#king ereinion

[earthlybeam]

Hello! can I please request elves not knowing our language well enough like innuendos or slang and getting the reader flustered by saying something double meaning ..😏😏😏 (like sleeping together spicy or not)

Apologies for the delay—I’ve been working on this in bits and pieces. I wasn’t sure which character you had in mind, so I went ahead and worked on my main three I write for. If you’d like me to focus on a different character, feel free to leave a comment or request it directly. Hope you enjoy!

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Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵 (two versions below)

(First one)

The air around you is cool, a refreshing contrast to the lingering heat of the day. You stand near the tranquil waters of the forest stream, looking out at the setting sun filtering through the trees. The serenity of Mirkwood feels almost overwhelming, the world slowed down to the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional bird call. You feel yourself relaxing—until a familiar presence at your back reminds you that this stillness is about to be broken. You hear the soft crunch of leaves beneath boots before Thranduil’s voice reaches you, smooth and unhurried. “You look worn, my guest,” he remarks, his tone soft yet authoritative, like he’s seen the fatigue in your posture from a distance. You turn to face him, the King of Mirkwood, his figure standing tall and imposing, yet there’s something unexpectedly gentle in the way he regards you. “I could make you feel so good with just a little pressure, you know,” he says, his voice low and oddly intimate, a slight, lingering pause in the air between his words. His fingers graze the bare skin of your shoulder, the touch so light it’s almost like a whisper of contact. But that small touch carries more weight than it should. You swallow, caught off guard by the sensation, a shiver running through you at the lightness of his caress. His fingers press just enough to leave a warmth lingering, a promise that extends far beyond the simplicity of his words.

“Trust me enough to let me,” he adds, and it’s almost a challenge, though not in the way you’d expect. There’s a quiet command in the suggestion, the kind of confidence that comes from a ruler who knows the power of his own allure. His words hang in the air, curling into your thoughts like a slow, intoxicating pull. You open your mouth to respond, but something in his gaze stops you. His eyes—always calculating, always observing—lock with yours, and suddenly, everything feels far more personal, far more intimate than it should be. Your heart beats faster, a fluttering in your chest that you don’t quite understand. It’s not just the offer of a bath, not really. It’s the way his fingers linger, almost imperceptibly, against your skin, as though waiting for you to make the next move, to decide what happens next. Your thoughts race, clouded by an undercurrent of something you don’t know how to define. Did he mean it the way you think he did?

Your cheeks flush, a crimson warmth spreading across your face. You try to compose yourself, to steady your breathing, but the heat of his touch refuses to fade. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze, unsure whether you should speak or remain silent. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, not from someone so regal, so commanding. And certainly not from someone who feels like an enigma wrapped in a thousand years of experience. Thranduil watches you closely, an unreadable expression passing over his features. He doesn’t comment on your flustered silence but offers you a small, almost knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours. Without saying another word, he turns and begins walking toward the hidden pathway leading deeper into the trees.

“Come,” he says softly, his voice still smooth but with a certain undertone of reassurance, as if he is guiding you rather than commanding you. You hesitate for just a moment, unsure of whether to follow, but you find your feet moving behind him almost instinctively. There’s a curiosity gnawing at you, a mix of confusion and anticipation, as you trail after him through the thickening forest. The path grows quieter the further you venture, the sound of the forest dampened by the thick canopy above. You walk in silence, the tension from before lingering in the air, until you come to a secluded stone chamber, the entrance concealed by thick vines and foliage. Thranduil steps aside to allow you to pass, his gesture graceful, yet his eyes are still focused on you—unwavering, assessing.

The room before you is bathed in a soft glow, the flickering light from several candles casting long shadows against the stone walls. In the center of the room, a large pool of water waits, steam rising from its surface. The scent of lavender and something musky fills the air, calming and inviting, a sharp contrast to the electric tension that still crackles between you. It’s only then that you realize exactly what he meant by his earlier words. The bath. The pressure. It’s not just a physical offering—it’s something more intimate, more vulnerable. Your eyes widen in realization as you glance back at him. He’s still watching you, waiting for you to come to terms with the situation. The flush on your cheeks deepens as the realization sinks in.

Thranduil’s gaze softens for a moment, though his confidence never wavers. “I find that a long day’s journey is best followed by a moment of true relaxation.” He speaks with such ease, as if this was a perfectly normal offer, but you can’t shake the underlying tension between the two of you. You stand there for a moment, at the threshold of the bath chamber, a part of you wanting to turn and walk away, to ignore the way his presence fills the room and how you suddenly feel as if you’re being held in a delicate balance. But you don’t. You step forward, drawn by a force you can’t explain, still unsure of what exactly you’ve stepped into. Thranduil’s voice breaks through your thoughts, warm and deep as ever. “Don’t worry. I will make sure the waters are to your liking.” His hands, smooth and practiced, reach for the edge of the stone basin, and you feel his gaze on you like a tangible thing, though his tone remains gentle, almost reassuring. You realize in that moment that whatever you had imagined this encounter would be, it’s nothing like what you’ve expected. It’s far more intimate, more intimate than you were prepared for, but something tells you, as his eyes flicker to you once more, that this moment—whatever it is—might be just the beginning of something far deeper than you had anticipated.

(Second one)

Thranduil’s presence surrounds you, a palpable force that draws you closer with every step you take. His steps are measured and calm, but there’s a magnetic energy in the air that leaves you feeling disoriented, as if your very thoughts are caught in a haze. You follow him instinctively, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words, which seem to echo through the space in your mind, growing louder and heavier with each passing moment. As you walk, you can feel his gaze on you, unwavering, almost predatory in its intensity. The air between you two is thick with something unspoken, a quiet tension that sets your heart to racing. You can’t seem to escape it—the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way his words weave a spell around you, drawing you deeper into his influence. “I could show you how to be truly loyal,” he says again, his voice smooth, each syllable slipping over you like a velvet caress. But this time, the weight of his words hits you differently. The phrase itself, at its core, seems simple enough. Loyalty. You’ve heard the word before, perhaps from your own lips or from those of others. It’s meant to convey trust, duty, service. But in his voice, there’s something more—a hidden layer that twists the meaning, that turns it into something else entirely.

