#lord elrond

[earthlybeam]

Could I request how Glorfindel, Celebrimbor, and Elrond would react to a reader who had magical healing powers kind of like Rapunzel on Tangled? Sorry if this one sounds too weird. Thank you!

How would Glorfindel, Celebrimbor, and Elrond react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

The battle had raged for hours under a darkened sky, the sun hidden behind clouds thick with smoke and ash. Glorfindel had been at the forefront, leading his warriors with a brilliance that seemed to defy the shadow encroaching upon the land. His golden hair, shining even amidst the chaos, was a beacon of hope to those who fought beside him and a target for the foul creatures of darkness. The enemy had come in waves—hordes of orcs, snarling wargs, and even a towering beast that seemed to echo the malice of the ancient balrogs. Glorfindel faced them with unmatched courage, his sword flashing like a streak of sunlight cutting through the gloom. He moved with a grace and precision that belied the sheer brutality of the battle, each swing of his blade felling multiple foes.

He had drawn the attention of the monstrous beast early on—a hulking creature of shadow and flame, its body riddled with jagged spikes and its eyes burning like molten coals. The creature had been relentless, its roars shaking the battlefield as it charged toward Glorfindel. He had stood his ground, the fire in his heart matching the fire in the beast’s eyes. “Hold the line!” Glorfindel had called to his warriors, his voice carrying above the din of clashing steel and dying cries. “Do not falter! Do not fear!” His words had steeled their resolve, but the monster was a foe unlike any other. As it bore down on him, Glorfindel met it head-on, his sword cutting into its hide with precision. Yet for every wound he dealt, the beast retaliated with savage ferocity. Its claws raked the ground, sending up sprays of dirt and rock. Its tail lashed out like a whip, and Glorfindel barely managed to evade the blow, his reflexes saving him from a potentially fatal strike.

The battle between the two was a dance of light and shadow, strength against strength. Glorfindel drove his blade into the creature’s flank, and it howled in pain, but not before its massive arm swung down with devastating force. The blow sent Glorfindel hurtling backward, his armor denting as he crashed into the ground. He rose quickly, ignoring the sharp pain that radiated through his ribs, and charged again, his blade singing as it cleaved through the air. Finally, with one well-placed strike, Glorfindel severed one of the creature’s arms, its blackened blood spilling onto the scorched earth. The beast screamed in fury, thrashing wildly, but Glorfindel pressed his advantage. He leapt onto its back, driving his sword deep into the base of its neck. The creature convulsed, its death throes shaking the ground, but not before it retaliated with a final, desperate strike. Its clawed hand came down, raking across Glorfindel’s side. The jagged talons tore through his armor and flesh, leaving a gaping wound just above his ribs. The force of the blow flung him off the beast, and he landed hard against a jagged boulder.

Dazed and bleeding, Glorfindel barely registered the monstrous creature collapsing in its death throes, its fiery light flickering out. Around him, his warriors rallied, inspired by his victory over the beast, but Glorfindel himself could no longer rise. He slumped against the boulder, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment. The pain in his side was sharp and unrelenting, blood pouring from the wound in a steady stream. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading to shadow. He had given everything to ensure his people’s victory, but now he felt the cold grip of death closing in. As his breathing grew shallow, his thoughts turned to you. He did not know why—perhaps it was the comfort of your voice, your light, or the way you had always reminded him of hope. He clung to that thought as darkness began to claim him, the sounds of the battlefield growing distant. Unbeknownst to him, you were already searching for him, your heart aching with a desperate urgency as you moved through the wreckage of the battlefield. And though Glorfindel’s strength waned, a flicker of hope remained, faint as a dying ember, but enough to hold on just a little longer.

