#king ereinion

[earthlybeam]

Hellooo m’dear! I’m on a bit of a Gil-galad obsession train at the moment (to accompany my Adar obsession).

Your last post (https://www.tumblr.com/earthlybeam/770365509527027713/back-with-more) got my little Gil-obsessed brain whirring.

So, I’m now intrigued as to how Gil-galad would react to his human S/O organising him a birthday party, complete with homemade gift, and baking and decorating him a birthday cake.

If you have the time to indulge me, I would be so very grateful 😁 have a great day 🖤

I hope this is to your liking! I really enjoyed giving it a try—it’s quite lengthy! part two at bottom linked. ✨🫶❤️‍🔥 enjoy

Gil-galad would react to his human S/O organising him a birthday party, complete with homemade gift, and baking and decorating him a birthday cake.

✨👑🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 🏵️👑✨

🜲 Gil-galad’s eyes fluttered open, as the soft light of morning filtered through the high windows of his chambers. His mind, as ever, was already awake, swiftly carrying the weight of his duties, the endless concerns of the realm, and the responsibilities he bore. His eyes were accustomed to the dim light of dawn, and as he lay there, his gaze wandered towards the intricate, carved woodwork of the bedposts and the gentle sway of the curtains, moving with the breeze of the morning. But something was… different. His sharp, elven eyes immediately caught the subtle shifts in the atmosphere—the small, almost imperceptible changes in the room’s usual austere, regal arrangement. For a brief moment, his mind wandered, unsure if he was simply imagining things, a trick of the light, or perhaps an illusion born of weariness. However, the longer he lay there, the more certain he became that something had changed overnight. The walls of his room, which typically held only the quiet majesty of Noldorin craftsmanship, were now softened with unexpected touches. Soft strands of finely woven garlands—delicate as moonbeams—hung like tendrils from the high beams. Flowers, carefully arranged, were placed in vases of glass and crystal, their vibrant hues seeming to sing in the early light. Each bloom, though simple, bore the unmistakable mark of care and thoughtfulness, far removed from the elegant yet minimalist design he was used to.

🜲 There were ribbons, fine and flowing, draped in patterns that suggested more than mere decoration—they felt like a celebration of something more personal, something deeply meaningful. Every corner of the room was filled with a lightness, a warmth that was rare in these halls. It felt… inviting, a sentiment that surprised him in the midst of his endless duties. Gil-galad, ever composed, sat up slowly, his heart thudding ever so slightly faster as he took in the full scope of the transformation. His gaze moved over the familiar furnishings—the tall bookshelves, the elegant tapestries—and yet now, they seemed imbued with a kind of magic he was not accustomed to. There was something distinctly human about the decorations, something raw and genuine in the way they had been arranged. The effect was both calming and unnerving, as if something he had not expected had quietly crept into his ordered world.

🜲 He could not fathom how he had slept through this—how the transformation had occurred while he lay there, unaware, as if time itself had momentarily suspended its constant march. His brow furrowed slightly, a reflection of his mixed emotions: part astonishment, part appreciation, but with the smallest hint of trepidation. He took a deep breath, allowing the weight of the surprise to settle. For a moment, he simply looked at the room, his gaze lingering on each thoughtful detail—the careful placement of a bouquet of lilies, the shimmer of golden garlands, the faint scent of something warm that clung to the air. It was… overwhelmingly personal, a shift from the grandeur he had grown so accustomed to. He shook his head slightly, almost as if trying to dispel the feeling of vulnerability that crept into his chest. Such displays of affection were rare in the world of Elves, and yet, in the wake of all that he had endured, there was something about this… something about you that made him feel like this room was no longer just a space filled with history and duty, but something more—something alive, something for him. A small smile touched his lips, though it was fleeting, hidden behind the mask of duty he so often wore. His eyes softened as he took in the peaceful quiet of the morning. The world outside still hummed with its usual pace, but in here, in this space, everything felt different. It felt as though, for just a moment, he had been allowed to simply be.

🜲 Gil-galad rose slowly from the bed, his movements deliberate but graceful. As he stood, his gaze fell upon the room once more, his mind already racing with thoughts of what this meant. But for now, he allowed himself this quiet moment of wonder, appreciating the beauty of it, the thoughtfulness behind it—your thoughtfulness. And with that, he turned to continue his day, still wrapped in the warmth of your surprise, his heart beating a bit quicker than usual, and a quiet sense of gratitude beginning to take root.

