#gil galad x oc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marshmellin · 24 days ago

Text

He Always Gives You One (1) ☝️

Explicit content under the cut. Rated S for Smut, 6.3K words, Gil-galad x unnamed woman, 2nd person POV, no use of y/n or female's name, bratting and spanking

You jutted your chin out and took in a large breath, leaning forward so your breasts pushed against the solid muscle of his chest. “Are you unable to come up with ideas on your own, High King? Do you not have a plan? You have had me dressed and dragged to your quarters hours before a ridiculous, boring formal dinner party and you do not yet know what you wish to do with me during that time?”

Oh, that one was risky, but you let it linger.

Tags: Truly porn without plot, bratting and brat taming kink with Gil-galad as a soft!Dom. Includes elements of playfully saying "no," or being 'mouthy' with Gil-galad, but consent is clear and behavior is consistent with typical light bratting. Includes fingering, light spanking, and giving minor commands to the woman. No beta, we die like Valendil (forgive me for that last tag)

Note: I meant for this to be like...600 words of soft!Dom Gilgadaddy headcanons and here the fuck we are. Not a bad place to wind up, honestly. If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

Again: explicit content under the cut. Mind the tags.

Despite being the king of the largest realm — Elven or otherwise — in Middle Earth, Gil-galad often finds himself not being listened to. Whether it's pushback from his commanders or his advisors or the other rulers and realms around him, he spends most of his days compromising with others. Negotiating something necessary and important into something almost-but-not-quite-what-he-wanted.

Gil-galad finds this extremely frustrating.

He is also mired in a constant cycle of pleasantries and curtsies and polite gestures he is required to make on a near-daily basis as High King, regardless of how he feels or whom he would prefer to spend time with or if he would simply like a break from the constant churning demands of what is proper here and what is an insult there.

Gil-galad finds this extremely frustrating as well.

Which is why he has taken so much pleasure in his relationship with you.

Because Gil-galad also finds you to be very, very, very frustrating. You also do not listen to him. You also angle for him to concede compromises in ways that you should not ask for. You also wheedle and argue and push back against his wishes and commands and requests. You ignore what he is and the power he wields as a king. Intentionally. Every time.

Yet with you — unlike all the other duties Gil-galad must attend to, and all the other compromises Gil-galad must make, and all the other concessions Gil-galad must agree to — he chooses to call for you instead. To focus on you. To talk you down. To make you sing for him.

To tame you.

Every time.

And every time he controls the way he spends his evenings with you, gently chides you to follow his wishes, plainly tells you to stop fighting and give in as he discovers new ways to make you come apart… you both win.

It’s a game you play very willingly.

So when he sent a note that requested you come join him in his chambers, you scribbled back a hasty, impertinent, “Why? Try harder, Ereinion, I am bored,” and made the courier complete his circuit back to Gil-galad for the sixth time that day.

When Gil-galad told you over breakfast that he would very much enjoy your company at a formal dinner that evening, you told him no and challenged him to make you go. You said you did not want to. That you will never want to. You said he can not make you, that you won’t do it. That he did not decide.

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow and warned you once — he always gives you one (1) — his voice low and rumbling in his chest. “I am pleased to hear that you will attend with me.”

You raised an eyebrow and shook your head firmly, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him. “You heard no such thing from me.”

“I do not suggest you test my resolve on this request, clever one.”

You decided instantly that you will, in fact, test his resolve on that request. So when the evening came, you sat rigidly at the end of your bed in your own chambers, fully dressed from head to toe for a formal (and boring) dinner event. You had prepared hours early and you had been ready to go to him at least an hour ago. But you intentionally had not joined him in his rooms at the time he requested.

The time he requested so that you could spend time together before you attended this boring dinner.

You knew he would not allow you to ignore him for long. The thought made your thighs clench.

Gil-galad sent exactly one (1) courier with exactly one (1) note. In the king’s own very neat, precise handwriting: “I wish to see you before dinner. My request requires no further discussion, and therefore the courier will not return with a message for me, no matter how often you ask it of him. Come to me now.”

That tempted you — he knew it would, because that is why he wrote it — and you immediately asked the courier if he would take a note to Gil-galad in return. The elf looked half-frightened and backed his way out of the room, shaking his head and muttering something about troop reports. You watched him spin to the left and march quickly toward Gil-galad’s chambers.

Reports, indeed.

When the two guards came to your quarters exactly five (5) minutes later, they found you at your self-appointed place at the end of the bed, sitting with your hands on your lap. Fully dressed with nowhere to go. They asked for you to follow, saying High King Gil-galad urgently requested your presence, if you would not mind following them to his quarters.

They asked politely, but the set of their jaws suggest it was not a request from Gil-galad, but a command.

You acquiesce for the first — and you know not the last — time this night.

When you arrive, Gil-galad opened the door and waved away the guards before guiding you into the room by the arm. He was very gentle. He was very quiet. And for a moment he gazed down at you with a mild look of disapproval etched on his handsome face. He even tsked gently as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, nudging you to look at him and meet his gaze.

You very pointedly rolled your eyes.

“Did you lose track of time after receiving my message?” he asked slowly, his voice dangerously low. “You did not come to me when I called for you.”

A warrior and a gentleman, you think wryly. He is giving you room to apologize. To blame your petulance on a mistake or confusion.

Gil-galad always gives you one.

“No, I did not lose track of anything, Ereinion,” you said casually, pulling yourself from his hand — that took more willpower than you wanted it to for so early in the evening. You strolled past him toward the large windows facing west. “I’ve decided to make you make me. It will give you something to do with your day. You seem to have too much free time and nothing to do with it.” You leaned against his desk, your hands propping you up, fingers curling around the edge.

Gil-galad tilted his head, the spark in his eyes at your combative attitude the only sign that confirmed he very, very much would like you to be an absolute brat right now. You’re happy to oblige him.

“‘Make me make you,’” he repeated softly, taking slow, determined steps toward you. Gil-galad’s frown deepened. “Tell me, clever one,” he commanded softly. “How did you expect me to make you obey?”

Obey was a word he knew excited you very, very much. And it was also a trap. There was never a time this question was not a trap. Sneaky, handsome bastard.

If you told him what you were thinking — all the wonderful, exciting ways he could “punish” you for being mouthy and make you obey him...he would know you want it. It would not be a punishment if you wanted it. And therefore, he might not give it to you. He would hold back. To teach you not to be mouthy again.

But… if you told him honestly how much you want him to show you he is in command here, how much you’re being mouthy simply because you want his full focus, then he may decide to give you what he already knows you want. To teach you that he will always take care of you despite how mouthy you get.

Gil-galad had done both to you before in equal measure. He had shown you, quite thoroughly, that both routes had merits.

Trap.

Gil-galad took another step forward, pinning you to the desk as he loomed over you, hands clasped behind his back. If you both breathed in at the same time, your breasts would brush his chest. Or, at least, against the eight layers of fabric on his chest. His voice was still low, and his motions unhurried. Unconcerned. A patient man dealing with an unruly woman in his spare time between managing a kingdom and a war.

“Tell me,” Gil-galad commanded again. Not a note of impatience in him, despite the tone of authority. “I remain confused. How did you expect me to make you, a grown woman, obey me? You must have had some semblance of an expectation, certainly, since you seem so eager to test the limits of my patience. What did you hope I would do to you today if you did not obey me?”

You had always had a push and pull with Gil-galad when you played like this. And you could tell that tonight he needed to control more than you needed to be controlled.

Oh, that one was risky, but you let it linger.

His face was still smooth as he nodded, absorbing your words as though listening to an ambassador or advisor. Weighing them carefully. You cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say, “well?”

And then his demeanor flipped and he acted as though he had just described lightning to you and you had never seen it before. “Ah-ha, I see. You have not yet accepted how this evening will proceed for you and you think you can sway me by being irritable. Unfortunate, but not wholly unexpected.” He took two large steps back — you bit back a sigh at the loss of warmth — and turned toward the very large chair in the corner of his study. “You will behave and listen to me tonight, or I will make you.”

He paused and his head cocked, evaluating you. “And we will start now. Will you follow reasonably, or will you force me to direct you through each step as though you are a living doll?”