The way he says it, so slow, so deliberate, sends a shiver down your spine. You almost feel as if the word has taken on a life of its own, as though it’s no longer about allegiance or honor, but something far more personal, far more intimate. It’s as if he’s promising you something, something you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for. His words hit you like a spark in a dry field, igniting a fire you can’t quite control. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize that his suggestion is more than just about loyalty in the sense you’ve known. It carries a weight, a pull that makes your pulse quicken, your chest tighten, and your mind start to wander down paths it shouldn’t be going. Your face flushes, the heat creeping up your neck, as you begin to wonder if he’s implying something far more sensual. Loyalty? you think to yourself. It seems innocent, but the way he said it… the way his voice lingers on each syllable—there’s a darkness to it, a quiet invitation that feels charged with promise. You’ve been around the king long enough to know that he’s not a man of simple words. Every sentence feels calculated, every glance laced with purpose. The thought of loyalty becomes something else entirely in your mind. It shifts from the idea of service to something more personal—more visceral. Your stomach tightens, a flicker of something stirring deep inside you as your thoughts race down that path. What did he mean? The heat in your cheeks intensifies, and you find yourself stumbling over your own thoughts, as though your body is reacting before your mind can make sense of it all.

His gaze never wavers, watching you closely, as though he can sense the confusion, the uncertainty, the sudden shift in your demeanor. That knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, and the flicker of something darker, more dangerous, dances in his eyes. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how his words are landing on you, and it makes your heart race even faster. He tilts his head slightly, a motion so small, so imperceptible, that it only serves to draw you in further. He’s watching you closely, his eyes scanning your face for the smallest change, for that flicker of recognition. The tension between you thickens, a quiet storm gathering on the horizon. He’s waiting, and you can feel it, the expectation hanging in the air like a breath held just out of reach.

“Would you let me?” His voice is soft, almost soothing, but there’s an undeniable edge to it. An authority that lingers in the command. The question itself, the way he asks it, is layered, rich with implications you aren’t entirely sure you’re ready to face. His words drift through the space between you, thick with that unspoken promise, and for a moment, it feels as if time itself has stopped. You can feel the weight of it, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The flush on your cheeks deepens, and you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. His presence, the way his words have wrapped themselves around your mind, has left you breathless. You’re not sure if you’re responding to the promise of loyalty in the way he means it, or if you’ve misinterpreted it entirely, your thoughts racing into dangerous territory. But Thranduil, ever the observer, sees the shift in you—the way your breath quickens, the subtle tension in your shoulders, the flush in your cheeks—and it only serves to further amuse him. He’s playing with you, testing the boundaries of your control, and you can’t help but feel as though he’s already won.

Thranduil steps closer, his presence overwhelming as the air between you seems to narrow, charged with something unspoken. His smirk deepens, a subtle curve that holds both amusement and intrigue, as though he’s unraveling every thought tumbling through your flustered mind. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that feels like silk brushing against your skin. His hand, so light yet deliberate, grazes the barest edge of your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost innocent, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through you. His gaze sharpens, watching as your lips part slightly, caught between a breath and a response you can’t seem to find. “Don’t worry.” His words are a low purr now, each one carrying a weight that presses down on you. “I’ll show you exactly how to handle it.” Your chest tightens at his phrasing, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you. He seems so certain, so effortlessly calm, while your thoughts spiral deeper into dangerous territory. The confidence in his tone, the commanding edge laced with that undercurrent of promise, leaves you unsteady on your feet. You know—you know—he means something else entirely, but the way he says it… your cheeks burn hotter, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining something far more intimate.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The sun had set, casting a gentle twilight glow over the valley of Rivendell. The golden light reflected off the rushing water that wound its way through the valley, bringing with it a sense of calm. The two of you had taken a stroll earlier, as you often did, your arm linked with Elrond’s as you walked side by side, occasionally exchanging soft words or comfortable silence. But now, the day had worn down, and you found yourselves in the quiet warmth of Elrond’s study, where the glow of the fireplace danced over the high, arched stone walls. He had been seated at his desk, reading through scrolls of ancient knowledge, but his attention shifted to you as he noticed the slight tension in your shoulders. You were curled up in a chair, your legs tucked under you, and your posture stiff. The weight of the day—of your thoughts, of your quiet anxieties—had settled on your body, making you uneasy. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Elrond’s gentle gaze swept over you. His piercing eyes softened in concern.

As the leader of Rivendell and one of the most ancient of the Elves, Elrond had seen countless expressions, heard many words, and understood much of the hearts and minds of those around him. But the slight crease of your brow, the tension in your shoulders—these things spoke to him without words, louder than any speech could convey. He stood from his desk, his movements deliberate and calm, yet there was a tenderness in the way he approached you. “Mellon nín,” he murmured, his voice low, “You carry the weight of many thoughts this evening.” He moved closer, his presence filling the space, a steady, comforting warmth. The proximity between you both—just a step away—was enough to send a quiet ripple through the air. He was a tall figure, regal in his manner, and yet now, he leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on you with both understanding and something softer.

He knelt down beside your chair, his hand resting lightly on the back of it. His fingers brushed the delicate fabric of your sleeve, the touch of his skin just enough to draw your attention to the closeness, the subtle pull between you. “You’re so tense,” Elrond said, his voice carrying an innocent sincerity, unaware of how his words might be interpreted. He leaned in slightly closer. “Shall I massage you? You’ll feel much looser under me.” The words slipped from his lips in perfect sincerity, his intent to ease your discomfort pure, but they hung in the air between you both, carrying a double meaning that left you with a quick breath. The way his gaze lingered just a moment too long made your heart skip. Elrond, for all his wisdom and centuries of experience, seemed blissfully unaware of the innuendo his words had inadvertently conjured.

Your breath hitched at his words, a flush rising to your cheeks as his innocent suggestion landed. You knew Elrond, knew how his mind worked, and yet there was something in the way he spoke to you—so direct, so matter-of-fact—that it felt a little too intimate, a little too close to the edge of something deeper. His words were innocent enough, the kind he would offer any guest in need of comfort or care, but his proximity—the warmth of his hand just behind your shoulder, the way he was bending just slightly to meet your gaze—made everything feel… different. You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat in your cheeks. The space between you both, so often a comforting familiarity, now felt charged. His deep, velvet voice, his gaze steady and soft, seemed to understand exactly where you needed to feel safe, but in that moment, his words somehow stoked the fire of your own flustered thoughts.

Trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, offering a forced smile, but the playful glint in his eye made it hard to keep your composure. “Elrond…” you began, but your voice faltered slightly, unsure whether to address his words directly or to brush it off. His brows furrowed ever so slightly in concern. “Did I say something wrong?” You hesitated, looking at him. His earnest expression was almost too much to bear. He truly did not seem to realize the effect his words were having on you. How could he, when his understanding of language was so direct, so innocent? He had always been somewhat naïve to the nuances of human interaction—those sly little jokes or innuendos that often slipped past him. “No… No, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, trying to regain your composure. “I just—wasn’t expecting it.” You laughed softly, but the flush on your skin remained.