🜲 Till Gil-galad sees an unexpected sight, now adorned with a curious trail of flowers and confetti, leading out of his room. The soft petals seemed carefully scattered, as though placed with an artist’s touch, and the confetti—bright and homemade—fluttered lightly in the breeze, glistening like tiny stars against the stone floor. His first instinct was one of curiosity, the sharp tactician in him recognizing a path, but with none of the weight of his usual duty. He began walking, his bare feet brushing the soft petals as he moved forward, following the delicate trail. Each step brought him deeper into the unknown, where only these small, vibrant touches from an unexpected source awaited him. But it wasn’t just the path that piqued his interest—it was the peculiar, carefully placed parchment that caught his eye, propped against the wall with a sense of urgency. With a smooth motion, Gil-galad knelt down and plucked the note from where it had been nestled between a bunch of flowers. The handwriting was neat and human in its delicacy, each letter carefully written with an almost artistic flair. He unfolded the note, reading the first corny clue aloud to himself in a low, amused tone: “A king of great might, a ruler of lore, You walk with grace, but what’s next in store? Follow the flowers, don’t miss the mark, The next clue’s waiting near a place very dark.”

🜲 Gil-galad paused for a moment, his brows furrowing. Very dark? Surely, this couldn’t be the next step. He looked around, but the light in the halls of Lindon was soft, diffused by the light of dawn that filtered through the windows. He glanced at the floor, noticing more of the trail of confetti and flowers, and moved onward, confident that the answer was hidden somewhere just beyond the obvious. The next clue came quickly, tucked neatly into a vase, half hidden by more flowers. Gil-galad reached out, retrieving it with practiced grace. He opened it and read aloud: “A place that’s not dark, but the hint’s in the name, The flowers will lead you, no need for shame. A place for the hearts, where secrets are kept, A garden of peace where dreams are slept!” The King smiled, a faint expression of amusement flickering over his usually impassive features. Of course. The garden—where else could it lead? It was where the great matters of the Elves were decided, where moments of peace and reflection were held. It was the perfect setting. And yet, something about the lightness of the clue—especially with its playful rhyming—brought a hint of warmth to his heart.

🜲 Gil-galad continued on, now with more purpose. The flowers, now interspersed with more confetti, made the path feel almost whimsical—an aspect of life he rarely allowed himself to indulge in. As he turned a corner, he came across another letter, placed ever-so-delicately on a side table by the window. He picked it up, enjoying the playful nature of the mystery unfolding around him. The letter read: “A step further now, but beware the twist, You’re looking for more than you might have missed. A place that’s sweet, where cakes may reside, But first, dear King, do not let your pride collide!” Gil-galad chuckled to himself softly at the playful warning. Pride, indeed. He was more than accustomed to receiving praise for his valor and wisdom, but in these moments, all of that seemed to fade into the background. The clues were teasing him in the most human way, and yet there was something deeply endearing about it. As he continued on, he moved with the ease of a leader on a mission, yet there was an undeniable lightness to his step.

🜲 The confetti seemed to grow more vibrant, the flowers more abundant, leading him onward to a new clue, this one pinned to the door of the next hallway. He approached it, reading the next part of the puzzle aloud to himself: “At last, you’re near, just one more clue, A hint for a place where laughter will brew. It’s a space filled with joy, where happiness grows, And if you don’t find it, just follow your nose!” Gil-galad raised an eyebrow. Follow my nose? The mystery deepened, but the warmth in his chest only grew. Where laughter would brew, where happiness grows… He walked further along the trail, now certain of where the path was leading: the private gardens. He had spent many quiet hours in those gardens, away from the prying eyes of his court, and though the path had grown increasingly whimsical and human in its charm, the gardens remained an Elven sanctuary. But there’s more, he thought, as he took in the riot of flowers, confetti, and joy. As he continued walking, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

🜲 And then, just as he reached the final stretch of the path, the trail began to fade into the natural beauty of Lindon’s backdrop, the sun filtering through the trees, illuminating the space with its warmth. The next moment, the final clue would reveal itself. But for now, he stood on the edge of anticipation, feeling the surge of something new—an affection, a lightheartedness he rarely allowed himself to feel—wrapped up in these playful and heartfelt moments. Finally Gil-galad stepped softly into the private gardens of Lindon, his eyes drawn immediately to the breathtaking scene before him. The usual tranquility of this hidden corner of his realm had been transformed, but not in a way that felt intrusive. The grandeur of the place, always imbued with the timeless beauty of his people, was now interwoven with something distinctly different—something heartfelt, something personal. The view of Lindon stretched endlessly before him, the lush green hills rolling towards the horizon, the faint shimmer of the distant sea catching the light of the setting sun. A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the delicate scent of flowers, mingled with the earthy scent of the trees and grass. It was the perfect backdrop, one that made this moment feel almost magical, a rare quiet peace, untouched by the usual demands of duty.