Not an unattractive prospect. You filed that away for later.

“Oh, fear not, High King, I would not have you waste your strength on that.” You push yourself off the desk toward him and follow. He sits down very gracefully, layers and layers and layers of gold fabric billowing around him, amusement at your — tired, stale, familiar, intentional, irrational, minor — insults. You stand in front of him, your face expectant. “And?” you ask sarcastically.

“Please kneel,” he offered gently, as if suggesting you have tea with him.

You snorted. “Why?”

“Because I have asked you to.”

“Not enough of a reason. Don’t care if you asked. Don’t care what you want. I am bored and find I would prefer to return to my rooms, if there is nothing else?” You crossed your arms defiantly. Or you hoped defiantly. Your nipples were already stiff peaks, pushing through the purposefully sheer fabric of the dress you chose.

You could talk a big game at the start, but…

He paused, evaluating you. “If you behave for me today, I will give you a gift. If you do not– ”

That got your interest immediately. “What gift?”

He leaned back into this chair — this throne in his study — you always used. Your eyes flicked down and you saw how hard he was growing under his robe. You licked your lips, slowly, just staring at his cock as though it might hold the answer to that incredibly important question.

It did.

“Observant, clever one, even if a tad unfocused. Perhaps you would prefer to sit on my lap instead of kneeling?” Gil-galad paused. “That is the first gift I will give you tonight. You can choose.”

You paused and just stared at him. You could see the outline of his cock under the one (1) layer of clothing left on his lap. Your thoughts were starting to turn syrupy. He was going to take you apart and put you back together tonight. The tone in his voice promised he would.

And then you were going to have to eat salad and make small talk with ambassadors immediately after he was done with it.

That made your thoughts even less coherent. Heat coiled in your stomach and you felt a damp trail of wetness start to run down your leg. Assuming he let you both finish before this ridiculous dinner and did not make you wait…

No, he was softer than that. Gil-galad always gives you one.

He tsked again, dipping his head to meet your eyes, pulling you back to this moment. To him. To his focus. “Which. do. you. choose.” he asked more insistently, allowing impatience to creep into his voice. “If you do not choose, I will choose for you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Your lap, I guess. That will at least stop you from looming over me as if your height is a bragging point. It is not, by the way.”

Gil-galad smiled softly and simply pointed at his lap, inviting you up.

You clambered over toward him and hiked up the miles of skirts you wore, flashing him outright and intentionally as you brought the fabric up to your waist. You noticed the small — and extremely interested — change in his face when he noticed you had chosen to go bare under your dress for dinner this evening.

He accidentally showed you he was eager. So you decided to move slowly.

Annoyingly slowly.

You were obeying him. He could not say you did not obey him. But you were not doing it in the way he wanted.

Gil-galad arched an eyebrow at you as you moved slowly, skirts gathered high and legs free as you inched towards him. You took your time to plant your knees on the chair, to move up, to shimmy closer to him — all incredibly unhurried. All incredibly half-naked

He wanted you in his lap. You wanted you in his lap. So you must make it difficult for you both. That was the point.

You made sure to scoop up your skirts several times, soft fabric hitting him gently in the face as you gathered it in your arms and settled against him. You did it again and a third time before he emitted a low warning sound from deep in his chest.

So you lightly rustled your skirts in his face one more time. To test him. He reached for your wrists and gently but firmly lowered your hands, making you let go of the fabric and pulling your wrists to your sides. “Do not do that again,” Gil-galad said firmly. “Behave yourself and sit properly, or I will make you.”

Your legs finally bracketed his thighs and you faced him, on your knees above his lap. You knew you were ruining his robe right now because you were so wet you were dripping down your leg. His fault, really, for wearing golden embroidered fabric when he brought you here to f–

“I said sit,” Gil-galad chided, gently this time, his hands sliding up your thighs to settle on your hips. “You are an uncommonly smart woman, and yet I find myself surprised at how often you fail to follow very clear and simple directions when we are together. Why is that?”

After a long moment of staring at him, he took the choice from you, pressing you down off your knees so you were in full contact with his lap. His length notched against you with his robe now the only thing between you. If you squirmed right, you could get that fabric to move…

He rocked you against himself once. Twice. Three times. You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped you, so you stretched into it, moaning louder and grinding down on his lap.

Yep. That robe was ruined.

Gil-galad stilled and gently cupped your chin again, forcing your eyes to meet his, his other hand pinning you against his lap. You experimentally tried to rock your hips anyway, but he held you in place with one hand grabbing your hip so you could not grind against him— removing that rutting sensation from you. Limiting your options.

One handed. Yes, ellons were generally stronger than elleths, but this was ridiculous now, Ereninion, seriously.

You whimpered in protest. “I am not a plaything,” you managed to say convincingly, despite the deep, gnawing ache between your legs and your head chanting at you let him play with you let him play with you let him let him. “And I’m tired of you thinking I am.”

Gil-galad sighed and let his hand drop from your face. “That is not my question.”

“A pity, for it is the only answer I will give you,” you shoot back.

Tsking loudly, he shook his head.” Unfortunately, your attitude continues to leave us with fewer and fewer options for this evening,” he murmured. Broad hands slid up your sides, splaying against your back as he gently pulled you closer.

“You claim I act as though I own you as one would a toy…” he paused as if in thought, fingers tapping against you gently. He rolled his hips up to meet your core again and you shuddered. “That I treat you as a plaything? I would disagree strongly with that assertion.” He pulled you closer to finally, finally kiss you deeply, nipping at your bottom lip, pressing you into his chest.

“A plaything?” Gil-galad echoed again, now trailing kisses down your neck. You willed yourself silent because if you moaned now, he would stop on principle.

Gil-galad pretended to consider something intently as he played with the collar of your decidedly not-quite-opaque gown. He ghosted the back of his hands across your breasts and you nearly flushed with embarrassment at how needy your body was by now without it consulting you.

Self-traitor, you thought as he cupped your breasts, one in each hand, and murmured appreciatively. His thumbs flicked over your nipples.

“I understand the problem now. You view plaything as a negative term. I assure you it is not. Perhaps I have not played enough with you lately?” Gil-galad tugged on your nipples now, just this shy of too much, and your eyes fluttered shut. He tugged again hard enough to bring you forward and you rutted against his lap. The heat was building very quickly now and he hadn’t even��.

“Do you feel you have not been properly played with?”

You give a sullen sound of agreement and begin squirm as he continued playing with your nipples and giving you absolutely no other stimulation.

“Tell me.” He pinched again sharply before his fingers smoothed out as though brushing away the bite of it.

“I don’t want to say it.”

“You do not have to, of course. But if you do not, we will not continue.” A harmless threat, as his hands had not stilled and he was roving over your abdomen.

“I feel neglected.” A gush of wetness between your legs as you swallowed thickly, reminding yourself not to end it too soon.

Gil-galad growled and reached between your bodies to cup you over the skirt, his fingers pressing against you. The fabric was almost too rough against your clit and you gasped, your hands flying to his chest to brace against him. He pressed against you again, pushing a knuckle closer to your clit and sighed, looking down. “So wet you’ve soaked through your dress, but yet you are arguing for the sake of it. Tell me what you want properly or you will not get it,” he ended simply.

You rutted against him again, finding your voice, determined to draw it out. You huffed at him. “Fine. I do not feel played with enough lately. I feel neglected and you have not made time for me.” You started rutting against him out of rhythm. Mercifully, he let you, hands still settling around your hips but no longer forcing you not to move. He started rocking his hips again up to you and you moaned. He stilled immediately.

Caught.

“And yet, despite acknowledging you very much wish to be treated as a plaything, as a toy I spend my time to play with, you seem to think you are in charge of this evening. Mm.” The whine you made this time was not an act. “I find your attitude is in dire need of adjustment. Do you agree?”

You challenged him, fire in your eyes because you wanted to tussle with him but still lose. You were also incredibly eager to have his fingers inside you and if you pushed him hard enough he’d take you there faster.

“I hate repeating myself, but—”

Gil-galad cut you off. “Do you agree you need to adjust your attitude tonight, yes or no?”

You met his question with silence.

Sharp brown eyes considered you. He rocked his knuckle against your clit through the fabric of your dress again, keeping you aching and focused.