The battlefield was a grim expanse of ruin. The ground, scorched and blackened, bore the remains of the fierce battle: shattered swords, broken shields, and the lifeless forms of orcs sprawled in grotesque piles. Smoke curled into the dusky sky, carrying with it the acrid stench of death. You staggered through the devastation, heart pounding, eyes scanning desperately for the one you sought. Glorfindel. Where was he? Your breath caught when you finally saw him—a golden light dimmed amidst the carnage. He was slumped against a jagged boulder, his once-radiant hair now matted with blood and dirt. His golden armor, dented and smeared with ash, bore the marks of a fierce battle. But it was the wound above his ribs, a jagged, gaping tear, that seized your heart in terror. Blood poured from it in rhythmic waves, pooling at his side. “Glorfindel!” you cried, your voice cracking with desperation as you rushed toward him. Your heart thundered in your chest, each step heavier than the last, the battlefield stretching before you like an unforgiving sea of carnage. You stumbled, tripping over the debris scattered across the ground, but nothing could stop you from reaching him. When your eyes found his bloodied form, crumpled against the jagged boulder, a wave of terror hit you like a physical blow. He stirred faintly at your voice, his golden hair matted with blood, and his face—once filled with a strength that could command armies—was now pale and drawn, a shadow of its usual brilliance. The vibrant blue of his gaze, so often like the clearest sky, was now clouded and dull, a reflection of the anguish he bore.

“Glorfindel…” you whispered again, your voice barely a breath, as you knelt beside him. He blinked, as though struggling to focus on you, the pain written clearly across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, a ragged whisper, “You… shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.” You felt your heart break at his words, the finality in his tone. But there was no hesitation in you, no thought of leaving him to the cold embrace of death. “I’m not leaving you,” you replied fiercely, your voice stronger than you felt, a stubborn defiance that surged within you like a lifeline. You dropped to your knees beside him, hands trembling as you reached for him, desperate to touch him, to feel his warmth. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling in irregular intervals. Every shallow intake of air seemed to cost him more than the last. Blood, dark and thick, soaked his side where the wound had torn through his armor. His once-mighty sword lay shattered at his side, a grim reminder of the battle that had almost claimed him. You saw the faint twitch of his hand, weak and uncoordinated, reaching out as though he still wished to protect himself, to rise against whatever enemy threatened him. But the motion was feeble, his strength draining away with every passing second. Your fingers trembled as you reached for his bloodied cheek, brushing away a streak of crimson, your heart breaking as you felt the coldness of his skin beneath your touch. “Hold on, Glorfindel,” you whispered urgently, a desperate plea buried in the words, though it was more of a promise. “I’ll fix this. I’ll save you.”

His lips parted, perhaps to protest, to tell you again that it was hopeless, but no words came. His chest heaved with effort, the blood pooling at his side staining the ground beneath him. His body seemed to sag further against the boulder, his strength crumbling like the very battlefield that surrounded him. A deep, suffocating fear gripped your chest. The thought of losing him here, in this moment, was unbearable. You couldn’t lose him—not like this. Not after everything he had fought for, not after all the sacrifices made. You could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on you, the cries of fallen warriors, the distant rumble of the still-unfolding war, but in that moment, there was only him—his pain, his breath, the stillness between you both. You leaned closer, your heart thundering as you pressed your forehead gently against his. His breath was shallow, but it was steady—barely. And you held onto that, onto him, with everything you had.

A fierce resolve overtook you. The battle raged on around you, the cries of the wounded and the clash of weapons filling the air, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was him. You glanced around the battlefield in desperation, searching for anything that might help him, but the wreckage was overwhelming. Nothing was within reach. Medical supplies were too far away, and time—time was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, each second slipping further away, each breath of his weaker than the last. There was only one choice left. It was the only thing you could do now—the only thing you had ever heard whispered in the stories. Your gift. The light you carried within you, the power that was both a blessing and a burden. You had never dared to use it like this, not in such dire circumstances, but you could feel its stirring deep within your chest, as though it knew what was at stake.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for a strand of your own hair. Your hair, a deep shade of midnight black with glints of silver that seemed to shimmer faintly even in the dull light of the battlefield. It felt as though it remembered the light of a time long past, a time before darkness had settled across the lands. As you pulled a section free, the strands seemed to catch the light, glistening like threads of the stars themselves. Without hesitation, you pressed it to his wound. The blood soaked into your hair immediately, dark crimson staining the silvery strands, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t care. Nothing mattered except saving him, pulling him back from the brink of death. Your fingers trembled, but you held steady, gathering your strength as you closed your eyes. The song came to you unbidden, a melody you had known since childhood, a song of old magic, of healing, of the light that flowed from you.

“Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.”

The words spilled from your lips, soft at first, trembling with uncertainty, but as you sang, something inside you shifted. The more you poured your heart into it, the clearer the melody became. It rose in strength and clarity, echoing across the battlefield, cutting through the heavy silence that hung over the scene like a fog. The song was a lifeline. A cry for him, for life, for hope. The air seemed to shimmer with the power of your voice, wrapping itself around Glorfindel, pulling him back from the abyss. His head lolled weakly to the side, his breath shallow and faint. His eyes fluttered closed once more, the exhaustion and pain too much for him to bear. Yet, as your song reached him, the warmth of it washed over him, pulling him back from the edge of darkness. His breath steadied, his pulse slowing, and for a fleeting moment, there was peace in the chaotic world around him.

The light from your hair, soft at first, began to grow brighter, blooming with a life of its own. It pulsed with a rhythm, an ancient pulse, as though the light was drawing from deep within you, from the heart of the very stars themselves. The golden glow wrapped around his wound, weaving itself into the jagged tear in his side. It was as though the very fibers of his flesh were being gently coaxed back into place. Slowly, the wound began to knit itself together. The ragged edges smoothed, and the deep crimson of the blood was replaced with the warmth of the light. The death that had clung to him—dark, cold, and relentless—was slowly driven away, as if it could not stand in the face of your song. With every note that left your lips, every surge of light that pulsed through him, the wound healed, the life returning to his body, stitch by stitch. The terror that had consumed you ebbed away, replaced by the fragile hope that perhaps you could save him—perhaps you could pull him back from the brink of the grave.

Glorfindel stirred at the sound of your voice, a soft, pained groan escaping his lips. His chest heaved with each shallow breath, and for a moment, his face twisted in agony. But then, as your song continued, the warmth of the light you had summoned wrapped around him, a gentle but persistent force that seemed to slow the chaos inside his body. The erratic rise and fall of his chest steadied, his breathing less labored, as though the very air around him had begun to ease his suffering. His eyes, clouded and distant moments before, fluttered open once again. The piercing blue of his gaze, which had once been full of life and fire, was now dimmed by pain, but still they sought you out. There was something in the way he looked at you—something both desperate and filled with awe—that made your heart tighten.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, he saw you. Your hair, still glowing with the light of your magic, shimmered like liquid gold in the darkness of the battlefield. The light seemed to emanate from you, pulsing gently like the heartbeat of the world itself. It reminded him of the stars, of the Trees, of a time long past, a time when the world had been whole, when the light had been pure and undivided. “This light…” His voice, though hoarse and weakened, was filled with reverence. “It is the light of the Trees… the same as the stars. It feels… like home.” His words barely reached you at first, but the weight of them settled over you like a mantle, heavy with meaning. He was not simply speaking of what you had done, but of something much larger—something ancient and eternal, a connection between the two of you that stretched beyond this moment, beyond this battle. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. Your tears, which had been threatening to spill from the moment you’d seen him lying there broken and bloodied, finally fell freely down your cheeks. You didn’t wipe them away. Instead, you allowed them to fall, as if they could wash away the fear and pain that had consumed you.