🜲 But what truly captured his attention were the decorations—his eyes tracing the path laid out before him, taking in every detail as he moved forward. Between two grand, towering trees, a large cloth banner swayed gently in the wind. The words “Happy Birthday” were painted in elegant, hand-crafted letters, each stroke a testament to care and attention. The banner was surrounded by soft, flowing ribbons, each one carefully sewn together by hand, in colors that seemed to reflect the very seasons of Lindon. Earthy greens, sky blues, and rich golds, each ribbon fluttered gently, echoing the movement of the trees and the breeze. Gil-galad’s heart softened as his gaze shifted to the garlands of fresh flowers hanging between the trees. The lavender and daisies, woven with ivy, dripped with the natural beauty of the land. The sweet perfume of the flowers mingled in the air, creating an ethereal, almost dreamlike quality that surrounded the space. It was both regal and intimate, a harmonious blend of nature and creation, and it left him momentarily still, appreciating the effort that had gone into this unexpected display.

🜲 The center of the garden was the table, a simple yet profound focal point for the celebration. The table was draped with a soft white sheet, the fabric embroidered with branches, leaves, and stars—each stitch revealing a personal touch, a quiet message of significance. It was unmistakably human in its warmth, yet it somehow felt in perfect harmony with the Elven landscape. The centerpiece of the table was a cake, unlike anything Gil-galad had ever seen. It was simple in its design, but undeniably beautiful. The layers of the cake were light and airy, the smooth cream-colored icing perfectly balanced. Gold dust, delicately scattered across the top, shimmered in the fading light, reflecting the warmth of the moment. Atop the cake, an edible crown rested—small but exquisite, a reminder of his heritage, but soft in its representation, making the gesture feel more intimate, more personal.

🜲 As he stepped closer, he noticed the confetti scattered on the table—tiny pieces of colored paper, cut in the shape of falling leaves. Each piece seemed to catch the light, twirling in the breeze, adding a touch of whimsy to the otherwise regal atmosphere. Surrounding the table were balloons, soft pastel hues, adding a sense of lightness to the space. The decorations, simple yet graceful, made the garden feel like a sacred place, a space transformed by love and care. Gil-galad’s gaze lifted to the small paper lanterns that had been carefully placed around the garden, their soft glow illuminating the area as the evening began to settle in. The light they cast was warm and inviting, filling the space with a sense of peace and intimacy. It was as if the entire garden had been bathed in soft, glowing light, and the stars above were joining in the celebration.

🜲 The contrast between the Elven grace of the landscape and the human craftsmanship of the decorations touched Gil-galad deeply. There was something about this moment that struck him profoundly—something beyond the beauty of the flowers or the cake, something that spoke to the heart. It was the personal touch that had been woven into every part of this celebration, the effort, the love, the care that had gone into creating such a moment. This wasn’t just a party—it was a celebration of him, of who he was, and of the connection between them, the Elven king and his mortal love. His heart swelled with emotion as he continued to take in the scene, and for a moment, the weight of his crown, his duties, and his responsibilities seemed to slip away, replaced by a quiet gratitude. There was no grand speech, no formalities. There was just this moment, this gift, and the love that had shaped it all.

🜲 Gil-galad paused for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath, his gaze shifting once more to the centerpiece—the cake, the lanterns, the flowers. A gentle smile tugged at his lips. There was something so deeply human about it all—so full of heart and life. It made him feel cherished, not as the High King of the Elves, but as the person he was when he stood beside the one who had created this celebration. The entire garden seemed to hum with the quiet joy of the moment, and Gil-galad closed his eyes for just a second, savoring the warmth that filled his chest.

🜲 Than as Gil-galad stood there, lost in the beauty of the scene, taking in every delicate detail, he felt a quiet presence behind him. A soft rustle, the gentle sound of feet brushing against the grass. His heart skipped a beat as the figure he had been sensing all along suddenly emerged from the shadows. Without a word, the person he loved—his human companion—stepped out from their hiding place, eyes sparkling with excitement, and with a bright smile that made his heart flutter. Gil-galad felt his breath catch in his chest, the sheer joy of the surprise. “Surprise!” they exclaimed, their voice full of warmth and joy. “Happy Birthday, Gil-galad!” Before he could even react, you rushed forward, throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace. The warmth of your touch, the scent of the flowers in your hair, and the overwhelming affection in your voice struck him to his very core. For a long moment, Gil-galad simply stood there, holding you in his arms, overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of it all.

🜲 The world around them—the beauty of the garden, the delicate ribbons fluttering in the breeze—seemed to fade away as all his focus narrowed to you. The tenderness with which you had decorated this sacred space, the love that was imbued in every detail, was a gift that touched him more deeply than any grand celebration ever could. “I…I don’t know what to say,” Gil-galad whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His chest tightened, and he pulled you a little closer, feeling his heart swell. “I never imagined…” His heart, which had once borne the weight of centuries, now felt light, lighter than it had in ages. “Thank you…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “This… this is more than I could have ever expected. I… I am touched beyond words.” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a radiant smile, and in that moment, he saw something in your eyes—pure joy, shared affection, and the unmistakable bond that tied your hearts together. “I wanted to make today special, just for you,” they said softly. “Everything here was made with love, from the decorations to the cake… and even the gift.”