“Answer me.”

The ache was spreading and your legs felt like jelly in his lap. That thin piece of gold brocade had already been moved aside, and you weren’t sure if you did it or he did it, but you straddled his bare cock now. Valar forgive you, but you ached and you knew a way out.

It was to not answer him. Yet again. You had now failed to answer him correctly three (3) times in a row.

Gil-galad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Punishment. Choose one or I will.”

A brave face. More silence.

Four times – especially when you were this wet – was unprecedented. But you had just done it anyway. You wanted to get there faster and you could tell he did too.

Gil-galad tsked again, ever patient but irritated. “I did warn you what would happen if you did not listen. And you did not listen.” He could not hide that his cock twitched under you.

Your thoughts felt syrupy again as he gripped your thighs and started rocking you against his length, skin against skin covered in a truly embarrassing amount of your slick. The head of his cock brushing you open. He lifted you up and for a brief, blissful moment you thought he would sink into you, bury himself so deep you could feel it in your chest.

But no, he would not take you as a “punishment.”

Smoothly he lifted you up and flipped you so you were sprawled face down and sideways across his lap.

It seemed he was in the mood to give you the one thing you craved the most, the one he knew made you feel both played with and tended to, without even really asking for it. The one that would finally shut. you. up. You absolutely must not look eager. You froze your limbs — Gil-galad would notice if you were too greedy too fast. You would wait for him.

Sternly, he began arranging you across his lap as though you weighed nothing. He grabbed your chin, still gentle but his hand had snatched out fast, forcing you to look at him. “You will count as we go. If you lose your place, we will start again. And again. And again. Until I am convinced you are listening to what I say to you.”

His hands explored you now, followed the curve of your ass down to the back of your thighs. One warm, splayed hand rested at the nape of your neck, now pushing your face toward the floor as you half-hung off his lap. You clenched your thighs together and squirmed.

“Tell me what you heard me say.”

You swallowed again. He started pulling your skirts up, pooling the extra fabric at your waist, his other hand never leaving the nape of your neck.

“I will not repeat it,” he said firmly, hand now cupping your bare ass, stroking down to your legs like he was petting an animal. “The longer you fight me, the longer you wait. I will finish tonight. Are you so confident I will let you?”

A shuddering breath. “I will count. If I miss, I start again.” You were buckling softly against him, squirming under his grip on both ends of you.

“A reminder to count politely,” he said softly. “And the current count is ten.”

You cannot stop yourself. “Ten!” you whined.

“And now it is fifteen,” he said with a frown. “Shall we begin or will you continue to add to your count? Choose carefully, knowing this is not how I hoped we would spend this evening.”

A long pause. The idea of fifteen made you moan, but more importantly, it made you behave. He was giving you what you wanted. You would do the same in return. You ached. Whatever he wanted.

“Yes, High King. Is there…anything else you would have me do? Beside keep count?”

Gil-galad murmured appreciatively. “I love how hard you try for me, clever one. So good for me once you understand. Call me what you wish — with respect,” he added, a small tug at the nape of your neck. “Request whatever will sate you, but do not demand and do not expect anything from me. Do you understand?”

You answered quickly now as his hand continued to softly ghost over your naked ass, making your skin break out in goosebumps. Your bad behavior got you where you wished most to be. And so now you would be repentant. “Yes, High King.”

His hand lifted off your lower back — you noticed he kept his hand on your neck yesyesyesyes — and he readjusted you so more of your ass was hanging off his leg. You felt his hard cock pressing into your stomach underneath you. He gently rutted up, hips rolling to see if this was where he wanted you.

Gil-galad seemed satisfied. With one more sweep, he ensured your skirts would not fall in his way. Thick fingers pulled and pressed against you, nudging your legs apart. You were already on your toes to keep your balance against him. Now you felt very exposed, cool air fanning against the wet heat of you.

The first crack was loud and he had not warned you that he would start. The force from it rocked you both forward and down, pressing your ribs against his cock and you heard him bite back a groan.

The sting on your ass was just right, and he rubbed gently after, soothing away the bite of it. Heat coiled tighter in you and you bucked again. You’d come apart riding his thighs sideways at this rate.

And it was here that you realized you had been quiet for too long.

“On—“

“Too late. But do not fret, clever girl. We will start again. Tell me when you are ready to pay attention to me.”

Your eyes closed again and you breathed heavily through your nose. You needed to come down. He had noticed it. He was giving you the chance to decide.

The heat ebbed, just a moment. One more moment, and then: “Yes, High King. I am ready. Please.”

“Begin counting,” he said again, warning you this time before his hand came down.

“One, High King.” You thought the panted please that escaped you had been quiet, but Elven hearing was keen.

“Please ‘what’?”

The sound got caught in your throat as he spanked you again, on the other cheek this time, still rubbing away the sting of it.

“T-two, High King. Please.” You were wanton now, grinding against his lap, bucking and raising your ass in the air begging for contact. Any any any contact he would give you.

“Please, what?”

“Use your ha—“ He spanked you again, aiming for the high part of your thigh. He did not smooth away the pain this time but gripped your flesh, holding you in place.

“Three, High King, please hands your please hands yes.” You weren’t making full sentences.

Hands. Use them. Touch me. What was the count?

Gil-galad did not strike your ass this time, but gently tapped against you, cupping you in his hand and pushing against you, his fingers brushing against your clit. You let yourself moan at that. Pressure. Thank the Valar. You bit back another moan, and made your limbs still again.

“Does that count, High King? I wish to keep count correctly for you.” You rocked back against his hand. “I will do it so well for you if you tell me, please.”

He chuckled. His fingers swirled in your slick, coating him and easing the way for him to sink one finger into you, all the way down to his knuckle. The ring he wore was cold and made you flinch. You were so wet that one finger just felt silky instead of filling, but you were happy to be touched at all.

“Mm, I feel generous tonight, clever one. You do seem truly repentant for your behavior earlier. Are you?” he asked softly, twisting his finger inside you.

“Yes, High King.” You tried to rock back on his hand. You were rutting like an animal and the only reason you had not fallen off of him was the counterweight of his hand on your neck, pressing you down in the other direction while you greedily thrust into thin air.

“Good girl. Then you may count it.”

Was it four or five? Nothing mattered as long as he kept twisting his finger. That cold ring. Five?

“Ah and now you are so cockdrunk you lost count. I will help. It is four.”

“Fou—fuhhhh.”

He added another finger without warning. Your eyes rolled back and you inhaled sharply.

“Five, High King. Could I please have more of your time this week? I was wrong to be so rude. Let me make it ri—“

He pulled his fingers out and smacked your ass again, just as hard as the first time, and did the same soothing motion with his hand. You could feel your own slick now, cooling against your skin, transferred from his fingers. His hand slid down your ass again, so soft, until he came to your core again. He slid a hand between your legs and flicked a lazy finger over your clit. You jumped in his hands and moaned again.

“Focus,” he reminded you softly. “What is the count?”

Your brow furrowed. “S-six, High King. Let me.” Six? Six. You rocked against him again and you could feel how heavy his cock felt underneath you. He was holding back quite a bit to give you this.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Let you what? You are not speaking in full sentences, I’m afraid. I do not follow you.” He smacked your ass again, overlapping with one of the others, and you fought to lift your head from the sting and pleasure of it. His hand kept your neck down and he moved his hand from your ass quickly, leaving you to sting and squirm.

“Seven. High King, let me taste you?”

He spanked you again, softer this time, and spent longer kneading your flesh after. “Clever one,” he said firmly, hand pressing on your upper back now. “Be more clever. What do you want?”

“Eight, High King,” you said crisply, demanding yourself to focus, refusing now to be distracted. He would start over if you didn’t focus. “Let me suck your cock, please.”

You felt him twitch under you. He paused for a moment, brown eyes searching your face after he had once again grabbed your chin. He was considering it. You might be able to talk him into it.

You started babbling. What was happening was not happening fast enough and all the thoughts in your brain had turned to liquid. “Or you can take me however you wish or I will get on all fours or—“

“After ten,” he promised, fingers grazing softly against your face. “Will you take two more for me? I will lower your punishment to ten if you promise to listen. And promise that you will not ignore my summons again.”

