the most profound effect on me. I have a tag 'Stella Recommends' on my blog, where you can write more of the stuff I've enjoyed! Thank you for the lovely ask.

[ladyoflindon]

Across the Seas (Ereinion Gil-galad, Rings of Power)

Author's note: My OC, Itarille, is the younger sister of Elrond and Elros. Gil-galad has just asked to court her recently. Takes place way before the events of Rings of Power. Can be read as a reader insert, and either as a standalone or part of my upcoming Tolkien fic series. From @sotwk "Comfort Fic Writing Challenge".

-------

It was a nice day, Itarille thought to herself. She was sitting on the windowsill in her chambers, overlooking the sea. Her ears picked up the faint sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shores. Her grey eyes, so like those of her older brothers, drifted back down to the book in her lap.

Adûnaic, the language was called. From the land of Númenor, Elros' kingdom. She was reading a book about the island kingdom's history with the sea.

“From the dawn of Númenor, our fate has been intertwined with the sea. It guides, it judges, it endures. The sea is always right.”

It was a longstanding belief of the people. Itarille glanced out of the window once more, her eyes fixed on the blue waves of the ocean. It seemed calm, serene, steadfast. Just like how Númenor should be. How the Eldar should be. How she should be, considering that she would soon marry the High King and become Queen of Lindon.

She flipped the page, deciding to move on from the poetic passage. On the next page, there was a portrait. A man, regal, with high cheekbones, gazed back at her with eyes so familiar. His raven hair was mixed with streaks of white, and age was so visibly shown on his face.

Elros Tar-Minyatur, the description below the portrait read. Founding King of Númenor. Itarille hadn't gazed upon a painting or portrait of her brother in so long. It had been too long since his passing, but for her, it felt like yesterday.

The day Itarille had received word of Elros' passing, it was as if the floor had collapsed from beneath her feet. When she'd heard it, Itarille was at dinner with the High King. The news was delivered to him by a messenger, then him to her. When the last word had left his lips, Itarille stood up abruptly and fled. She remembered the look in Gil-galad's blue eyes. Those blue eyes, blue like the sea.

She and Elrond grieved. He did his best not to show it, maintaining the stern facade of the High King's Herald, but Itarille was different. She had locked herself away in her chambers, sitting on this very windowsill, gazing out at the sea which Elros had sailed away on the day he decided to be counted amongst Men.

She had known that day would come, but it didn't hurt any less.

A knock on the door brought Itarille out of her reverie. Wiping the tears from her face hastily, Itarille spoke softly, "Come in."

The door opened gently, and in stepped Gil-galad. As usual, he was the picture of elegance and serenity, clothed in robes of a deep blue, a departure from his usual gold. His gold crown of leaves was nowhere to be seen, and his deep brown hair tumbled down his back in waves.

"My lady," Gil-galad spoke in that velvety voice of his, bringing Itarille's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her fingers, "how I've longed to see you so. This day has been dreadful without your presence at my side."

Itarille didn't respond, her mind still whirling with the memories from Elros, the memories that reading that book had stirred up. Gil-galad noticed her silence, the lingering tears in her grey eyes. He was about to ask if everything was alright, when he saw the Adûnaic book on her lap and he understood.

"You were thinking about him, weren't you?" Gil-galad asked quietly. Itarille gave no verbal answer, only the nod of her head. After a moment of silence, Itarille finally spoke. "O-oh, Ereinion," she sniffled, a fresh wave of tears falling down her face. "I miss Elros."

"My love." Gil-galad pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, they both said nothing, Itarille's sobs speaking for her. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her tears staining the fabric of his robes.

"Why does it hurt so much?" She looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with tears.

"You loved Elros deeply. He was your brother, and like Elrond, your protector. Your closest confidante. It's natural to feel this way about him." Gil-galad exhaled. "It's alright to grieve, melda."

"But," he looked down at Itarille, wiping a tear from her cheek, "Elros wouldn't want you to cry for him. He loved you deeply and would wish for you to be happy. He'd want you to live a happy and long life. So, please, do not weep, my love. Live, for Elros, for Elrond. For me."

Outside, the flowers bloomed. The birds chirped. In the distance, the waves lapped against the shores. Somewhere up there, Itarille sensed that Elros was watching. The grief was still fresh, it would always be, but for now, in this moment, Itarille felt at peace. Gil-galad's arms tightened around her, the High King murmuring words of reassurance and love in Quenya, the language she adored.