🜲 Gil-galad’s eyes sparkled with admiration as they reached into you pocket, producing a small, intricately carved wooden box. The surface of the box was smooth and polished to a soft gleam, the craftsmanship clear in every curve and detail. His fingers lightly brushed the surface as he accepted the box, a deep sense of appreciation flowing through him. He knew, without needing to open it, that this gift would be something meaningful, something that held more than just the value of the material. With a quiet smile, he carefully opened the box, revealing a handmade pendant in the shape of a star. It was exquisitely crafted, a symbol of his role as the shining light for his people, but it was not just the star itself that moved him. As he lifted the pendant, he noticed that it could open, and as he did, a soft gasp left his lips.

🜲 As Inside, nestled between the delicate edges of the star, was a small picture—of you and him, together. The moment captured in that image held a thousand memories, and it made his heart ache with emotion. The two of you, side by side, in this land of elves and men, in this world of light and shadow. Tears welled in Gil-galad’s eyes as he closed the pendant, holding it tightly in his palm. His breath was shallow, as if the weight of all the love, care, and thoughtfulness that had gone into this moment had overwhelmed him entirely in a way that only someone who truly knew him, who cared deeply for him, could understand. He raised his gaze to meet yours, and in that moment, he was filled with something beyond gratitude. “You’ve given me more than I ever expected,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “More than I deserve. This is not just a birthday… this is a gift of your heart. And for that, I will never be able to thank you enough.” Gil-galad whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion. “I will treasure it forever.” He looked up at his companion, his heart full, his gaze softening as he took in the entirety of the celebration around him—the hand-painted banner, the flower garlands, the cake, the little lanterns glowing warmly in the twilight. Every detail was a reflection of his human companion’s love for him. The whole garden seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of something simple yet powerful, a love that transcended all boundaries. “You’ve… you’ve made me feel truly cherished,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “This, all of this—words cannot do it justice. You’ve created something beautiful, something beyond even what I could have hoped for.” His hand reached out, gently cupping their cheek, his thumb brushing softly across their skin. “Thank you. For making this moment so… personal. So full of heart. I do not deserve such kindness, but I will carry it with me always.”

🜲 With those words, he pulled you into his arms once more, his grip tight with a kind of quiet desperation—as if trying to hold onto this perfect moment, this expression of love so deeply felt that it brought tears to his eyes. He rested his forehead against yours, his voice soft as he whispered again, “I love you.” The tears that had threatened to fall finally did, though Gil-galad made no attempt to wipe them away. They were tears of happiness, of wonder, of a love so overwhelming that it moved him beyond words. And in that quiet, glowing garden, with the stars beginning to twinkle above, Gil-galad knew that this birthday would remain in his heart forever—as the day he was reminded of the depth of love and kindness that lay not only in his people, but in you, his beloved human companion. There was no greater gift than this—this feeling of being truly seen, truly loved, in a way that only his human companion could give him. His birthday, once just another passing day, had become a testament to the love that bound them.

Part 2 continuing from this! ✨🫶🥹❤️‍🔥

[luzriels]

BENJAMIN WALKER as HIGH KING GIL-GALAD in The Rings of Power » 1.05 "Partings"

[partfae]

Tolkien: I love all the elves equally. I don’t have favorites.

Also Tolkien: …and here’s High King Gil-galad, scion of kings, star of radiance, the noble fire, flame of hair and eye, who rules over one of the largest elven kingdoms, is the only elven king to wield a spear, is likely descended from two of the most powerful Houses, begins one of the most crucial alliances between elves and men, and successfully bears TWO elven rings of power for a time. Yeah and he clocks who Annatar is immediately and defeats Sauron so hard he loses the ability to take physical form for years. Oh and he was so famous and awesome and beloved that even the hobbits sing songs about him. Btw.

[marshmellin]

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Part: 103/?

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Royal Duties

I wrote three little one shots for the pole just in case lol so now I'm posting all three

Pairing: Gil Galad x Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning light filters through the tall windows of the grand hall, glancing off the polished stone floors and casting a warm glow over the rows of nobility gathered to witness court proceedings. You sit beside Ereinion, the high-backed throne beneath you feeling almost too formal for the mood between you and the king. Ereinion leans forward slightly, face carefully composed, yet his eyes flick over to you with the faintest glint of mischief.

As a particularly haughty lord delivers a speech about his region’s contribution to the realm, you barely manage to keep a straight face. Ereinion clears his throat softly, disguising a chuckle as he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “I don’t think there’s a single person in this hall who doesn’t already know how ‘noble’ his house is.”

The corners of your mouth twitch, and you turn to him, casting a sidelong glance. “Do you think he’d notice if we slipped out the back?”

“Not if we leave the guards with a very good excuse,” he replies smoothly, casting you a look that suggests he’s half-serious. Then, with the practiced grace of a king who’s held this position for centuries, he adjusts his expression to one of benevolent patience, looking for all the world as though he’s deeply engaged.