You nodded eagerly, yes yes to whatever he wanted. He had broken you now, and quickly, too, compared to your regular play — and the look in his eyes told him he knew it. He looked victorious.

You were unprepared, then, for the next sharp crack hitting your ass. He put just the right amount of heft in this one that your body rocked back and forth for a moment after.

“Nine.” It came out as a moan.

He chuckled. “And we’ve already dropped my title. Impertinent.”

Before you could answer, his thick fingers found you again, filling you with a delicious stretch. He curled his fingers down and your legs started jumping against his hand. You are not in control of that motion. It is all of it too much and not enough and your body does not know which sensation to chase first.

“Ten,” you whispered, so close now to your own crest. You were on a knife’s edge and it took a lot of focus to not simply orgasm now and deal with whatever irritation it caused in him later.

He truly did always give you one more chance than he should.

“Was that ten?” Gil-galad asked teasingly. “How time flies,” he smiled. “I suppose we will count that as ten.”

His fingers kept working inside you, pulling you higher. His other hand setted in the small of your lower back, allowing him to guide you back against his fingers while your body still pressed against his cock. “Would you like to come? You have done so well. I will take care of you, if you wish. I will let you come once for me.”

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” you managed to chant out. So close. You fought between snapping your legs closed and just falling forward to raise your ass in the air and let him take you from behind while you were on the floor.

Instead he slid his other hand under you, pressing against you from below, as his fingers stroked firmly. Your hips jerked again – the pads of his fingers were just this side of too rough – and suddenly the ache inside you twisted and came apart. You started to bite against his leg to muffle your sounds, but he made a warning growl in his chest, so you let yourself cry out as you came in white hot waves, rocking, pinned between his hands.

You panted, chest heaving as you turned into jelly in his lap, your arms and legs limp. If not for him pinning you up, you would have slid to the floor.

Your thoughts were still a syrupy jumble, but you felt satisfied. You knew the night was not over, but at least he let you have one ☝️.

At least he gave you the joy of that, before the salad plates and dinner conversation with men and women you do not care to meet.

After your breathing returned to normal, he lifted you out of his lap and set you on your feet, rising smoothly to stand next to you. Your legs were not quite up to the task of holding your weight, so he held you closely. “Go to the bedroom,” he said softly as he adjusted your dress over your shoulders. “We will continue there. That was the first of many gifts I will give you tonight if you heed me.”

Your brow creased. Thoughts were still coming slowly, but both of you should not have time for that. Especially since you both needed to dress again – his robe was still ruined. And yours was, too, now. “Dinner,” you said, confusion in your tone. You had not exactly looked at a clock while he was fingering you but surely…“Don’t we have to go to a formal dinner, Erienion? I do not want to go. That is what started this.”

Gil-galad laughed richly. “Any dinner with a king is a formal dinner. We have nowhere to be tonight but with each other.” His arms slid around your waist and you could feel how hard he still was against your thigh.

You blinked up at him and he smiled back. “Really? No formal dinner?”

His sharp brown eyes flicked over your face and he sighed, pulling back from you slightly to point toward the bed. “No formal dinner. And this is why it is always much easier if you simply listen to me and come to me when I call you…You would be made aware of these facts much earlier if you were less petulant.”

So you had all night together. He planned that from the start.

Sneaky. Handsome. Bastard.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and stopped moving. Gil-galad tugged on your wrist one (1) time. “The bed, melethnín,” he rumbled gently.

You say it before you can stop yourself.

“No. Make me.”

// Author's Notes: "elleth" and "ellon" are just elven terms for females and males. The last name he calls her, melethnín, means "my love." I think. If it doesn't, don't come for me, it's what I mean to say and you get the vibe. Clearly accurate Quenya translations were not -- not -- the point of this.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

#pay attention: playful use of 'no' though consent is clear #bratting #brat taming #high king gil galad #ereinion gil galad #trop fanfiction #trop smut #oneshot #smut #gil galad x reader #star and stone #gil galad x oc #gil galad #gilgadaddy #gil galad smut

79 notes · View notes

serenni · 1 month ago

Text

✨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.

79 notes · View notes

vintagerivendel · 3 months ago

Text

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

72 notes · View notes

dopecollectorbarbarian · 1 month ago

Text

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

#gil galad #lotr #the rings of power #lord of the rings #elf #gil galad x reader #gil galad x you #gil galad x oc

51 notes · View notes

gulnarsultan · 3 months ago

Text

#lord of the rings #tolkien elves #tolkien #the hobbit #gil galad x reader #gil galad #high king gil galad #the rings of power #rings of power #rings of power fanfiction #trop x reader #gil galad x oc #gil galad x you #gil galad rop #gil galad imagine

31 notes · View notes

lya-dustin · 5 months ago

Text

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

#erinti of the maiar #gil galad x oc #rings of power fanfiction #rop!gil galad x oc #gil-galad x ofc #gil-galad x oc

40 notes · View notes

random-writerings · 12 days ago

Text

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

#my ocs #the rings of power #the rings of power fanfic #gil galad #gil galad x oc #oc: mírien

7 notes · View notes

queenmeriadoc · 2 years ago

Text

It was winter in Lindon, and The High King was having a little meeting with his Herald, Elrond, when Merry burst through the door in a fury. “I need to speak with the High King, privately” they knew something was wrong when Merry called Gil-Galad by his title instead of his name, they never use his title, never. After Elrond made his exit Gil-Galad looked up with a concerned look, “Is there something wrong —“ before he can finish Merry burst out a “yes�� pausing and apologizing “sorry, I didn't mean to yell, but I need to know something” pointing at Gil who now has moved from behind his desk and was now standing directly in front of Merry. “What is it melissë?” Gil-Galad reaching out to stroke their cheek to his surprise have his hand swatted away. “Do you love me? Or am I just something for you to play with? Some fun that you are eventually going to get bored with?” Tears forming in their eyes, this usually happened when they were angry, and oh my god were they mad. Not long ago they hear some elf lord chatting about the elf king's plaything, meaning them, and they realized that had genuine feelings for Gil. “Please” pleading with Gil-Galad, tears starting to run down their face. This wasn’t the first time he had seen them cry, but this was different, he felt that this time it was his fault. He needed to make it right, “I am in love with you Gil-Galad” Merry taking Gil's hands stares into his very soul, their voice cracking “I rather you break my heart now than string me along like I am some kind of toy that you discard whenever you are bored.” He takes a deep breath, he could feel his own eyes starting to tear up as well, placing his hands on their face and takes deep breath before telling them what he wanted to say for so long, it almost hurt “I love you more than the sun and stars themselves, i am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you were just a play thing, because you were never that to me”. Placing his forehead on theirs and pulling them into a tight embrace, comforting each other.

———

Somewhere in Lindon Oropher is collecting bets from the elf lords.

@thranduilswifesblog not exactly, anyways

#merryverse #merry x gil galad #x reader #trop silliness #not sure if I should tag it crack #gil Galad x oc #gil galad imagines #reader insert #Tumblr please don’t delete any of the text I’m begging you #I’m sorry for any spelling mistakes I did try to use Grammarly though

39 notes · View notes

miko-of-mirkwood · 2 months ago

Text

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,”

#gil galad x oc #rings of power x oc #rop x oc #first daughter posting #rings of power #rings of power oc

1 note · View note

matchamiko · 2 months ago

Text

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

#posting then ditching cause I’m nervous and embarassed #but I’m proud of what I’ve written so far !!#miko.online #miko.writes #gil galad x oc #rop x oc #rings of power x oc

0 notes

ladyoflindon · 4 months ago

Text

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.

#lotr #rings of power #ereinion gil galad #gil galad #the rings of power #writers on tumblr #gil galad x reader #gil galad x oc #lindon #rings of power x oc #rings of power fanfiction #rings of power x reader

135 notes · View notes

marshmellin · 2 months ago

Text

Star and Stone, Ch. 6 | Preparations

In one swift motion, he lowered his head and kissed her. It wasn’t tentative or uncertain. She had quite literally landed in his lap, and in doing so, erased his hesitation. The soft silk of her dress felt cool as his hand slid to her hip, but he could feel the heat of her skin as he pulled her closer.