What you saw when you looked at him made your heart race. Color had returned to his cheeks. His breathing was steady now, the horrible wound that had once bled so freely was no longer spilling blood, its jagged edges sealed by the light that still radiated from you. The warmth of his skin had returned, and his pulse was strong under your hand. He was alive, and he was whole again, thanks to you. His trembling hand, weak but determined, lifted from the ground. It hovered for a moment, and then he reached toward you. His fingers brushed against your hair, still glowing as though the sun had found its way into the night. His touch was light, reverent, as if he feared disturbing the miracle that was unfolding between you. “You are a miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a tremor in his voice that betrayed the depth of his gratitude. “A gift to this world… and to me.” The words hung between you, and in them, you could feel the weight of his admiration, his awe. His gaze locked onto yours, unshakable in its depth. There was no fear in his eyes now, no uncertainty. Only gratitude, and something else—something far more vulnerable.

“I owe you my life.” You shook your head, a smile spreading across your tear-streaked face, but there was no joy in it. Only the release of tension, the knowing that you had saved him, and the overwhelming relief that washed over you. “You owe me nothing, Glorfindel,” you murmured softly, your voice barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the moment. “Just… stay with me. That’s all I ask.” His chest rose and fell, and his breathing, still labored but much more controlled, slowed further as his hand found yours. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness that had once lingered in his skin. He covered your hand with his, the tremble in his fingers a reminder of the battle he had fought, the battle he had almost lost. But now, as he looked at you, he seemed resolute, as though this bond between you, forged in the fire of near-death, was unbreakable. “I will,” he promised, his voice soft but steady, despite the lingering exhaustion in his voice. “I will stay, for as long as I can, beside you.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a vow. You felt the truth in them, deep within your soul. He would stay, not just because of what you had done for him, but because of the connection between you, the bond that had formed in this moment. And as you looked around, the battlefield—the carnage, the horror, the screams that still echoed in the distance—faded into the background. It didn’t matter anymore. It was just the two of you now, amidst the wreckage of the world, and the light that still pulsed gently from you, wrapping around you both like a shield. In that moment, time seemed to stretch. There was no past, no future—only the present. The light between you both, and the feeling that, somehow, something far greater than a battle had been won here. It was a bond that transcended the world of the living, a connection forged in the light of the stars, in the shared breath of survival. And no matter what came next, that bond would remain, as enduring as the light of the stars themselves.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The forge was a living entity, its heat and rhythm pulsing in the very air, the crackling fire and the sound of ringing metal filling the stone chambers of Eregion’s smithy. Celebrimbor, ever the perfectionist, stood at his anvil, sweat beading on his brow, his brow furrowed in concentration. The mithril before him glowed a fierce white as he hammered it with steady force, shaping it into the intricate design he had envisioned for days. His movements were fluid, practiced—each strike of the hammer precise, each moment more focused than the last. The world around him seemed to fade as the forge consumed his attention entirely. His thoughts, too, were consumed by the work before him; every detail needed to be just right, every line, every curve of the metal as flawless as the vision he held in his mind. The flames swirled around the smithy, lighting the air with a fierce heat, but it did not bother him. His long years of crafting had trained him to ignore the burn of the forge. His hands, though slightly trembling from the intensity of his work, never faltered. There was no room for weakness. Yet, in his single-minded dedication, he failed to notice the dangerous proximity of the sharp edge of the mithril. It had been a fleeting moment—a miscalculation too small for anyone but the sharpest eye to catch—but it was enough.