The lord finally finishes, and Ereinion, without missing a beat, offers him a solemn nod. “Thank you for your… continued service,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips as the lord bows himself out of the hall.

The moment he’s out of earshot, you lean toward Ereinion, unable to hold back your grin. “Shall we give him a new title? Perhaps Lord of Long-Winded Speeches?”

He bites back a laugh, the sound escaping in a soft breath. “Consider it granted. I’ll have the scribes make note of it.”

The two of you exchange a look, and for a heartbeat, you’re just Ereinion and… well, not the queen, not here under the judgmental gaze of court. Just the two of you, sharing an inside joke.

After several more interactions with various lords and advisors — all of whom seem to be vying to one-up each other — you and Ereinion finally manage a brief escape. You slip into one of the palace gardens, hidden by high walls and leafy trees, where the murmur of court life fades into a distant hum.

He grins, glancing around to make sure no one followed, then gives you a low bow, offering his hand. “My lady, might I steal a dance?”

You raise an eyebrow, taking his hand with mock formality. “I thought we’d save that for the next dreadfully dull council meeting. Just to keep them on their toes.”

“Good point,” he replies, spinning you under his arm in a quick flourish. He catches you in a mock-dramatic pose, his face so close that you can feel his breath, warm against your cheek. His eyes linger on yours, and the flirty banter fades for just a moment as he holds your gaze.

“Should we head back?” you murmur, aware that duty awaits — and that the more time you spend away from court, the more questions you’ll face.

But Ereinion only shrugs, his smile unmistakably mischievous. “Let them wonder. The king and queen deserve a moment to themselves, don’t you think?”

Ereinion’s hand is warm in yours as he spins you down the marble halls, your laughter mingling with his in the quiet, echoing corridors. The two of you move in perfect sync, each step lighter than the last. He dips you dramatically, and you stifle a laugh, whispering, “You know, this isn’t exactly dignified for the High King and Queen.”

“Good thing we’re in the far wing, then,” he replies, grinning as he pulls you upright again. “Besides, a little undignified behavior keeps things interesting.”

You can barely reply as he whirls you around, catching you just as you’re about to stumble. This side of Ereinion, so full of laughter, the sharp edge of command nowhere to be seen—it’s a rare thing, and you savor every second.

Just as he’s twirling you under his arm again, a figure appears at the end of the hall, stepping out from around a corner with raised eyebrows and a barely suppressed smile. Elrond crosses his arms, watching you both with an amused shake of his head.

“Oh, how regal,” he drawls, a glint in his eyes. “The High King and Queen, so tirelessly devoted to their duties, I see.”

You straighten, feigning the most queenly look you can manage despite the laughter bubbling up. “Elrond,” you say sweetly, “do you think I wouldn’t relegate you to writing our correspondence for Lord of Long-Winded Speeches?”

At this, Ereinion throws his head back, his laughter filling the hall. It’s deep, genuine, and utterly without restraint, echoing off the high ceilings as though he hasn’t laughed this freely in an age. Elrond stares, visibly startled, as his king—the indomitable Gil-galad, ruler of the Noldor—doubles over, still clutching your hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

You join him, feeling the tears gather in your eyes as you squeeze his hand tighter, both of you struggling to compose yourselves. Elrond looks between the two of you, his expression utterly dumbfounded.

“Truly,” Elrond finally says, “I’ve seen many things over the years, but this…” He shakes his head in mock exasperation, trying and failing to hide a grin of his own. “I’ll leave you to your… ‘royal duties,’ then.”

With a smirk, you give him a little wave. “We’ll leave you to your actual duties, Elrond. Someone’s got to keep up the kingdom’s standards, after all.”

As he walks away, muttering under his breath about “giggly rulers,” you turn to Ereinion, whose face is still lit up with laughter.

“Shall we?” he asks, still a little breathless.

You both head down the hall, still snickering quietly, leaving a thoroughly shocked Elrond behind. And as you walk hand-in-hand, you can’t help but feel that these moments—the ones stolen from duty, spent in laughter—are what make this life with him complete.

[foedhrass]

“Gil-galad was an elven king…”

The autumn colors 10 days ago were perfect for my Gil-galad cosplay, especially the cloak.

[thrillofhope]

Gil-galad was an elven king.

[ladyoflindon]

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

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

TW: Blood (from a paper cut wound)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her silly High King.

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

[galstelperion]

Therefore Idril and Tuor departed from Nan-tathren, and went southwards down the river to the sea; and they dwelt there by the mouths of Sirion, and joined their people to the company of Elwing Dior's daughter, that had fled thither but a little while before. And when the tidings came to Balar of the fall of Gondolin and the death of Turgon,

Ereinion Gil-Galad son of Fingon was named High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth.

–  The Silmarillion, Chapter 23: Of Tuor And The Fall Of Gondolin

[corneliarose14]

High King Gil-galad 💛 The Golden King 👑

[earthlybeam]

Part 2 continue reading below.