A soft chuckle escaped him then, low and melodic, as he leaned in just a touch closer, his face now mere inches from yours. “Ah, Mellon nín, I meant only to ease your tension. I would never wish to cause you discomfort.” He reached out then, fingers gliding over the tense muscles in your shoulder, as if trying to physically soothe you. His touch was gentle, purposeful, and you couldn’t help but feel the unspoken understanding in the way he moved. Elrond was so tender, so deliberate in his every action. His closeness only amplified the heat that had begun to settle beneath your skin. “I will ease your discomfort,” he said quietly, his voice both reassuring and soft. As he leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing your ear, the innocent nature of his words took on a different edge. For all his wisdom and poise, Elrond’s understanding of the subtleties of human relationships had its limits.

Yet, in his earnestness, he seemed to have unwittingly created a moment where closeness became more than just physical, but something more intimate, something personal. Something you weren’t sure whether to welcome or to shy away from. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. His presence, his touch, had the power to disarm you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. And yet, as you looked up at him, you knew—despite the growing warmth between you both—that there was something undeniably genuine in Elrond’s actions. He was here for you, as always, whether you needed the massage he offered, or whether you needed space to clear your thoughts. Still, the tenderness in his gaze, the soft, deep sincerity that flowed through his words, left you wondering just how much of his affection was truly as innocent as it seemed.

(Second one)

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth. The high stone walls of Rivendell’s training hall stood as a testament to the skill and discipline of its people, and tonight, you were once again in Elrond’s care. You had come here to learn, to train in the ways of combat and defense, and Elrond—masterful as always—had been a patient, dedicated teacher. His lessons, though often stern, had always been delivered with a quiet kindness. Tonight, however, there was something different in the air. You could feel it, a shift. Elrond had been watching you closely as you practiced your swordplay, your form becoming more fluid, more precise with each strike. You had improved under his guidance, but this evening, it felt as if he were less focused on the formality of training and more on the connection between you both. He stood behind you now, the weight of his presence almost overwhelming, his tall figure casting a long shadow over the floor. His hands were behind his back, watching intently, but there was a certain softness to his expression. A small, approving smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed you, the practiced ease with which you handled your weapon now a point of pride.

His gaze never wavered from you, studying your movements, the subtle fluidity of your form, the grace that was slowly becoming evident. You have done well, he thought, but the satisfaction of seeing your progress only deepened the quiet hunger to see more. To guide you further. To understand you more fully. He could feel your energy—a faint tremble in your stance as your muscles burned from the exertion, the focus in your eyes that spoke of a deeper engagement than simple technique. It was a connection that went beyond instruction. His voice, when it came, was soft, measured, and tinged with a warmth he often reserved only for those who proved themselves worthy of his trust.

“You’ve been such a good student,” Elrond said, his tone low, the hint of praise lingering in the air. “I can see the effort you’ve put in. Would you like to know what happens to those who please me?” He stepped forward, his presence drawing near. The words, though they could easily be interpreted as praise for your progress, seemed to hang in the air with an almost too suggestive quality. His smile lingered just a moment too long, and the glint in his eyes—the subtle flash of something darker, more possessive—suggested there was another lesson at play.

It was as if he were offering more than just guidance. As if his approval meant something deeper. Something he had not yet said aloud, but you could feel it nonetheless. His words echoed in the stillness of the room, and for a moment, the weight of the air between you both seemed to thicken. You straightened instinctively, unsure whether to respond with gratitude for his praise or to question the meaning behind his words. Elrond had always been so careful, so precise in his speech, that the unexpectedness of his tone took you by surprise.

At first, his statement appeared innocent, almost like a mentor’s simple acknowledgment of your hard work. But the way his smile curved at the edges, the way his eyes softened with that knowing glint—suddenly, you weren’t so sure. There was an unspoken weight in his voice, a shift in his demeanor that was hard to ignore. It felt as though there was more to this than mere praise for your training. He was closer now, his presence towering over you in a way that made your breath catch. His words—were they a test? An invitation? You couldn’t tell, but the air felt charged. You knew he was a master of more than just combat and wisdom; his understanding of people, of connection, was something that had always been subtle, even hypnotic. You could feel your pulse quicken as his proximity made the room feel smaller, more intimate. What happens to those who please him?

The question lingered, and you found your own thoughts flickering—should you ask him to clarify, or did you already know? Had you somehow crossed a line without realizing it? His quiet confidence, his effortless power, made everything seem so delicate, so easy, as if he could command anything with just a look. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but there was something about him that made it difficult to hold onto your usual composure. His praise was a rare thing, and you’d always known that earning it from him was something special. But now, the edges of his words seemed to promise something more—a lesson that could very well be more personal than you’d anticipated.

The silence between you two stretched, thickening the air. Your heart pounded against your chest as his gaze never left you, an intensity in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe. His words, though seemingly innocent, were loaded with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. You felt your mind scrambling for something to say, something to break the tension, but all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your breath, growing faster with each passing moment. It happened before you could stop yourself. The words slipped from your lips, an unbidden response to his question—almost a whisper, but they were there, unmistakably. “Please you, my lord?” The moment the phrase left your mouth, you froze, feeling a rush of heat surge through your cheeks. The words had sounded so innocent, so formal in your mind, yet hearing them aloud, spoken directly to him, suddenly carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated. You hadn’t meant to say it like that, but there it was, and the immediate flush on your skin made it clear that you understood exactly how that could be taken.

Elrond’s expression didn’t falter. His lips remained curved in that knowing smile, though now, there was something in his eyes that made your pulse spike even further. He was no longer simply the patient teacher, the wise healer, the master of Rivendell’s ways. No, now there was something more, something darker, flickering just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. His voice was soft when he finally spoke, but it was laden with a layer of amusement, as if he found your slip both endearing and… intriguing. “My, my,” he said, stepping even closer, his presence now almost overwhelming. His words felt like a caress against your skin, both gentle and possessive. “It seems you’ve already understood part of the lesson, though not quite in the way I intended.”

He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing your ear, and the proximity made everything inside you tighten, an unfamiliar tension pooling in your stomach. There was no escaping the look in his eyes now, the glint that told you he knew exactly what had just happened, and the way he was savoring the moment made you realize that the balance between your training and something else entirely had shifted. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so… eager,” Elrond murmured, the faintest trace of a tease in his voice. Your heart hammered, your thoughts in disarray. You had never meant to sound… that way. But now, it seemed your slip had opened a door to something you weren’t sure you were prepared for. His proximity, the heat of his gaze, the soft, commanding tone of his voice—it all swirled together, threatening to pull you into something deeper, more complicated.

You shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond. Did you try to correct yourself, explain it away? Or did you simply accept that your slip had led you down a path you might not have been able to turn back from? The answer, it seemed, lay in the tension that still hung heavy between you both, a tension that, for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to escape. Elrond’s lips quirked slightly showing his amusement, as if he were waiting for your response, patiently observing the way your mind worked to piece together the right words, or whether you would simply… remain silent, letting the moment unfold on its own. The choice, it seemed, was yours.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The small, dimly lit meeting chamber hummed with quiet tension. The heavy wooden door closed behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling halls. A faint smell of polished wood and old parchment lingered in the air, but it did little to mask the energy that crackled between you and Gil-galad. He stood near the center of the room, his regal armor gleaming under the soft light from the high windows. Even in the stillness, his presence was undeniable. The way he stood, tall and poised, every inch the king—yet there was something about the way his eyes followed you, focused with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something about this moment felt different.

Gil-galad’s gaze remained on you, calculating, as if he was measuring more than just your physicality. He’d always been a master of reading the room, and you could sense that, just as in battle, he knew exactly what kind of challenge to present to draw out your true strength. He stepped closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor the only noise that broke the silence. “I would show you the full extent of my strength,” Gil-galad’s voice was low and controlled, but there was an undeniable edge to it—like the calm before a storm. His eyes never left yours as he continued, his words slow, deliberate. “But only if you can prove you’re worthy of it.” You blinked, momentarily stunned. Was this a challenge of combat? Or something more? There was a dangerous undertone to his words, one that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just speaking about strength in battle. You could tell. The way he phrased it, the soft command in his tone, suggested that this challenge was more than physical. It was something deeper, something rawer. A game of wills, a clash of desires, emotions, and unspoken promises. Your body tightened, and before you could stop yourself, your mind wandered—unbidden—to places it shouldn’t. You thought of him not as a warrior but as a lover, the power that surged through him in a far different context. You imagined his strength, his solid frame pinning you against the bed, his hands gripping you with that same firm intensity he used in battle. The thought hit you like a sudden wave.

You found yourself blushing—a heat flooding your face that spread rapidly through your chest. You couldn’t look away, but you couldn’t stop the surge of thoughts either. Was that the kind of strength he was speaking of? Was he daring you to enter a different kind of battle? One where his strength would take on a far more intimate form? You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. Gil-galad, ever perceptive, saw the change in you immediately. His lips curled up into the faintest of smiles, but there was no hint of mockery—only a knowing look, as if he could read your thoughts more clearly than you ever could. His gaze deepened, and for a moment, he was still—waiting, watching, allowing the silence to hang in the air between you like a taut rope ready to snap. You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as his next words came with even more weight than before, his voice dropping an octave lower, more gravelly. “You think you can match my strength in more ways than one?” he said, his words slow, testing, his breath warm against your skin as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Prove it. Show me you’re worthy.” Your heart skipped a beat, and a wave of warmth rushed over you, thick and heavy. There was no mistaking what he was implying now, no ambiguity. Gil-galad wasn’t just offering a challenge of strength, he was inviting you into something far more intimate, a space where emotions, desires, and vulnerabilities tangled together.

You could feel the tension thickening, swirling between the two of you like an unseen force. His posture was perfect, commanding, yet there was a subtle shift in him now, something just for you. His eyes never left yours, daring you, waiting for you to respond. But the only thing you could feel was the heat in your chest, your lips dry, your body both frozen and yearning. How would you respond to a challenge like that? The words were barely on your lips, but before you could speak, Gil-galad spoke again, his voice softer now, but just as heavy with meaning. “I’ve seen your strength.” His voice was almost tender now, though still laced with that underlying edge. “But now I wonder… how far you’re willing to go to prove it.” You swallowed again, your mind a whirl of confusion and desire. He was daring you. But to what end? You couldn’t even find the words to explain how his presence, his strength, and his challenge had you reeling.

The silence stretched unbearably as your thoughts churned in disarray. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you were sure Gil-galad could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the intensity of his words, the challenge in his posture—all of it was too much. You wanted to respond, to summon some clever retort or steady reply, but nothing came. You simply stood there, caught in the maelstrom of emotions and desires he had so effortlessly stirred within you. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, and he took another step closer, the faint sound of his boots on the stone floor breaking through the haze clouding your mind. Before you could retreat, his face was inches from yours, his tall frame towering over you as he leaned down slightly. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and teasing as he finally broke the silence.

“Earth to Y/N,” he said, a rare flicker of humor coloring his tone, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Are you still with us, Y/N?” The words startled you, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. His tone was playful, but the proximity, the way his voice wrapped around your name, and the sheer force of his presence made your breath hitch. You tried to respond, but your tongue felt tied, your thoughts still caught somewhere between propriety and the wicked turn your imagination had taken moments before. “I—yes, my king,” you managed, though your voice cracked slightly. The heat in your cheeks deepened as you quickly looked away, but it was impossible to escape him. He didn’t move back. If anything, he leaned even closer, his presence utterly overwhelming.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. “Because you seem… distracted.” Your eyes snapped back to his, wide and alarmed. His gaze searched yours, and there was no denying it—he knew. The faint smile that lingered on his lips told you that he’d read every thought that had crossed your mind, every inappropriate flash of imagery you’d tried so hard to suppress. “I—no, I’m not,” you stammered quickly, though you cursed yourself for how unconvincing you sounded. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone casual but his words deliberate, as if testing the weight of each one. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Because for a moment, you seemed far away. Lost in thought. Or perhaps…” He let the sentence trail off, the silence more damning than any words he could have spoken.

Your pulse raced, and your knees felt weak as his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that left no room for escape. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, testing you, or something more, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of him—his closeness, his strength, the sheer power he exuded even in such an intimate space. “I’m not distracted,” you said finally, though your voice lacked the conviction you so desperately wanted to project. He smiled then, a slow, knowing smile that sent another wave of heat through your body. “Good,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same weight it had before, but now laced with unmistakable amusement. “Because I’d hate to think my words went unheard.”

(Second one)

The air between you and Gil-galad seemed thicker than before, a charged stillness filling the dim chamber as if the very walls were listening. He stood before you, radiating a calm and calculated strength, his piercing eyes fixed on you with a weight that made your heart thunder. The subtle tilt of his head and the way his fingers rested lightly on the edge of the table spoke volumes, though his words were yet to come. There was an undeniable authority to him, but it wasn’t the kind of authority that demanded—it was the kind that commanded. “I know how to break a person,” he said at last, his voice low, steady, and smooth as molten silver. The words sent a jolt through you, not because they sounded cruel, but because of how deliberate they were—measured and intimate, like a confession meant only for your ears. “But I would much rather see you surrender willingly.”