As he brought the hammer down one more time, the edge of the glowing metal slipped beneath his forearm, cutting through the skin with a clean slice. For a heartbeat, there was no reaction. No pain, just the realization that the strike had missed its mark. He continued on, moving to adjust the metal, only when the sting began to spread did he finally look down. Blood, bright and stark against the white of the mithril, seeped from the wound, dripping onto the stone floor in slow, steady drops. The sharp pain was almost secondary to the shock that washed over him. It was not the injury that had him concerned, but the feeling of weakness that it brought with it. He grimaced as he lifted his arm, glancing at the cut. It was deep—perhaps too deep to ignore—and yet, he had no time for such things. His mind immediately returned to the work before him, that insatiable desire to finish what he had started, to craft something of worth.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered to himself, the words coming out like a practiced mantra. “Truly, nothing.” His voice, steady but tinged with a faint annoyance, seemed more to reassure himself than anyone else. He wiped the blood from his arm with a slow, deliberate motion, as though he were removing an insignificant speck from his sleeve. But the flow did not stop. The blood continued to pour from the wound, soaking his sleeve, dripping onto the floor in a pool of red. The work needed to be finished, that was all he could think. Yet, with every passing moment, his strength seemed to drain away, the world around him becoming distant and faint. His fingers began to shake slightly, his grip on the hammer faltering. There was no denying it—he was weakening. But it didn’t matter. Not now. The sound of the hammer striking the metal slowed, the clangs growing more muted in his ears. His eyes clouded for a moment, the sharp sting of dizziness creeping in at the edges of his vision. He glanced at his arm once more. Blood still seeped, darkening the stone beneath him. It was then that he heard the door open behind him. Footsteps approached rapidly, the sound of your voice breaking through the fog in his mind.

But there was a strange buzzing in his ears now, a sudden discomfort creeping in. The sight of the blood, the steady trickle pooling on the ground beneath him, sent an odd shiver down his spine. Still, he did nothing. His focus remained on the mithril, on the task that needed finishing. The fire raged on, the hammer fell, and the world outside his forge seemed to fade away. It wasn’t until he heard the familiar sound of your voice—sharp, commanding—that the haze of his concentration was broken. Celebrimbor barely registered your voice as it cut through the haze surrounding him, but the urgency in it jolted him out of his single-minded reverie. His focus had been so consumed by the forge, by the hammer in his hand, that everything else had seemed insignificant. But now, as you rushed to his side, the reality of his injury set in, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. His arm, still dripping with blood, had become the center of his awareness. It was a burning, sharp pain now, and he could feel the weakness creeping through his body like a creeping tide. The forge no longer seemed as important as it had moments ago. His grip on the hammer faltered once again.

You stood in the doorway for just a heartbeat, taking in the scene—the pools of blood collecting on the stone floor, the pale color of his face, the shaking hand he was trying to steady. Your heart clenched in your chest. It was only then that you noticed the dimming of his usual light, the way his posture slumped just slightly, his strength ebbing away. “Celebrimbor! Sit down—now!” you commanded, rushing forward without a second thought. His stubbornness would not win this time. His amber eyes flickered toward you, but he made no move to comply, instead waving you off with a half-hearted gesture, his voice weak and dismissive. “It’s nothing, truly. There is still much to be done—”

“No,” you snapped, firm in your resolve. You moved swiftly to his side, your hands finding his uninjured arm, guiding him to a nearby bench. His muscles resisted the pull for a moment, his pride making him hesitate, but you were too quick. You helped him sit, your voice gentle yet commanding. “You are not doing anything more until I’ve seen to this.” His eyes met yours with that familiar mix of pride and reluctance, yet the deep furrow in his brow betrayed the discomfort he could no longer ignore. As you knelt before him, your heart pounded in your chest, but there was no hesitation in your hands. With a quiet, steady motion, you placed Celebrimbor’s bloodied arm carefully in your lap, your fingers lightly brushing against his skin. The sensation was immediate: his skin, pale from blood loss, felt heavy in your grasp, the warmth of his body seeping into you. The blood that stained his forearm was a stark contrast to the paleness, and your breath caught as you took in the severity of the injury. The gash was deep—too deep to be ignored, and the blood kept flowing despite the distraction of the forge’s heat and the constant hum of the fire.