Everything would be alright.

[serenni]

✨Between the Mountains and the Sea - WIP✨ Little back-story below!

Soooo this all started because I noticed how Gil-Galad often keeps his hands in front of him one on on top of the other in a strong grip.

I see this detail as being nowhere near to convey a relaxed stance, but rather possibly indicating him feeling anxious and troubled by his thoughts (P.S. the man needs a vacation :( ).

Séredhiel and Gil-Galad will slowly build and deepen their relationship on mutual trust, understanding and feeling safe in each other's presence, and this would be one of those moments setting them in that direction.

Around the first years of Second Age, with the decision of Elros leaving to lead the Edain to Elenna recently spread, in a quiet corner of Lindon along the riff overlooking the Great Sea and with hardly any visitors, Gil-Galad would be lost in his thoughts. He would be concerned about the political consequences the departure of Elros would have, how the relationship with Men might evolve from that moment, and also the emotional toll of parting from Elros, as he grew accustomed to the presence of both Peredhel twins since their youngest years.

Gil-Galad's eyes would be set on the distance over the sea, and his hands clasped strongly. Séredhiel would happen to get into that same place, which happens to be one of her favourite spots to find quietness and reminisce, most of times her thoughts going back to her brother, who fell in the War of Wrath.

She would realize too late that Gil-Galad is also there, he would have already noticed her presence and will ask her to step forward, and they would start to talk, inquiring about what brought them there.

As they speak, Séredhiel will notice his eyes being clouded by worry, his clasped hands… and she will place her hand on top of his and offer him a listening ear.

He will be surprised at first, but a part of him will feel like he can release the grip with her...and will take her hand in his, and will confide in her. He will find out that sharing the thoughts troubling his heart with her was easier than he could ever do with anyone else before.

And talking, they will discover that they both reached that same spot to let their thoughts wander about the same issue: Séredhiel will also be troubled by the news of Elros leaving, and having to say goodbye to him would be like separating from a member of her family. Since the beginning of the War of Wrath, on the Isle of Balar, Séredhiel took care of the Peredhel twins, taking them under her wing and becoming a nurturing figure for both (as I imagine Gil-Galad would be, too), and their bond would reach depths no different than those of a blood one. Both Gil-Galad and Séredhiel had experienced the pain of being separated from their families, so the news concerning Elros' departure hit hard both of them, at the same time leaving them unable to talk about it to anyone. But in this moment, they would feel like they could share their thoughts and burdens safely with each other, Gil-Galad starting to realise how around Séredhiel he can drop the walls he build around himself from the duties of being the High-King, while her, being the one who often listens but seldom speaks about what troubles her, finding someone who would listen and understand her feelings.

[grrrlsubrosa]

I've been outlining a Gil-galad fanfic and would love your thoughts on something!

I created an OC with a backstory to fit into Tolkien’s lore. Since the story takes place in royal courts and titles are used, I’ve given her a name ("Y/N" always takes me out of the story).

That said, it seems like reader inserts are more popular (I enjoy them myself), but since the character has a backstory I think I'd write this more like a role-playing insert than a classic reader insert.

Anyway, I want to make sure this story is as enjoyable as possible before I start writing! Please vote below and thank you so much for your input! If you have any thoughts or advice, I'd love to hear it! 💕

Edit to clarify: Reader inserts normally don't give the MC a backstory or personality. Role-playing inserts gives the MC a backstory/personality/role so it feels more like you're stepping into the shoes of a pre-existing character (Kinda like a blend between OC and Reader insert).

[lya-dustin]

I Sang of Leaves of Gold

Summary: Erinti of the Maiar knew her brother would come back and that the time of the elves would come to an end.

She had not known the time would come so soon. A millennium and a half of peace comes to an end no matter how much she tries to stop it.

(Rings of Power!Gil-galad x Maia!oc)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

[shadows-and-flowers]

I will be writing some Rings of Power fanfiction (one is Annatar x OC and the other is Gil-Galad x OC) and I am looking for someone to be my beta reader/editor.

If you are interested, let me know!

[miko-of-mirkwood]

ʚ The First Daughter masterlist ɞ

Prologue

(Warnings: implicit descriptions of violence, war, torture)

Chapter 1 - The Ghost on The Shore

(Warnings: descriptions of torture, trauma, violence)