They had kissed several times by now. Tender moments under the stars. A stolen embrace in his study.

That was not this.

-> COMPLETE! F FOR FIX IT: Explicit for rare smut (🔥) between consenting partners. All other content is Mature for language and canon-typical descriptions of angst/violence. Gil-galad x female OC Sindarin elf, Occurs between the Fall of Ost-in-Edhel in Eregion and the Battle of the Last Alliance. Contains references to other Tolkien lore and the Silmarillion with author notes for full explanations.

Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I try to be as canon-compliant as possible except for the whole 'keeping Gil-galad alive part.' No beta, we die like Mirdania.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

You are here -> Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

"...and if the request from King Oropher had been handled with diplomacy instead of arrogance, perhaps we would not be questioning alliances at such a crucial hour!" Ristarion’s voice rang out, his hand slamming down on the polished table for emphasis.

Gil-galad paused just inside the door, eyes sweeping over the council. Elrond sat stone-faced, arms crossed, while Arminas leaned back casually in his chair, observing but remaining silent. The other lords and advisors around the table shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing between Ristarion and the High King.

“It seems we have already begun,” Gil-galad said as he took his place at the head of the table. “Lord Ristarion, was there a point you wished to raise?” He cocked an eyebrow.

If I have to hear about grain one more fucking time…

“The king of Greenwood feels ignored, his needs cast aside in favor of Lindon’s priorities. Your priorities,” Ristarion said, his voice tinged with implied blame.

Fantastic. We’re all going to die because I can not make crops grow in winter.

Gil-galad could feel, rather than see, the I told you so look that was blooming on Elrond’s face. But, Gil-galad had become quite accustomed to the expression, so he did not need the reminder.

“Do you suggest that the loyalty of the Sindarin realms is so fragile that a single rebuke threatens it?” he asked, his voice even, spreading his hands.

“I suggest,” Ristarion said, his tone hardening, “that you do not have their loyalty. To them, you are but another elven king among many – a high king, but not their high king.”

“And you, alone, can earn their loyalty?” Gil-galad asked, leaning back in his chair.

Ristarion snapped back, his voice rising slightly. “I can speak plainly without Noldorin pride clouding my meaning.”

Most of the lords here are Noldo, in whole or in part. His eyes flicked to Elrond, whose face all but glared his disapproval at this conversation taking place in his council hall.

So Ristarion isn’t interested in making friends here.

Ristarion pressed on. “Oropher and Amdír are hesitant. Their people whisper: when have the Noldor truly stopped the darkness? They brought this evil back.”

An angry murmur passed through the room.

Gil-galad’s gaze never wavered, but he cocked his head. “As you say, I do expect hesitation from the Sindarin realms to declare an alliance for open war.” His voice softened dangerously and steel entered his brown eyes. “The Sindar have always done well by hiding behind their walls. Until their walls fall.”

Ristarion did not miss the insult, but Gil-galad pressed on. “I recognize I ask much of them, though I am ‘but another elven king,’ but know that I do not ask it lightly.”

Ristarion’s jaw was set, his eyes ablaze. He met Gil-galad’s threat. “Is dry wit and paperwork the only blade you offer them?”

The silence that followed was heavy. Elrond scowled, his displeasure almost making his hair vibrate with anger. Arminas, his dark eyes fixed on Ristarion’s, moved his hand to rest on the hilt of the dagger at his belt—an unsubtle gesture declaring: No. Wit is not the only blade my high king offers.

Gil-galad felt a headache threatening to form behind his eyes. We are not all of us from the House of Fëanor. No bloodshed in this hall. At the very least.

Posture relaxed, his hands rested lightly on the table, his voice cold. “Your boldness is noted, Lord Ristarion. If you believe you can succeed with the Sindarian realms where others have failed, then by all means, make your overtures. But do not mistake my allowance for approval.”

Ristarion’s expression darkened, but he inclined his head. “As you command, High King. I will accomplish what must be done.”

Gil-galad’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, weighing his options. Elaniel’s suggestion to bring Aeglos to council meetings seemed more and more appealing.

Or I could let Arminas loose at the man and be done with it.

Instead of pulling out a blade, he chose a different weapon. He turned to Elrond, gesturing for the meeting to continue.

“My lords,” Elrond said, his face still flushed with anger but his tone diplomatic as he shuffled maps and stacks of reports on the polished stone surface. “Perhaps we can revisit the specifics of diplomatic efforts with Kings Oropher and Amdír in a future session.”

The rest of the meeting proceeded awkwardly, the undercurrent of tension distracting every advisor present. As the council adjourned, Ristarion lingered for a moment, his eyes cold as they met Gil-galad’s before he swept out of the room.

Gil-galad stood at the head of the long table, his broad fingers tracing the cool edge of the polished stone as he stared at the doorway where Rastarion had exited. Elrond moved around the table to stand next to him, his shoulders tense. Gil-galad acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. ”Do you think Oropher or Amdír had a hand in this? Or is Ristarion acting on his own?”

Elrond all but shrugged, expression thoughtful as he followed Gil-galad’s eyes to the door. “I do not know why he plays this game or what he gains from it, but I think he seeks to back you into a corner— whatever corner he can find. And the divisions of our kin run deep.”

Elven memories do not dim. And some wounds do not heal.

Gil-galad nodded. “And that is what troubles me most. If he undermines the fragile trust between our realms, it will not stop there. The Men who look to us will see our divisions and begin to doubt us as well.”

His eyes darkened at the thought.

Why will no one listen?

This is our only way forward.

In a place of honor in Gil-galad’s private study, near a large arched window that overlooked the palace gardens, stood a new addition: a drafting table, its smooth, wooden surface gleaming in the dying sunlight. It was new, the scent of freshly carved maple lingering in the room.

It was not a standard drafting table; it had been tailored for Elaniel. In her workshop, she had nailed a scrap piece of wood with some simple dividers as a makeshift way to keep items she used most close at hand. Now, the dividers were built into the top of the desk, each container hand-carved with patterns of stars — a much more ornate solution.

Elaniel stood before it now, her fingers lightly tracing the curved edge of the table, her eyes gleaming as she took in the drafting tools, filed in a neat row. “It is beautiful. You did not have to go to so much trouble, Ereinion,” she breathed, turning to face him.

The knot in his chest tugged again. He could not stop looking at her, at the open joy on her face as her fingers brushed lightly against the polished wood. The gratefulness in her tone, the way her cheeks burned cherry-red. The way she softly murmured his name.

He thought his heart would hammer through his chest.

“No, I did not,” Gil-galad replied, forcing his voice to stay steady. “But I found I wished to do so. For you. This is my” – our – “private study, which is” – secluded and secret – “guarded as part of my chambers. I thought I could offer” – a place for us to finally be alone together – “another space that is not so public. I decided to make this space” - good enough for you - “fitting for your craft.”

She turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “Are you suggesting my humble workshop is unfit?”

“Not unfit,” he teased, tilting his head as walked toward her, smile blooming across his face. “But perhaps…your tools have minds of their own, ilmarë. They do seem to travel...”

Elaniel laughed as he scooped up her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. “I can not be held accountable for where they wander. Perhaps they seek creative inspiration. Who am I to stop them?”

He placed a chaste kiss against her knuckles, smiling broadly as she took her seat at the desk. He walked to his own as they settled in to their late afternoon routine.

“You’ve been busy,” she said after a moment, her tone casual. “I have not seen you in over a week.”

“As have you,” he countered gently. “Elrond tells me your review of the southern watchtower’s safety protocols was meticulous.”

“It’s necessary,” she murmured without looking up from her work. “I have no intention of letting small oversights lead to larger problems.”

He nodded, his expression growing thoughtful. “Alenya has spoken highly of you as well. She mentioned how often you visit the watchtowers to speak with the workers directly.”

Elaniel smiled. “Alenya has become a friend. She convinced me to join her for sparring practice —though I suspect she was simply curious how much of a fight I’d put up.”

Gil-galad’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. “And? How did you fare?”

“I held my own,” she said with a laugh. “Barely. I know she used a light hand.”