His expression, always so controlled, now wavered between pride and silent discomfort, but he remained steadfast, refusing to acknowledge the toll the injury had taken on him. He had borne it so stoically, even as his strength drained. But now, with his arm cradled in your lap, he could no longer avoid the truth: the wound was too serious to ignore any longer. You could feel the weakness seeping from him, and it made your resolve harden. Swallowing the rising tide of concern that threatened to overwhelm you, you pushed the fear aside, focusing on the task ahead. This had gone on long enough. His life was more important than his pride, more important than the work that still lay unfinished at his anvil. You would not allow him to lose any more of his strength, not when you could help. With gentle hands, you began to lift your hair, your fingers instinctively twining it around his wound. Your hair, which had always been of a deep, earthy shade, began to shift in hue, responding to the energy that pulsed within you. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to glow with a soft golden light, the strands shimmering with warmth. The golden glow seemed to pulse with each breath you took, each note of the healing song you began to hum. The moment the light appeared, it spread outward like sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees. The glow intensified, slowly creeping up his arm as your hair flowed around the gash. The sensation was like a soft breeze, gentle but insistent, and the heat of the forge seemed to retreat before it. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, gathering the energy within you, feeling the pull of the magic rise and coil in your chest. You began to sing, your voice soft, but every word of the melody carrying a power that resonated deep in the chamber.

“Flower, gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt. Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine…”

Your voice was steady, carrying each note like a delicate thread of power, winding through the air, threading through the forge’s heat and noise. The golden light of your hair flared brighter with each line of the song, as if your very soul was calling upon the magic that coursed through you, unraveling the injury. The air around you seemed to hum, and as you sang, you felt the light seep into the gash. Celebrimbor’s breath caught at the sensation—the warmth of it, the gentle pull as the wound began to knit itself back together. His muscles relaxed, his posture straightening slightly as the pain, the weakness, the overwhelming dizziness that had been consuming him faded in the face of the power you wielded. It was a soothing energy, as though the very fabric of time and fate were unraveling, returning things to their proper place. The blood, which had been spilling out in slow, steady drips, began to retreat, as though the wound itself had forgotten its purpose. The skin, raw and torn, began to smooth out, the edges drawing together with delicate precision, the fibers weaving themselves back into place. The deep cut closed slowly, as if under the pull of an invisible thread, each layer of tissue, each torn vein gently weaving itself back to its original form. With every note you sang, the wound became smaller, the gap between flesh closing with a soft sigh, as if the body itself was yielding to your magic. The golden light seemed to cascade around his arm, weaving into the skin and leaving no trace of the injury behind. The warmth of your power radiated outward, filling the room, and in the air around you, the faint smell of blooming flowers seemed to mix with the crisp scent of the forge. As the last notes of the song fell from your lips, the wound was gone entirely. No trace of it remained. His skin was smooth and unblemished, as though it had never been marred by the sharp edge of mithril. You let out a quiet breath, the golden light beginning to fade from your hair as the magic settled, a soft and satisfied hum of energy still humming through your fingertips.

Celebrimbor’s breath hitched as the warmth of your healing magic settled over him. At first, it was faint—a gentle pull, like a distant breeze against his skin. Then the sensation grew stronger, spreading through him with a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. He felt it more than saw it, the shift in his body, the deep gash on his forearm starting to pull together as though time itself had taken pity on him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the wound, watching in stunned silence as the blood ceased to flow, as the skin he had torn in his own ignorance began to close. It was slow at first—an almost imperceptible change—but then, with a subtle yet undeniable force, the wound began to heal in front of his very eyes. He felt it, too—the tension in his arm releasing, the strength returning as the flesh knitted itself back together. The sensation was surreal, unlike any healing he had ever known. It was as if the very fabric of reality bent to your will, undoing the injury with such ease it seemed like a dream.