The way he spoke made your mind falter, tripping over the multiple layers in his statement. Was he speaking of battle? Testing your defenses, your resolve? Or was this something else entirely? You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry, and the faint heat already rising in your chest now rushed through you like wildfire. Your gaze darted to the floor briefly, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes, but the moment you did, the unbidden thought crept into your mind—a thought you couldn’t unsee. Surrender. The word seemed to echo in your mind, taking on a form all its own. Your traitorous imagination painted the image with startling clarity: you, on your knees before him, your head bowed in submission, not in defeat but in something far deeper, something raw and entirely outside the bounds of propriety. The thought burned through you like a brand, and you felt a flush creep up your neck and into your cheeks. You tried to push it away, to remind yourself of who he was and who you were, but his words… they lingered. The way he had said willingly felt too intimate, too knowing, and it unraveled you further. Gil-galad, perceptive as ever, noticed the change in your posture immediately. His gaze sharpened, his lips curving into the faintest smirk—not one of mockery, but of quiet understanding. “You hesitate,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, his tone low and coaxing. He took a step closer, the movement precise and deliberate, closing the already small gap between you. “I—” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between protest and surrender, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier with meaning. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “What it means to surrender. What it would feel like.” Your heart leapt into your throat. He couldn’t possibly know what had just crossed your mind, could he? The thought was mortifying, but the way his voice dropped, the way his words lingered, made you wonder. “N-no, I wasn’t,” you stammered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “No?” he murmured, stepping even closer. His presence was overwhelming now, his height, his posture, the sheer weight of his attention all crashing down on you like a tide. He studied your expression carefully, and for a moment, you thought you saw the barest flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “Then why are you blushing?” You froze, the words catching you off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you scrambled for a response that wouldn’t further incriminate you.

“Do not lie to me,” he said, his tone soft but commanding, a gentle nudge that stripped away your defenses. “You can deny it all you wish, but I see it. The idea tempts you, doesn’t it?” The weight of his words made your knees weak, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you wondered if he would notice if you truly sank to them now. The image in your mind surged forward again, unbidden and undeniable. You, kneeling before him, surrendering not out of defeat but because of the trust and power he exuded—because of the unrelenting pull you felt toward him.

Gil-galad leaned in slightly, close enough now that you could feel the heat of him, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “There is no shame in surrender,” he murmured. “Not when it is given freely.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare up at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. The weight of his presence, his words, his gaze—it was too much. You felt like you were unraveling beneath him, but the faint, knowing smirk on his lips suggested that he wouldn’t let you fall completely. At least, not until you chose to.

[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]

[luzriels]

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

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Part: 103/?

[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

[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.

[corneliarose14]

High King Gil-galad 💛 The Golden King 👑

[earthlybeam]

Just some random headcanons i think that fit Gil-Galad (my opinion)

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Gil-galad Version below. (I will be doing more for Gil-galad and other characters)

🏵️ 𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad’s Love Language? Gil-galad’s love language is subtle and refined, weaving together acts of service, quality time, and physical touch, all rooted in his deep sense of responsibility and respect. He expresses affection with quiet dignity, preferring meaningful actions over grand, sweeping gestures. His love is steady and unwavering, deeply tied to his values and commitment. Though his emotions are not immediately visible, when he loves, his devotion is profound.

Acts of Service: As a king, Gil-galad sees his duty as a way of life. He applies this same philosophy to his relationship, viewing the well-being of his significant other as a natural extension of his duty. His acts of service are rooted in his commitment to their comfort and safety, whether it’s through shielding them from the weight of his royal responsibilities or offering them a safe refuge in a world filled with turmoil. He is not one to overtly ask for gratitude, but every action he takes for their benefit speaks volumes about the depth of his care.

Quality Time: Due to his royal obligations, time alone with his significant other is often scarce, yet when it does occur, it is cherished. Gil-galad’s love is shown through undistracted attention and shared silence. His calm, composed demeanor ensures that the time spent together is meaningful, as he is fully present in the moment. In these instances, there is no rush, no pressure—only a deep, mutual understanding that these moments are precious.

Physical Touch: Though initially reserved and cautious, Gil-galad expresses love through the gentleness of physical touch when he feels emotionally secure. His touches are tender and deliberate, never forceful or rushed. The brush of his fingers against their skin, the soft resting of his hand on their shoulder, or the quiet pressure of his lips on their forehead serve as a constant reminder of his care. When he is emotionally invested, his touch is grounding and sincere—a silent but profound declaration of his affection.

How Does Gil-galad View His Significant Other?Are they the light in their life? Best friend? Savior, etc.? Gil-galad’s view of his significant other is one of deep respect and admiration, balanced by his long-standing wariness of attaching his heart too easily. His love is not rooted in youthful infatuation or an idealized fantasy. Instead, his partner becomes the light that helps him navigate the dark complexities of his life. They are not just the person he loves—they are the only one who fully understands him, who bears witness to the weight of his crown and the soul beneath it. They provide solace and refuge, offering a reprieve from the incessant burdens of kingship. In his eyes, they are his confidante and his anchor—someone who balances the often isolated nature of his rule with warmth, offering both companionship and peace. They are the one person who doesn’t see him as simply the High King, but as the person he is outside of his royal title. His love for them is not easily displayed, but it is constant and unwavering. His significant other is his best friend, the person who understands his needs and desires without words, and the one who gives him space to be vulnerable. They are the silent strength beside him, filling the spaces left by the demands of his leadership.

How Does Gil-galad Act When Falling Out of Love? If Gil-galad were to fall out of love, it would be a slow, methodical process—one that takes place within the quiet recesses of his heart. His outward demeanor would remain unchanged for a time, as he remains dignified and courteous. However, his affection would gradually diminish, as he distances himself both emotionally and physically. His attentions would no longer be as focused; the warmth that once radiated from his actions would fade. Gil-galad’s natural reserve would make him less likely to express pain or frustration openly, and he would retreat into his royal duties, using them as a shield to avoid confrontation. If it were a mutual parting, he would handle it with grace and honor, never allowing the emotional distance to manifest in animosity or bitterness. Instead, he would remain a steadfast presence in their life, though without the intimacy that once existed. He would not give in to manipulative displays, like crocodile tears, as his moral code would guide him to act with integrity. His duty, his sense of honor, and his emotional resolve would all remain intact, even as the bond between them waned.