“It pleases me that you stayed standing,” he said, a note of pride in his tone. “Though I wish I had the chance to observe you. It would only have been fair, after the last session…”

She turned her head over her shoulder to peek at him, eyes bright. “Maybe next time. I do not have armor or experience – I can not put on the same type of show that you can, morconinya.” She paused, turning back to her desk. “Yet, there are other skills I think I would fare better at. Perhaps we can learn them together.”

He felt his face heat again and he started organizing a stack of correspondence on his desk, hiding his joy at the way she said the name she made for him. Only for him. And at her implication.

If we are deciding to learn new skills….

They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire burning low in the hearth. Elaniel perched happily on a stool near the drafting table, pulling a blank sheet of parchment from a stack and smoothing it out with practiced hands. Gil-galad settled into his desk nearby, carefully picking up a quill to write a reply to a note from Anarion of Arnor.

The evening stretched on in the quiet sanctuary of the study. Surrounded by the warmth of firelight and the soft rustle of parchment, they found something rare and precious: a moment of peace.

“Do you realize what they say about you?” she asked, her tone mischievous as she spun her chair to face him.

Gil-galad paused, glancing at her with a confused expression. “Who?”

He could feel that quiet peace they had built shattering, but he found did not care. The correspondence could wait…

“Oh, everyone,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “I hear things around Lindon.” She pretended to assess him, setting her pencil down. “I confess, I do not know if all I hear is true.”

He laughed, the deep sound bouncing off the walls of the study. “And what things do you hear from everyone? That I have a tendency to chastise ambassadors? Because I assure you, that was necessary...”

Elaniel moved to the chair next to his desk, settling cross-legged on the velvet cushion, arranging her deep blue skirts on her lap. She tapped a finger to her chin in mock thought. “Mmm, nothing about that. I have heard that your hair shimmers in the darkest hours of night because the Valar granted you a gift – you can absorb the radiance of the stars. I am told this is how you received the name Gil-galad, but I confess the story does get murky from there.”

He sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair as if to shield it from scrutiny. “That is not how-- it is hair. Normal hair.”

Elaniel smiled again, her tone still teasing as she reached out to play with a few long stands that had fallen over his shoulder. “Ah-ah, I have not inspected it thoroughly and it is not yet the deep night, so I can neither confirm nor deny the claim. And anyway, why ruin the mystery? Alenya told me she overheard two soldiers debating whether your crown is enchanted to make you appear more graceful. And taller,” she added as an afterthought.

Gil-galad tilted his head, allowing her to brush her hands along his neck, sweeping the rest of his hair over his shoulder. Her fingers carded through the dark strands gently and he leaned toward her, chasing the feel of her hands without realizing it. “First starlit hair and now enchanted grace?”

“And height. According to some, yes, that is the report,” she said with mock seriousness, tucking a lock firmly behind his ear. He fought not to shudder at the touch as she traced her finger down his neck before returning to his hair. “I did not say that I endorsed these observations. I believe you come by your height honestly.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to let Círdan know I owe my ‘grace’ to him yelling at me for slouching when I was younger.” Her fingers brushed the tip of his ear again as she wound another strand around her finger and his eyes fluttered closed.

“After watching you spill a full inkpot in the workshop – all over my latest sketches and your own robes, may I add – I do not know that you should thank anyone for grace you do not have…”

“I find myself more prone to accidents around you than others, ilmarënín,” he said with an amused huff. “Though I can not imagine why I am so distracted—”

She moved fluidly, rising from her chair, and Gil-galad did not have time to register what she was doing before she was already sitting sideways in his lap. Elaniel gripped his forearms, steadying herself as her skirts cascaded across his legs, deep blue silk covering them both.

They both paused for a moment, grey eyes meeting brown. He could feel his heart pounding as he forced himself to breathe steadily, to ignore the heat starting to coil low in his stomach.

Elaniel grinned at him, her shoulders moving in a small shrug. Her cheeks were bright red, and that same lock of hair that always escaped her bun had fallen over her forehead.

And whatever thin thread of resolve he had snapped.

They had kissed several times by now. Tender moments under the stars. A stolen embrace in his study.

That was not this.

The fire cast flickering light around the room, making her eyes shine. He could feel her breath quicken as her arms wound around his shoulders, drawing herself up against him to kiss him again. Her hands tangled in his hair as she shifted her legs to bracket his thighs and now she was higher up than he was, craning down to grab his chin and tilt his head up for her. She moved like she was a wild thing finally released.

As she was, judging by the – quite pleasing – noises she made. Each time he touched her, hands roving over her back, her hips, her waist, up her sides, she moaned for him. Small, contented sounds from the back of her throat, humming into his skin. All he could focus on was learning how to make her moan again.

Elaniel had not stilled either, kissing down the column of his neck, fingers grazing his jaw. Breathing softly, she kissed his ear, nibbling gently on his earlobe before kissing her way to the tip of his ear. He rewarded her with a shuddering moan of his own, pulling her tighter against him. Her hips started to roll against him and he moaned again. He felt the tight heat in his core spread.

If I do not stop….I will not be able to stop.

To his own irritation, he pulled back first.

“It is late,” he whispered, craning back to look at her.

“I have time,” she whispered back playfully, her fingers still curled in his tunic. “And yet,” she sighed. “And yet you are right,” she whispered, planting a small kiss on his temple before untangling herself from him. He immediately missed the warm weight of her and he bit back a sigh. She let her fingers trail down his arm before calmly – how is she calm right now? – returning to her desk and picking up her pencil again.

He forced himself to pace his breathing as she tilted her head to look back at him. He was slouching in his chair with his tunic askew, hair tangled. He could tell he looked half-debauched.

Her eyes were still bright with mischief and something else. Something he had never seen in her before. “Do not become too accustomed to winning, morconinya.”

Gil-galad rode alone, the rhythmic clatter of hooves blending with the soft murmur of the river that ran alongside the path to the Grey Havens. Overhead, the cries of gulls echoed faintly. As he rounded a bend, his gaze drifted to one of the distant watchtower sites. The scaffolding looked delicate against the dense green of the forest, and he could see the builders at home with their craft. Pride swelled in him as he softly pulled his horse back to the trail. The watchtowers were beautiful, and they reminded him of her.

After following the trail up a small rise, Gil-galad entered the workshop, the familiar salt air surrounding him. The scent of cedar dust. A long table was spread with tools, curls of shaved wood littering the table.

One of the first places I found safety…

Círdan had always been a steady guide—a father in all but name. And while Gil-galad’s thoughts spun in circles, Círdan had always calmly pointed toward surefooted paths. He had a way to simplify the complex.

Círdan stood by the window, gazing out at the sea, his silver hair catching the light.

“You’re troubled, High King,” Círdan said without turning.

“I have been shattering the very alliances that I am tasked to create, unable to unify the elven realms, much less the kingdoms of Men. My political opponents are recklessly using the troubled history of Noldor and Sindar to drive division at the one time I need unity most. And because of it, we may all fall to darkness.” He paused. “Oh. And half of my days revolve around trade routes for grain.”

He heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, soft brown eyes vulnerable as he stared at the man who all but raised him. “Why would I be troubled, Círdan?”

Círdan turned, his eyes solemn but his voice light. “Anything else? Groundshakes? Invasion by the Dwarven kingdoms across the mountains? Have the Valar finally raised the sea?”

“If there is a checklist, all three are likely to be next.” Gil-galad sighed, stepping closer. He hesitated, running a hand through his dark hair. “The Sindarin elves. Or rather, Oropher and Amdír. They resist my efforts to unite us. And I…I would seek your counsel. Both as a mentor and as a leader of the Sindar. I cannot afford to lose their loyalty.”

Círdan gestured to two chairs by the window, where the sea breeze drifted through. Gil-galad obeyed, sitting heavily as his shoulders slumped, resignation in every line of his face.

Círdan studied him for a long moment. “You speak of loyalty? What does loyalty mean to you?”

The question gave Gil-galad pause. He frowned slightly. “Reliance. Confidence that they will stand with us and not abandon us when our need is greatest.”

“You speak as though you already know their choice, Erienion,” Círdan said, lowering himself into the other chair. “Have they given you cause to doubt them?”

“Not directly. But they do not hide their disdain for the Noldor. The wounds of the past run deep.”