I can’t even explain how much I love writing about Gil-galad—he’s everything! He deserves nothing less than the absolute best words I can give him. This is for real Gil-galad Supremacy ✨🫶🔥❤️‍🔥

Gil-galad would react to his human S/O organising him a birthday party, complete with homemade gift, and baking and decorating him a birthday cake

Part 1 here

✨👑🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 🏵️👑✨

🜲 You step closer to him, smiling as you carefully take the pendant from his hands. Gil-galad watches you with a soft, awed expression, as though he still can’t fully grasp the depth of what you’ve done for him. His gaze is tender and full of gratitude, the pendant glimmering faintly in your hands as you reach up to place it around his neck.“Let me help you with this,” you say softly, your voice gentle, intimate, and full of warmth. Standing close to him, you carefully fasten the chain, your fingers brushing against his hair at the back of his neck. Once the star-shaped pendant is in place, it rests perfectly against his chest, catching the golden light of the setting sun.

🜲 You take a small step back to admire your work, your hands lingering lightly on his shoulders. “It suits you,” you murmur, tilting your head as you gaze up at him. “A symbol of who you are—my brightest star, my guiding light.” Gil-galad’s breath hitches at your words, and his hands instinctively come up to rest on yours, which are still on his shoulders. The tips of his long fingers lightly brush against your skin, his touch reverent. “You honor me more than I deserve, meleth-nîn,” he says, his voice unsteady yet full of emotion. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen, more loved, than I do in this moment.”

🜲 Smiling, you step closer and rise on your toes to press a soft kiss to the tip of his sensitive ear. His breath catches audibly, his hands gripping your arms a little tighter as his eyes flutter shut. You take the chance to whisper into his ear, your voice low and full of love. “You are everything, Gil-galad. Not just to your people, but to me. You’ve carried so much for so long, but today is about you. You deserve every ounce of love, joy, and peace in this world—and I’ll make sure you have it, always.” For a moment, he is utterly still, as though your words have rooted him to the spot. Then, he exhales a shaky breath, his head dipping as though to hide his face, though you can see the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes again. “Your words… your love… they are the greatest treasures I could ever receive,” he whispers.

🜲 You give him a moment to collect himself before gently taking his hand and leading him toward the table, where the cake sits waiting. As you approach, you light the candles, their flickering glow casting a warm light against the evening backdrop. The stars above Lindon now shine faintly, as if blessing the moment. You gesture for him to sit, and as he does, you begin to sing “Happy Birthday,” your voice soft and slightly playful, but filled with affection. Gil-galad watches you the entire time, his lips curving into a smile that is equal parts amusement, wonder, and pure love. When the song ends, you grin at him, leaning close to the table. “Make a wish,” you say, your tone conspiratorial, as if you’re sharing a secret. “And don’t tell me what it is, or it won’t come true.” Gil-galad chuckles softly at your words, a deep, melodic sound that fills the quiet garden. He looks at the cake, the candles flickering like tiny stars, and for a moment, his expression turns thoughtful. Then, with a soft breath, he closes his eyes and leans forward, blowing out the candles. The flames disappear, and the warm light dims for just a moment before the lanterns around the garden seem to glow a little brighter.

🜲 When he looks back at you, there is a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. “I don’t need to make a wish,” he says, his voice soft yet firm, “because everything I could ever hope for is already here—with you.” His words take your breath away, and as you sit down beside him, his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “For this, for everything. You’ve turned what was once just another day into a memory I will carry forever.” You smile up at him, your hand resting on top of his, and together, the two of you sit under the stars, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence and the light of love that fills the air around you.

(His Lil tongue 👅 playing peak a boo)

🜲 You pick up the delicate knife and begin to cut into the cake, the blade sliding effortlessly through the soft sponge layers. The gentle aroma of elderflower and honey fills the air, mingling with the sweetness of wild berries and the faint floral note of lavender. As you place the first slice on a plate and offer it to Gil-galad, his expression is one of curiosity and anticipation. “This is beautiful,” he says, marveling at the intricate design of the cake as you pass him a fork. “It’s almost a shame to eat it. You truly thought of everything, didn’t you?”

🜲 “Well,” you tease lightly, sitting beside him and picking up a fork of your own, “a king deserves a feast, doesn’t he? But you’re not just going to look at it, are you? Taste it.” Gil-galad chuckles softly, his deep voice warm and filled with affection. “How could I refuse, with you watching so intently?” He takes a small bite, his elegant movements always carrying a natural grace. The flavors seem to bloom across his senses, his expression softening as he savors the unique blend of the elderflower sponge, the silky vanilla cream, and the delicate sweetness of the berries. “This… this is extraordinary,” he says after a moment, his eyes meeting yours, filled with sincere admiration. “I’ve tasted the finest dishes crafted by the hands of Elves, but nothing has ever compared to this. You’ve captured Lindon itself in a cake, meleth-nîn. How do you do it?”