But it wasn’t just the healing that struck him. It was the power behind it, the power that you wielded with such grace. There was no violence in it, no struggle. It was delicate and precise, a mastery that far surpassed even the most intricate designs he had crafted in his own smithy. It was the kind of power that was as quiet as it was awe-inspiring, like a force of nature woven into being with every note you sang. As the last tendrils of light faded from your hair, Celebrimbor tested his arm, flexing it slowly, almost cautiously at first. His fingers twitched, his hand extending fully as if he were reacquainting himself with the sensation of strength. He expected some lingering ache, some remnant of the injury to persist—but there was nothing. The wound had vanished completely, leaving no scar, no trace of what had once been there. It was as though the injury had never existed at all. He inhaled sharply, a quiet gasp of awe escaping him as he flexed his arm again, feeling the full range of motion return to him. There was nothing—no mark, no weakness. It was as if his body had forgotten the pain entirely, as if it had never been hurt.

“This…” His voice was soft, reverent, as he spoke to you for the first time in this way—without the usual stoic calm or the sharp edge of arrogance. “This is no ordinary healing.” He looked down at his arm once more, running his fingers over the smooth, unblemished skin, still unable to fully believe it. His voice dropped a little lower, tinged with awe. “It’s as though you’ve turned back time itself, undoing what should have left its mark.” His amber eyes shifted to meet yours, and the intensity of his gaze made something inside you flutter. There was something more than gratitude there—something deeper, more profound. He was humbled by what you had done, and for the first time, it wasn’t just the perfection of the work that stood before him, but something more vulnerable. “Your power… It’s a gift unlike anything I have ever seen,” he murmured. “A creation far beyond anything I could forge.”

Celebrimbor’s voice faltered slightly, the usual confidence of the lord of Eregion giving way to a rare humility. He swallowed, his throat tight, but the words came out with sincere weight. “Thank you,” he said, quieter than before, the words heavy with a reverence that went beyond the mere healing of his body. “I… I didn’t know such power existed.” There was a pause, a stillness between the two of you, as his gaze softened, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time. The walls of pride and stoicism that had always separated him from others seemed to crumble in the face of your care and the magic you had shared. You felt it—the silent gratitude that filled the space between you. Your heart stirred with something that went beyond duty, something deeper and more connected than just the role you had played in this moment. You reached out then, your fingers brushing gently over his uninjured arm, a quiet, reassuring touch that said more than words ever could. It was a gesture of comfort, of solidarity, and as you did, you felt his own quiet relief settle into the air around you. “Rest, Celebrimbor,” you said, your voice a calm counterpoint to the storm of emotions swirling between the two of you. “The forge will still be there when you’re well. You can finish your work later.”

Celebrimbor nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. The stubborn, determined smith who had so often placed his craft above all else seemed to pause in this moment, allowing himself to yield to something softer, more human. His usual defiance had softened into something more gentle, more understanding. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was not the master smith, nor the lord of Eregion. He was simply Celebrimbor—grateful, humbled, and moved by the quiet strength you had offered him when he had nothing left to give. He met your gaze once more, the intensity of his amber eyes now laced with something new—a silent acknowledgment of your bond, forged not in metal but in something more enduring, more ethereal. “Thank you,” he repeated, this time with more finality, as though the words themselves were a weight he had carried too long, and finally, he could lay them down. His voice softened further. “I will not forget this.” And in that moment, with the forge still burning bright behind him, you knew the connection between the two of you had shifted. It was no longer just the craftsman and the healer. It was something deeper, something beyond the realms of creation and restoration, something that would remain long after the last sparks of the forge had faded.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The sun was beginning its descent over the hills, casting long golden beams across the forest floor. Elrond moved quietly among the trees, his senses alert to the subtle rustling of the leaves and the faint calls of birds in the distance. He had come to the border of Rivendell in search of rare herbs—specifically a plant known for its healing properties, something that would be vital to his work as both a healer and protector of his people. The forest was peaceful, as it usually was, with the scent of pine and earth mingling in the air. The soft crunch of his boots on the path was the only sound to break the stillness. His mind was focused on the task, hands deftly pulling herbs from the soil and tucking them carefully into his satchel. His robes, though elegant, were suited for the task—woven with the practicality that came from years of experience. Despite the peaceful surroundings, Elrond’s instincts remained sharp. He knew that even in the quietest of places, danger could lurk. It was in the midst of his careful work, kneeling beside a patch of delicate, silver-leafed plants, that he first sensed it. A sudden shift in the air, the faintest disturbance that tugged at his heightened senses. His gaze darted upwards, narrowing as his keen ears caught the faintest sound—a rustle, too heavy to be wind.