Círdan’s expression softened. “What purpose does it serve to dwell on that past?”

“It serves to remind me why they refuse to offer me their loyalty now. They murmur that the Sindar realms will not trust a Noldo king.” Gil-galad frowned.

“Perhaps. But you can not stop being a Noldo, just as they can not stop being Sindar. Is your fight truly with them, I wonder? Who do you seek to defeat?”

Gil-galad blinked and his brow furrowed, surprised by the shift. “My fight is against Sauron.”

“Then do not make Oropher and Amdír your enemies,” Círdan said firmly, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Even if they doubt you, even if they disobey you. Your task is to stand against the Shadow. Do so, regardless of who stands with you.”

The words sank deep into Gil-galad’s chest, but he found a kernel of annoyance there. “I do not understand why they will not stand with me. I have offered them strength. Unity. Protection.”

“And still they hesitate,” Círdan said gently. “Because what you offer, they cannot yet see. The Noldor have made offers before...the Sindar remember.”

“I can not bear the sins of all the High Kings before me,” Gil-galad said quickly, irritation laced in his tone. “I have followed through on my promises. I have been true to my word in every way. What else must I do to show them I am not Fëanor?”

“You can listen,” Círdan replied simply, with a small shrug. “It is the one thing you have not yet done. Not just to Oropher or Amdír, but to those among their people who speak plainly. Elaniel, she is a Sindarin woman, yes? She seems to have a frankness about her, one shared by our kin.” Círdan’s eyes glittered.

And you know of her…..how do you know of her, old man?

I think he gossips with Ossë and Uinen through the waves.

Gil-galad smiled despite himself. “She does. Though I fear her temper and, ah, way with words can rival my own. She may not offer the most prudent political advice…and I will be tempted to take it anyway.”

“Temper can be tempered,” Círdan replied, his tone lightening. “And she seems to be learning that balance, from what Elrond has shared. Perhaps you could learn it too.”

Ah, so then nothing so poetic as Ossë and Uinen. Just gossiping with Elrond.

Of course it was Elrond…

Gil-galad’s own problematic (part) Maia.

“I think,” Círdan continued, “that she speaks to you with openness because she trusts you enough to do so. And because you have allowed her space to trust you. Perhaps it is time to offer the same space to the other elven kings.”

Gil-galad stilled, absorbing the advice. He found he often did not feel heard. Or certainly not heeded, despite carrying the burden and authority to lead.

Perhaps Oropher and Amdír felt the same.

The two sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the waves filling the space between them.

Finally, Círdan spoke again, his tone softer. “Ah, I did wish to tell you,” he smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “If you’re waiting for Ulmo himself to come out of the water and bid you to wed her, I must warn you, such sightings are extremely rare.”

Gil-galad blinked at the change in topic. "Wed her?" he repeated, as if the words themselves were in a different language. He quickly turned his gaze out toward the distant sea, as though it might offer him some escape from this conversation.

He knew it wouldn’t.

“I don’t…”

Círdan, ever calm, only raised an eyebrow. "It is written across your face, plain for all to see—though I imagine Elaniel sees more than the rest of us. Your next step is simple. So see it done.”

Still unable to meet his mentor’s eyes, Gil-galad sighed. "I care for her,” he finally admitted, his voice low. “Deeply. But the timing is…impossible. If I ask her to wed me, as I desperately wish to do, I’m unsure how to tell her to plan my funeral in the same breath. It is not simple.”

"And yet, it is simple," Círdan replied, tone unyielding. "Your heart is hers. Your choice is made. What action will you take?”

Gil-galad stared at his Círdan, his face lined with worry. “My fear is that no path I choose will…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I am unsure. What is best. For her.”

Círdan smiled, his eyes full of starlight as he clasped a hand to Gil-galad’s shoulder. “Ask her, Ereinion. Not what is best, but what she wishes. Do not choose for her. Choose with her.”

Gil-galad breathed in deeply, nodding his head. Círdan was right. Elrond was right. His heart told him it was right.

Why can I not simply allow it to happen?

With a deep inhale, Gil-galad stood. “Thank you, Círdan. As always, your words ring true. I will…consider it.”

All I ever do is consider it.

“There is one more thing…” Círdan rose swiftly, walking to his large desk in the corner. He grabbed a scrap of paper and began writing quickly. “Rúmil has some obscure collections of poetry focused quite intently on, ah, couples. I’ve written the names of some of the more tasteful volumes housed in your library. They may prove enlightening.”

Several thoughts bounced in Gil-galad’s head at once as he felt his eyebrows raise.

More tasteful volumes? There are less tasteful volumes?

Why does he know what books are in my library? Why do I not know what books are in my library?

…….are they illustrated?

“Ah.” Gil-galad kept his face impossibly still as he accepted the scrap of paper. Resisting the urge to glance at it, he tucked it into his robes as he turned to leave the workshop.

“Mae glenno, Ereinion,” Círdan called out as Gil-galad mounted his horse, his voice still tinged with amusement.

It was chaos.

Elaniel stood in the center of the village, roaring flames almost drowning out the relentless growls of approaching orcs. The air reeked of smoke and blood.

She moved through the wreckage of a crumbled wall, her face streaked with soot and resolve. A child cried out, cowering beneath a collapsed beam. Elaniel jerked around, glancing over her shoulder as the orcs closed in. Her eyes were steel as she dove toward the child, shielding their tiny form as a massive orc bore down on them both with a twisted, serrated blade.

“NO!” his voice carried, shrill and desperate against the crackling flames.

From a distance, Gil-galad reached out, but he could not reach her in time. She dissolved in front of him and he felt the world shift.

He was on a battlefield now, the ground beneath his feet littered with ash and mud and blood. He could hear the dying groans of Elves and Men around him, the grunts of orcs roving across the field to find and kill remaining survivors as dusk fell. A Man he did not recognize, but clearly a strong fighter with the bearing of a king, lay crumpled next to him. The blade of his sword was broken in pieces, the hilt falling from his hands.

A great shadow loomed over them — Sauron. His armor gleamed like blackened steel in the dying light. Something bright glowed in his hand.

Gil-galad spun Aeglos in an arc, sharp blades whirling as he aimed for a joint in the Shadow’s armor, but he was not fast enough. A gauntleted hand snatched out, gripping Gil-galad by the throat, lifting him in the air. He could not breathe as the metal seared into him, as the silver plates of his armor melted through his gambeson and into his flesh. He heard agonized screaming — the loudest death knell he had heard in over three thousand years of his existence — and wondered where it came from.

Then he realized the sound had been ripped from his own burning throat.

The world flickered, bathed in a white heat he could not escape.

—

Gil-galad woke with a sharp intake of breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. His rooms were quiet, the light of the moon barely breaking through the windows. He panted, bare chest heaving, as he sat up. Night air brushed over his fevered skin from the open window, but he barely felt it. His hand jumped instinctively to his throat, but his skin was cool and whole.

The pain of searing metal. The pain of watching Elaniel as she faced death

He could barely breathe.

Gil-galad stared at the empty space before him without seeing, his heart gripped in a fear he did not know how to name.

He did not fear pain. He did not fear death.

But he feared what he had just seen.

He rose abruptly, walking to the balcony. Through his life, he had found comfort in starlight. The stars simply were. They offered him no answers, but also asked him no questions. They gave him space to think. To examine how he felt.

Leaning against the railing, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His hands sought the cool stone as though it might ground him.

The vows of Men said “until death,” and death or divorce released them from their oaths. But the Eldar did not make oaths lightly. They wed once, and their vows were unbreakable, even beyond death. Partners would be reunited in the Undying Lands, to live together until the remaking of the world.

If they said their vows now and he were slain, Elaniel would be left alone in Middle Earth until she came to him in Valinor. They would reunite, yes, but she might spend Ages alone, parted from him in a land stained by grief and a growing darkness. The darkness he fell trying to defeat.

I cannot make her my widow before I make her my wife. I cannot.

A question came, unbidden, from a frightened corner of his mind: Could I live with her death? The image of Elaniel falling beneath the blade of an orc haunted him.

The answer came quickly, pain lancing through him: No. I cannot.