🜲 “Love and a bit of human stubbornness,” you reply with a grin, reaching for a piece of cake yourself. But as you watch him take another bite, an idea forms in your mind—a playful one. Before he can react, you hold out a small forkful of cake toward him. “Here, let me,” you say, your voice innocent, though there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes. Gil-galad raises a brow but leans in, humor sparkling in his gaze as he indulges you. He takes the offered bite from your fork, his lips brushing lightly against the metal. “You spoil me,” he murmurs with a chuckle, but as he speaks, a small smear of cream remains at the corner of his mouth. “Oh no, look what I’ve done,” you say, feigning innocence as you lean closer. Your thumb brushes the corner of his lips, as though to wipe it away—but rather than stopping there, you gently trace the cream down toward his chin, leaving a playful streak. Gil-galad blinks, caught off guard for a moment. “You missed a spot,” he says dryly, clearly aware of your antics now.

🜲 “Did I?” you say with exaggerated surprise, leaning in even closer. Before he can respond, you tilt your head and press your lips to the cream on his chin, licking it away with deliberate slowness. His sharp inhale is audible, his hands twitching slightly on the table as if unsure whether to pull you closer or simply let you carry on. “Meleth-nîn,” he says, his voice both amused and slightly strained, “you are a dangerous creature.” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. “Dangerous? I’m just making sure my cake presentation is flawless,” you reply, laughing softly.

🜲 Gil-galad shakes his head, though his laughter joins yours, low and warm. “You are impossible. A force to be reckoned with.” Despite his words, his hand comes up to rest lightly on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture of pure affection. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.” You beam at him, feeling a warm rush of affection as you reach for another forkful of cake. “I’ll let you get me back later, but for now, finish your cake,” you tease. “You still haven’t had enough to judge if it’s truly worthy of the High King.” Gil-galad leans closer, his smile softening. “Worthy? It is perfect. As is everything you do, my beloved.” His words send a pleasant shiver down your spine, but the moment is lightened as he takes another bite of cake, still smiling at you like you’re the brightest star in all the heavens. And perhaps to him, you are.

(The smile in this so cute 🥰)

🜲 As the last bite of cake is savored, you notice the subtle shift in the air. The breeze carries the faintest rustle of leaves, and the light of the star-shaped lanterns hanging from the branches above casts a soft, golden glow over the private garden. The scene feels almost magical, the backdrop of Lindon’s hills and sea stretching into the distance, touched by the silver light of evening. Gil-galad sets his plate aside, his fingers brushing yours briefly as you gather it. He studies you for a moment, his deep, blue-gray eyes filled with a mixture of affection and curiosity.

🜲 “Thank you for this,” he says, his voice low, reverent. “Not just for the celebration, but for everything. You’ve given me a moment I will cherish for all my days.” You smile warmly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Well,” you say softly, “I’m not done yet. There’s one more thing.” Standing, you gently tug him to his feet. His movements are fluid and graceful, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he allows you to guide him to the open space beneath the glowing lanterns. The soft, golden light sways with the gentle breeze, casting delicate patterns across the ground.

🜲 “What are you up to now, meleth-nîn?” he asks, his tone playful yet tender. You step closer, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders as you look up at him. “Just one dance,” you whisper. “No music, no distractions. Just us.” His expression softens, and without hesitation, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “You know the Elves of Lindon could hear even the faintest music if it were playing,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice accompanied by the warmth in his gaze. “But I find the sound of your heart far sweeter.” Your breath catches at his words, but you tilt your head and smile. “Then listen closely, because it beats just for you.”

🜲 Slowly, the two of you begin to sway together, the rhythm dictated not by music but by the natural cadence of your bodies and the love that binds you. His hands are steady on your waist, his touch light yet firm, and his movements graceful as though he were born to dance. You, by contrast, move more simply, but there is an intimacy in how you follow his lead, in how you fit together so seamlessly. The lanterns above sway gently in the breeze, casting fleeting light across his face. You catch glimpses of the way his features soften—his eyes fixed only on you, his lips curling into the faintest smile. You feel his warmth, his steady presence grounding you, even as your heart seems to soar.

🜲 Neither of you speaks for a long moment. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the distant crashing of waves far below. The stars above seem to shine brighter, as though bearing witness to this quiet, sacred moment between the two of you. When Gil-galad finally breaks the silence, his voice is hushed, like a prayer meant only for you. “Do you know what you mean to me?” he asks. “You’ve not only shared my days, meleth-nîn—you’ve brightened them, filled them with joy I never thought I would feel again. You are my light in this world.”

🜲 His words make your chest tighten, your emotions catching you off guard. You lean closer, pressing your forehead against his, letting your eyes flutter shut as you whisper, “And you are mine. My anchor, my star. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, with you.” The dance slows further, your movements becoming almost still as you simply hold onto each other. It is as if time itself has stopped, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, fleeting moment.