Would Gil-galad Do Anything for His Significant Other? Gil-galad’s love is selfless, but it is not without boundaries. He is deeply committed to his role as king, and he will never allow his personal desires or attachments to undermine his responsibility to his people or his moral code. However, within the boundaries of honor and duty, he would move mountains for his significant other. He would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and well-being, even at great personal cost, though he would never act in a way that compromised his integrity or the larger good. His love would lead him to make difficult choices and sacrifices, but always with careful consideration of the consequences. He would not be easily swayed by emotion alone, especially if it involved compromising the welfare of his people or the laws of his kingdom. His devotion is steadfast and unwavering, and while he is not easily manipulated, his love for his partner would drive him to offer everything he has—except his honor and his duty.

How Does Gil-galad Kiss? Gil-galad’s kisses are imbued with thoughtfulness and intention, never rushed or given in fleeting moments of impulsivity. Each kiss is an act of devotion, a reflection of his deep and enduring love. He approaches the act with the same care and gravity that he brings to every facet of his life, ensuring that his affection is expressed in ways that resonate with meaning and sincerity.

Forehead Kisses These are his most frequent and cherished expressions of love, carrying with them a quiet reverence. A kiss placed gently on the forehead is not just a mark of affection but a profound symbol of respect and admiration. To Gil-galad, this gesture is sacred—a way of honoring his partner’s presence in his life. It conveys protection, care, and a silent vow to always be there. These kisses often come during quiet moments, such as when his significant other is lost in thought, resting, or simply in need of reassurance. They are his way of saying, “You are safe with me,” without needing to speak a word.

Kisses on the Lips When Gil-galad kisses his significant other on the lips, the act is measured and deliberate, carrying with it the full weight of his emotions. These kisses are not fueled by fleeting passion but by a deeper connection, a profound sense of unity and trust. His lips meet theirs softly, lingering just long enough to communicate what words cannot: his unwavering love, his steadfast loyalty, and the unspoken promise that they will always have his heart. Every kiss is an affirmation of their bond, a reminder that his love is enduring and absolute.

Touch Gil-galad’s kisses are rarely given in isolation—they are always accompanied by the warmth of his touch. Whether his hand rests gently against their cheek, cradles the back of their neck, or rests lightly on their waist, his touch is a grounding force. It serves as an anchor, a way of silently telling his partner that they are cherished and valued. His touch is tender, never forceful, always respectful. It is a physical manifestation of the unshakable promise of his love and devotion. For Gil-galad, every kiss is more than an expression of affection—it is a reflection of his character and the depth of his feelings. Whether a forehead kiss offered in quiet moments of reflection, or a lingering kiss on the lips shared in the intimacy of their love, his kisses are deliberate, meaningful, and imbued with the full measure of his heart.

What’s His Favorite Part of His Significant Other?Gil-galad’s love is not rooted in superficial attraction but in the quiet, enduring qualities that his significant other embodies. He is captivated by their inner strength, the way they navigate the complexities of life with a grace that feels like a balm to his often chaotic and war-torn world. Their calm and composed demeanor, even in the face of adversity, is a source of comfort to him—a steady presence that contrasts the storm of responsibilities and burdens he must shoulder as High King. Beyond their external poise, he is deeply drawn to their mind. If they possess insight, intelligence, or a shared vision for a better Middle-earth, Gil-galad finds himself endlessly fascinated by their conversations. Whether discussing matters of state, the future of their people, or simply sharing quiet reflections, he treasures the way their thoughts resonate with his own ideals. Their wisdom and clarity are a reminder to him of the better world they strive to build together. However, it is their spirit that truly holds his heart. Their kindness, empathy, and ability to find light even in the darkest times are what he admires most. He observes how they care for others, how their actions are guided by compassion, and how their love extends not only to him but to the world around them. To Gil-galad, these qualities are rare and precious, a testament to their strength and beauty in a world that often feels unyielding. Whether they are offering a kind word to someone in need or standing firm in their convictions, their essence inspires him. To him, they are not just a source of love and companionship but a reminder of what makes life worth fighting for—a beacon of hope and goodness in a realm often overshadowed by darkness.

Is Gil-galad Protective? Yes, Gil-galad is profoundly protective of his significant other, though his protective nature is marked by quiet dignity and subtlety rather than overt or possessive displays. His concern for their safety stems not from insecurity but from a deep understanding of the fragility of life in a world constantly threatened by conflict. Gil-galad’s protection is woven into his every action, a steady and unspoken promise to shield them from harm, whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual. He ensures their safety in ways that might not always be visible—arranging trusted guards, creating a peaceful environment within the chaos of war, or subtly steering them away from potential danger. His thoughtfulness extends to their emotional well-being as well. Gil-galad understands the weight that comes with being close to someone of his station and does everything in his power to ease that burden, protecting them from the pressures of his role as High King. Though he may not always express his fears or concerns verbally, his actions speak for him. If danger arises, Gil-galad would stand unflinchingly between his significant other and any threat, even if it meant putting himself in harm’s way. He would face such challenges with calm determination, his primary focus always being their safety and peace. His protectiveness is never overbearing but instead stems from love and respect. It’s the quiet way he ensures they are always cared for, the moments he shields them from unnecessary worry, and the lengths he would go to keep them safe, even at great personal cost. His protection is a natural extension of his love—a steady, unwavering force born from his profound care and the knowledge of what it means to lose what is most precious.

How Far Will Gil-galad Go to Take Care of a Sick S/O? When his significant other falls ill, Gil-galad’s care becomes all-encompassing, driven by a deep, unwavering love. The composed High King, often burdened with the weight of his realm, would shed his regal exterior to focus entirely on their well-being. No detail would escape his notice—he would personally ensure they receive the best possible care, summoning the most skilled healers and overseeing every aspect of their treatment. Nothing would be left to chance under his watch. Time itself would feel suspended as he dedicates himself to their recovery. He would spend long hours by their side, his presence a quiet reassurance of his devotion. Whether reading softly from ancient tomes, whispering words of encouragement, or simply sitting silently with their hand in his, Gil-galad’s presence would be a constant source of comfort. He would soothe them with the steady calm of his voice, using both words and touch to ease their pain. If their condition grew serious, his priorities would shift entirely—no diplomatic duty, no royal council, no matter how pressing, would come before their care. He would remain with them, his usual stoic demeanor softened by concern, until he was certain they were out of danger. Even in the smallest gestures, his love would shine—adjusting their blankets to ensure they are warm, bringing fresh water, or placing a hand gently on their forehead to check their temperature. For Gil-galad, there is no higher calling than safeguarding their health and happiness, and he would exhaust every resource, even his own strength, to see them well again.