He stared up at the stars, hoping that, just this once, they would give him an answer. As his thoughts deepened, a peculiar sensation brushed against his mind. Gil-galad froze, recognizing the faint touch of another’s thoughts. It was not deliberate — elves rarely opened their minds to another without the intent to share thoughts — but ósanwe could sometimes manifest without warning.

He caught a fleeting image: The edges of the vision shimmered with the golden warmth of dreams. Elaniel was carving a simple wooden horse, her expression soft. He could not see the child for whom she crafted the toy, but the knot in his chest tugged at the sight of her.

The image faded as quickly as it had come. His eyes fluttered as he came back to the present. She is dreaming, he thought gently as he smiled. He hoped her dreams were always so peaceful. Even in her sleep she can not stop creating.

And then – finally, under the silver light of the stars – the truth of it settled over him.

Our fëa are bound.

Vows or not, they were connected. The tugging in his chest would be unbroken by time or distance or death. It would gnaw at them both until Arda was remade.

If he fell, she would feel it. If she fell, he would follow. His early resolve to protect her seemed almost laughable now.

Ah, yes, my sound strategy to keep her safely separated from me by visiting her workshop and kissing her as often as she will allow.

He turned back into the study, his eyes falling on the scattered plans and documents that spoke of war and alliances, of a future that seemed ever more dangerous. He sank into the chair, his head falling into his hands.

I am a fool.

“So, I think we have reached the point where we should discuss it,” Gil-galad said suddenly one evening, looking across the study. ‘Or, more plainly, we are well past that point.”

“Mmm?” Her eyes were still firmly glued on her paperwork.

He had not fully captured her attention. She always murmured when she did not focus – or when she was too focused.

“Elaniel?”

“Hmmm?”

He arched an eyebrow, a glint in his eyes. She looked very distracted. Beautiful. Focused on applying her formidable talents to her work.

But very distracted.

“Elaniel, I suggest we outfit the barracks with platters of cake, replaced daily.” He kept his voice steady, despite the glint of mischief in his eyes — a glint she would not notice, because she did not look up at him, as he had predicted. “Raspberry is preferred by the Lindon archers, to my understanding, though the Silvans from Greenwood will accept plain if there are no other options. The Edain have no preference as long as it is far too sweet for elvish tastes. “

“Mmm,” she murmured in absent agreement, turning from the worktable to search through a small pile of scrolls on the bench next to her.

Does she think she agreed to the cake or the archers, I wonder.

Gil-galad could not stop himself from smiling as he leaned back, appraising her. He waited patiently, studying the column of her neck, that same lock of hair that always fell out of her bun, as though a few strands had been cut too short. The curves of her body, occasionally hidden behind the leather apron she wore on her worksites, were now highlighted in firelight. The soft glow illuminated her sky-blue dress from behind and he could see the silhouette of her body.

“Elaniel,” he kept his voice as flat and uninterested as he could. “My question is relatively urgent, I find.”

She didn’t look up but moved back to her worktable, her eyes narrowing. She was flipping between two pages, confusion on her brow.

Then, as if her brain had simply needed a few more moments to catch up, she looked up from the drawings in her hand. “Did you just ask me a question about cake?”

He laughed loudly, unable to contain the joy that she caused to well up inside him. He stood from his desk and moved around it, walking toward her.

“Yes, I did.”

Elaniel’s eyes flicked to the side, her brow furrowed. “I’ve missed something. Why are you asking about cake?”

“Because you were not paying attention, and I want you to hear me very clearly the first time I tell you I love you,” he said smoothly, as if discussing the weather, as he stood in front of her.

“I thought it best, rather than risk confusion.” He lazily waved a finger back and forth in the space between his chest and hers. “The kind of confusion that is happening right now,” he huffed slightly.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he felt the tugging in his chest pull harder. He would have fallen to his knees if he was not fighting the pull.

“So, I will state it plainly, Elaniel.” He scooped up her hands. “I love you, deeply, in a way I have never loved another being. I hope you feel the same. But if you do not, I accept your choice, and we would not need to speak of it again.”

Another moment.

And then…

he waited

through

the longest pause

he had ever

experienced

in the entirety

of his already

long life.

Until Elaniel burst out laughing, tugging her hands from his to throw her arms around his shoulders. Her body melted into his as his hands settled on her hips. “You hope I feel the same? Hope?” Bright gray eyes peered up at him, her voice light. “Do you think I often let strange men lurk in my workshop claiming to seek solitude? Or to watch the stars? Or your study…” She blushed furiously.

Gil-galad had the good sense to dip his head in a bashful apology as he felt his cheeks redden at his own insecurity and hesitation. He pulled her closer, hands settling in the small of her back, pressing her against him.

“It is upsetting that you do not realize we are already in a committed relationship, Ereinion.” She narrowed her eyes in an imitation of anger as she swatted playfully at his shoulder. “And then — then! — to say you wanted to avoid confusion! By talking about archers and cake? You are the most infuriating man…”

He smiled patiently, brown eyes crinkling as he let her finish her tirade. He knew her well, and he knew how this conversation would end.

The joy was in getting there.

Elaniel ended her mock outrage in a huff. “Of course I love you,” she whispered softly, fingers playing with a long strand of his hair, smoothing it over his shoulder. “I’m saddened you had any room to question it, when I feel it so strongly,” she said, pressing her hand against his chest.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” he murmured. “If you felt it too…”

He had held himself back for so long. He had held back so much. And she…

“Oh,” she said quietly, a small smile on her lips. “I thought we might…it was clear we...Our people don’t wed in times of war…I thought we would continue as we have until we decided the time was right,” she ended awkwardly as she blushed, her cheeks turning bright red.

He blinked.

She smiled at him.

He blinked again.

Too many ideas bounced in his mind at once. He wanted to scream, to kiss her, to marry her immediately, to mutter against her lips and ask why this had taken them so long – why did this take so long? – to mourn the time he had wasted, to laugh until he cried, to throw something (most likely at himself or in a sparring ring), to pick her up and take her to his bedroom.

I am a fu–

She craned up on her toes, pulling him down by the nape of his neck, capturing his lips in a kiss, her hands fisting in his hair again.

He found he no longer cared, because they were together now.

And that was all that mattered.

--- Author's Notes:

A few notes, since I feel I threw in some context and insults between characters that don't quite hit right:

The Noldor are notorious for being Kinslayers. They killed other elves - in multiple incidents - and famous Noldo Fëanor's life could be subtitled "Elves behaving badly," or even "Fëanor, NO!"

While not all Noldo are related to Fëanor's line, if there's one thing a Noldo can and WILL do, it's fight you.

The Sindar are notorious for not liking the Noldor because of the aforementioned "they slaughtered us to steal our boats and also killed us multiple other times" situation. But they have also needed the Noldor to support them and provide protection. Which the Noldor did.

Gil-galad's quip about walls is referring to Doriath, a Sindarin realm that was protected by a magical barrier put up by a part-Maia (Elrond's momma) using a Silmaril. From Gil-galad's point of view, the Sindar used the Girdle of Melian to hide from the Shadow in safety while the Noldor and other realms fought battles and died without their support or protection.

Gil-ga-daddy is noting their tendency to hide until they are forced to fight, while firmly arguing the time to fight has come.

Círdan is a Sindar man, and had his own Sindarin realm before it was destroyed. He is one of the oldest elves, and he took in Gil-galad and his mother while their city fell. While we do not get much of his relationship with Gil-galad in the books, it would be easy to suggest their relationship is similar to Elrond and Aragorn's -- a mentor figure who took in a young man to keep him safe.

Laws and Customs of the Eldar is an in-universe document that states that two elves can marry immediately if they have "bodily union." So basically, if they had sex in this scene, they would have been married by the end of it -- and they both know this. I am working to keep this novella relatively canon-compliant, so they aren't going to have sex until they are ready to be married. (They're gonna have sexy smutty times before then, tho, don't fear).

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

You are here -> Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

#gil-galad #the rings of power #gil galad #gil galad x oc #trop fanfiction #lotr rop #gilgadaddy #star and stone #high king gil galad #Erienion Gil-galad #trop spoilers #the silmarillion #sindarin vs noldor FIGHT #laws and customs of the eldar #melian #doriath #elrond peredhel #cirdan

53 notes · View notes