🜲 And then, as if the stars themselves wish to honor the High King’s birthday, a single firework blooms in the sky. The sound is distant but sharp, the explosion unfurling into a cascade of brilliant colors—silver and gold that rain down like stars upon the backdrop of Lindon. You both stop, turning slightly to look up, but neither of you lets go. The firework lights Gil-galad’s face, and you can see the soft wonder in his expression as his gaze shifts back to you. Without a word, he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and lowers his lips to yours.

🜲 The kiss is slow, tender, and filled with every ounce of love and devotion he has for you. His lips are warm and soft, lingering as though he wishes to pour all the unspoken words of his heart into this one gesture. You kiss him back with equal tenderness, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair as the distant firework fades, leaving only the warmth of each other. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice is a whisper. “I wished for you long ago, though I thought it impossible. Yet here you are, my heart’s greatest treasure.” You smile, your own voice catching as you reply, “And you are mine, for as long as you’ll have me.” Gil-galad chuckles softly, his arms tightening around you. “Forever, meleth-nîn. Forever and beyond.”

[havenotwillnotreadthebooks]

Hey so I finally figured out why I like Gil-Galad and Elrond’s fanon-supported relationship.

It’s the possessive adjective.

When Elrond says “my king” and emphasizes the point of Gil-Galad being both his friend, yes, but also his king, it’s a claim.

Elrond claims Gil-Galad the same way he claims Imladris.

This is my city to look after and take care of. I want it to flourish and stay safe.

This is my king to look after and take care of. I want him to flourish and be safe.

It’s the same principle. Elrond claims Gil-Galad the way he claims Imladris. He’s willing to let go when it’s time, but it’ll be painful. He wants to take care of his king, and makes sure he does well, that he is well. Elrond claims Gil-Galad the way someone claims a garden. This is mine, and i’m going to take care of it (him).

Not mine as in “this belongs to me” but mine as in “this is mine to take care of and I will.”

[group-dynamic]

Bartender: Hey, man, how's it going?

Me: Yeah, you know, it's good. Just thinking about how Gil Galad's kingship was haunted by Elrond. Like his first great failure after being crowned when he'd barely come of age was showing up too late to stop the destruction of Sirion. How he probably felt a deep personal responsibility to find Elwing's missing boys at least but couldn't even do that. Like, I know he probably got redirected by Cirdan toward all those refugees and stuff, but he probably really wanted a win, especially because he was kinda orphaned by then himself and knew how cruel fate was to the sons of greater destiny. Like all his family who'd been king before him died, like, horrifically? And then when Elrond returns all fine and he comes to Lindon and he's chosen the fate of the elves, Gil Galad's physically haunted by him again. See, but this time he chooses to be haunted by Elrond. Because I think he wants to fix what he sees as his first great failure by restoring a bright future for this kid which was robbed from him when Sirion fell--and it's probably like he wants better for him than what he got, too, because he got this kingship in exile thrust upon him when all he was doing was hanging out with Cirdan making ships or something with the other non-combatants and refugees like he and his mother who were fleeing war and violence and he was like fourth in line to the throne so he probably found out in one fell swoop that all his family's dead and oh, you're king and your destiny's out of your hands. So he's like, I'll make Elrond herald and give him all the experience and guidance on this leadership stuff I never got while also giving him better control of what kind of future he has. Then--get this--he never even marries or has kids and when his reign is coming to an end. . . Which, by the way, he probably foresaw his own death which is fucked-- because he gives Elrond his ring before the war of the last alliance, metaphorically making him his heir and also giving him the opportunity to shape his future. . .Yeah, yeah, cause Elrond wouldn't have been considered suitable to be a lord or a king or anything after he was raised by wolves the sons of Feanor. So when Gil made him herald it was like helping him gain political experience and any status he lost. So anyway, then Gil Galad dies, but in some ways he's spent a greater part of his life dedicated to the act of restoring Elrond to the path he should have been on in an alternate reality where he was raised as Earendil and Elwing's son and like correcting that first failure--but also changing Elrond's fate because Elrond has the ring, like, he literally has Gil Galad's legacy and power in his hands, something he wouldn't have had (or needed?) before. But he decides he won't be king. He'll use that power to guard the place that fulfills the legacies of both him and Gil Galad. He's rebuilt the home he lost, something Gil Galad was trying to give him, and then he makes it a place for all the orphans and the wounded and the refugees--like he even fosters a bunch of future orphan kings and like--

Bartender: Like the ending of Hamilton?

Me: *mumbling into my empty glass* Yeah, exactly like the ending of Hamilton.

[marshmellin]

I'm hearing discourse....with folks expressing they are unclear why the Gil-ga-girlies (gn) are so obsessed. Does this

Help answer

Your questions?

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Thankyou @ichabodjane for sharing this text post 🫶🏽

Part: 101/?