How Does Gil-galad Cheer His Significant Other Up? When his partner is feeling low, Gil-galad provides quiet, steadfast support, becoming a calm and grounding presence in their moment of need. He listens with unwavering patience, allowing them to speak freely, his attention wholly focused on their words. He never rushes to offer solutions but instead chooses his responses with care, his deep wisdom shining through as he offers thoughtful reassurance or gentle perspective. To lift their spirits, he might suggest a walk through Lindon’s tranquil gardens or along its serene shores, believing in the restorative power of nature’s beauty. These peaceful moments, shared in silence or with soft conversation, help ease their burdens. Additionally, Gil-galad often shows his care through small, deeply personal gestures. He might present them with wildflowers picked during his travels or a handcrafted token—simple yet heartfelt reminders of his love. His ways may be understated, but they carry the weight of his unshakable devotion, offering comfort that lingers long after the moment has passed.

How Does Gil-galad React When They Find Out Their S/O Is Dead? Gil-galad’s reaction to the death of his significant other would be one of profound, silent grief. As a king, he is no stranger to loss, but the death of his beloved would strike a blow unlike any he has ever endured. His emotional reserve and composed demeanor would prevent him from outwardly expressing raw anguish in the presence of others, but the depth of his sorrow would be unmistakable to those who know him well. In the Immediate Moment: Upon receiving the news, Gil-galad would remain stoic and composed, his features unreadable as he absorbs the weight of what has happened. He would not lash out in anger or collapse in despair; instead, he would likely dismiss himself from any company, retreating into solitude to process the enormity of his loss. His responsibilities as king would compel him to maintain control, but his mind would be awash with memories of his beloved—their voice, their smile, their touch—all now gone.

In Private Mourning: Alone, Gil-galad would allow himself the rare luxury of grief. Tears, though infrequent and hard-won, might fall in these private moments as he reflects on the love they shared. He would likely find solace in small tokens or reminders of their time together—a piece of jewelry, a note, or an object they once cherished. These would become sacred to him, fragments of a life now forever altered. He might spend long hours in quiet reflection, perhaps seeking comfort in the starlit skies of Lindon, where he feels closest to their memory.

How He Carries On: Despite the depth of his loss, Gil-galad would not falter in his duties as king. His sense of responsibility to his people would not allow him to succumb fully to despair. Outwardly, he would appear unchanged—calm, composed, and resolute—but those closest to him might notice subtle differences. His smiles would be rarer, his silences longer, and his moments of solitude more frequent. The weight of their absence would become a constant companion, a quiet ache that he bears silently.

How It Changes Him: The loss of his significant other would leave an indelible mark on Gil-galad, shaping him in ways both visible and invisible. He would likely grow even more introspective, his already solemn nature deepened by the pain of losing someone so dear. His sense of purpose as king might intensify, driven by a need to honor their memory through his actions. However, he would carry with him a lingering sorrow, a quiet reminder of the love he once held and the cost of his long years in Middle-earth. To the outside world, Gil-galad would remain the unyielding High King, but those who look closer would see a man forever changed by loss. Though he would carry on, as he always does, his beloved’s memory would remain etched into his heart, a bittersweet presence that both burdens and sustains him through the ages.

What Makes Gil-galad Worry About His S/O the Most? Gil-galad, as a king and a partner, carries an innate sense of responsibility for those he loves. His worries about his significant other stem from the deep care and protection he feels for them, as well as the unique pressures of his station. Their Safety: Gil-galad’s greatest worry is that his partner might face danger, especially in times of conflict or unrest. Having seen the toll of war and strife, he is acutely aware of how fragile life can be. The thought of them being caught in harm’s way, particularly while he is away fulfilling his royal duties, is a constant source of anxiety. While he trusts their strength and resourcefulness, he cannot help but fear the unpredictability of the world—a stray arrow, an unforeseen ambush, or an enemy too strong to evade. When apart, he often finds himself wondering if they are safe, his mind replaying worst-case scenarios he would rather not imagine. Their Emotional Well-being: As a ruler, Gil-galad understands the emotional burdens that come with responsibility and conflict. He fears that the pressures of his life might spill over into their world, placing an undue weight on their heart. He worries that they might quietly endure these struggles, not wanting to burden him further, even though he would gladly bear anything for them. His fear is not that they lack resilience but that they might carry their pain in silence, unwilling to let him see the toll it takes. He remains vigilant, watching for signs of unease, and does all he can to create a space where they feel safe enough to share their feelings.

Their Health: Distance amplifies Gil-galad’s worries. When his partner is far away from him, his anxiety over their physical well-being grows. He fears the possibility of illness or injury, imagining them enduring suffering without his presence to comfort or care for them. The idea of them in pain, unable to receive the attention and support he would willingly provide, weighs heavily on his mind. Even when they are near, he is quietly attentive to their health, watching for subtle signs of fatigue or discomfort and acting swiftly to ensure they have what they need to recover. In every worry he holds for them, his love is evident. Though he trusts their strength and independence, his protective nature and deep affection make their safety, emotional well-being, and health a constant focus in his heart and mind.

How Often Does Gil-galad Stare Lovingly at His S/O? Gil-galad’s love is most often expressed through the quiet intensity of his gaze. Though he is not one for overly verbal declarations of affection, his eyes reveal everything he feels for his significant other. He frequently finds himself watching them with silent adoration, especially in unguarded moments when they are unaware of his attention. When his partner is lost in thought, immersed in a task, or simply enjoying a quiet moment, Gil-galad’s gaze softens into something tender and reverent. He studies the curve of their smile, the way their hands move, or the way the light catches in their hair. In those moments, the weight of his responsibilities fades, and all that exists is them—a quiet reprieve from the burdens of kingship. He cherishes these opportunities to simply be present with them, as though he is committing every detail of their being to memory. His love is palpable in these stolen glances, his expression filled with a mixture of awe, devotion, and gratitude for the joy they bring to his life. During shared conversations or intimate moments, his gaze lingers, conveying the depth of his feelings even when words fail him. And though he tries to temper the intensity of his emotions, his love still shines through in those private, stolen moments when his walls fall away. For Gil-galad, staring lovingly at his significant other is not a conscious act but an inevitability—a reflection of just how deeply they’ve become a part of him.

How Does Gil-galad Impress His Significant Other? Gil-galad does not seek to impress with grand, flashy gestures or displays of wealth. Instead, he leaves a lasting impression through the quiet strength of his character and the depth of his actions. His steadfast devotion, wisdom, and unshakable honor form the foundation of his appeal. As a king, he commands respect naturally, but it is the subtle, deeply personal ways he expresses love and care that truly captivate his significant other. He leads by example, showing that his love is not just spoken but lived. Whether it’s through the thoughtful allocation of his precious time, ensuring his significant other feels seen and valued despite his many responsibilities, or through small, deeply meaningful acts of kindness, his care is evident in every detail. For instance, he might remember their favorite flower and quietly ensure it’s in bloom in the gardens, or he might set aside a moment of peace in his hectic schedule just to be with them, offering his undivided attention.

Gil-galad’s sense of integrity also plays a crucial role. His partner is drawn to the way he remains true to his principles, no matter the pressures or temptations he faces as High King. His reliability is magnetic—he is someone who can always be counted on, and his consistency in both leadership and love reassures his partner that they are cherished in every moment, even when life is tumultuous. His presence alone is enough to inspire admiration. The way he holds himself with quiet dignity, the way he listens intently, and the calm, steady way he speaks all reflect a man whose essence is rooted in purpose and love. For his significant other, Gil-galad doesn’t need to perform or try to impress. The constancy of his love, the thoughtfulness in his actions, and the balance he finds between duty and affection all make it clear how much they mean to him. To be loved by him is to know a devotion as deep and unyielding as the tides.

Extra bonus (these parts just for fun, love writing them 😈🙈)

🜲 Gil-galad has a secret sweet tooth. Despite his regal demeanor and warrior-king image, Gil-galad loves pastries, especially honey cakes. He keeps a stash of them hidden in his chambers, which he enjoys in private, away from the eyes of his court. His stoic face doesn’t give it away, but he’ll sneak a bite if no one is looking.

🜲 He talks to his horses like they’re old friends. While Gil-galad is known for his serious, dignified presence, he has a deep affection for his horses. He’ll often mutter calming words or give them encouraging pats, treating them like trusted companions rather than mere beasts of burden.

🜲 Gil-galad owns a collection of strange trinkets. Over the years, he’s accumulated odd, seemingly insignificant items from his travels—rocks from distant lands, a piece of Elven jewelry from an ancient time, a carved figurine from a faraway village. He doesn’t display them openly, but he keeps them in a hidden drawer, occasionally taking them out to remember old times.

🜲 He hums absentmindedly while thinking. When deep in thought or when planning strategies, Gil-galad has a tendency to hum softly to himself. It’s a strange habit for someone so composed, and those around him find it oddly comforting. It’s as though the hum helps him sort through his thoughts, though he rarely realizes he’s doing it.

🜲 Gil-galad has a weird attachment to a certain chair. There’s one chair in his council room that he always sits in during meetings, and no one else is allowed to use it. It’s not particularly more comfortable than any other chair, but for some reason, Gil-galad has a deep attachment to it. It’s become a running joke among his closest advisors, who often wonder if there’s any deeper significance to it.

🜲 He has a soft spot for small animals. While many Elves are known for their affinity with nature, Gil-galad has an especially soft spot for small creatures like squirrels, rabbits, and even butterflies. He might quietly watch them in the wild or stop to feed them if he’s walking alone in the woods. He finds their innocence and carefree nature oddly comforting.

🜲 Gil-galad is a hugger—but only for certain people. Despite his composed exterior, Gil-galad is surprisingly affectionate with those he considers close friends or family. When he’s had a particularly trying day, he may surprise someone with a spontaneous hug, which is rare for an Elf of his status. His hugs are warm, comforting, and a rare glimpse into the man beneath the crown

🜲 Gil-galad has a favorite childhood toy he can’t part with. Deep inside his chambers, behind a locked chest, is a small carved wooden animal—an heirloom from his youth. It’s something he’s kept hidden for centuries, a reminder of his innocence and the simplicity of life before he became the weight of a kingdom.

🜲 Gil-galad is incredibly bad at keeping a poker face when it comes to surprises. If someone pulls a prank on him, or reveals something unexpected, his face lights up with surprise immediately. It’s impossible for him to hide his emotions when something catches him off guard.

🜲 He’s the unofficial king of dad jokes. When he’s not busy ruling, Gil-galad occasionally unleashes an awkward dad joke to break the tension. His jokes are so groan-worthy that even the most serious Elves can’t help but smile—or roll their eyes. “What do you call a line of Elves? A long story.”

🜲 Gil-galad Secretly Loves Cheesy Romance Poetry and Novels Despite his stoic, kingly exterior, Gil-galad has a deeply hidden soft spot for cheesy romance poetry and novels. It all started when, during one of his long, solitary nights in Lindon, he found an old Elven book in the royal library. It was filled with over-the-top, flowery love poems that made his heart skip a beat—not because they were particularly well-written, but because they were so delightfully melodramatic. Soon enough, he was sneaking into the library late at night, his face hidden in the pages of the most absurdly romantic Elvish poetry. In fact, he has a secret stash of them hidden beneath his bed in the palace, carefully tucked between his more scholarly books. He reads them when he needs a moment of emotional escape, allowing himself to be swept up in the overly dramatic expressions of love. It’s his guilty pleasure, though he would never, ever admit it aloud. Occasionally, when a particularly sappy line gets to him, you might catch him muttering it under his breath. “My love for you is deeper than the night’s sky…” On rare occasions, he may even jot down a line or two on a scrap of parchment, intending it to be just a bit of poetic practice. But deep down, Gil-galad finds a strange comfort in those cheesy lines—they remind him that, even in a world full of war and turmoil, love can still be silly, sweet, and full of passion. And for just a little while, he lets himself enjoy the fantasy, even if only in private.

[marshmellin]

Gil-galad: can i not have one normal day? One.

Elrond: *starts inching toward the door*

Gil-galad: I'm going to teach you how to do my job so I can offload - I dunno - the burden of leadership. Why are you walking away. Elrond, stop using that excuse, you ARE somehow related to all of us and you absolutely CAN be High King of the Noldor get your half elven ass BACK here

Inspired by this hilarious Gil-ga-accurate text post from @greenleaf4stuff! Check it out! - I laugh every time!!

[daughterofthesunlands]

The screen:

Yes.

And imma stick beside him.

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Thankyou @ichabodjane for sharing this text post 🫶🏽

Part: 101/?

[fleurdemiel-145]

Gil-Galad with a braid. Look. How CUTE

Benjamin Walker knows.

He fluffin' KNOWS.

Credit : screenshots of Gil Galad are from a video made my Dandexllions on Instagram