A crackling sound broke the quiet—branches snapping under heavy boots—and before he could turn, the ambush came. A dozen orcs emerged from the underbrush, weapons drawn and eyes gleaming with malice. Elrond’s instincts kicked in immediately, his body moving before his mind could even fully process the danger. He drew his sword, the hilt cool in his hand as he met the charge with the precision and speed that came from centuries of battle experience. The first orc that lunged at him was met with a swift slash of his blade, cutting through armor and flesh with ease. He spun, parrying another blow and then ducked to avoid a crude axe swinging toward his head. His mind was a whirlwind of strategy and quick decisions, but despite his skill, the odds were against him. Another orc came at him with a heavy club raised high, but Elrond was faster. He sidestepped the attack, sweeping his blade through the air with precision, and the orc crumpled to the ground, its life extinguished in an instant. Another rushed at him from the side, a jagged axe raised above its head, but Elrond parried the strike with ease, spinning to deliver a quick thrust to the orc’s throat. The force of the blow sent the creature sprawling to the ground. His movements were fluid, controlled—his sword a blur as he fought back the onslaught of attackers. The orcs were relentless. Elrond could feel the weight of their numbers pressing in, could hear the angry yells and the crashing of their weapons against his own. He was skilled, faster than they were, and for every orc he felled, two more seemed to appear. His thoughts were sharp, calculating—he knew he had to make this quick before they overwhelmed him. But he hadn’t anticipated how fiercely they would fight. Their numbers were overwhelming, and soon he found himself surrounded.

Orcs swarmed from every angle, and for every one he felled, two more took their place. His sharp elven senses could detect the shift in the air, the smell of their rancid breath, but they were closing in fast. It wasn’t long before a sharp pain struck him—an orc had managed to slip through his defenses and had driven a jagged blade into his side. The world tilted for a moment, and Elrond staggered back, his breath catching. The wound was deep, a gash that tore through his ribs, and blood flowed freely from the injury, soaking his robes. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his mind whirling even as his body screamed at him to stop. But stopping was not an option. He was Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, and no matter the wound, he would not fall to these creatures. With a forceful grunt, he shifted his weight, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The orc who had struck him fell with a quick, decisive strike to its neck. He barely had time to process it before another orc lunged, and this time he was ready. Elrond spun, his blade slashing across the creature’s chest, and then he turned, cutting down another. His movements were swift, lethal, but the pain in his side grew worse with each swing. The blood loss was beginning to cloud his thoughts, and his vision swam in and out of focus.

His body was already starting to betray him. The wound was far worse than he had initially realized, and with each passing moment, he grew weaker. Despite the pain, he fought on, cutting down orc after orc, his sword flashing in the dim light of the forest, his movements a testament to the centuries of training and experience he had amassed. But there were too many of them. An orc with a spiked mace swung at him from behind, and though Elrond tried to dodge, the weapon caught him across the back, sending a shockwave of pain through his spine. He let out a sharp cry of pain, staggering forward, and that was all it took for one of the creatures to take advantage of the moment. A sword pierced through the side of his abdomen, the blade sinking deep, its hilt pressing against his ribs. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Elrond couldn’t move. His body froze, pain wracking through him in waves, and the world around him seemed to blur. He heard the orcs laughing, their victory just within reach, but he couldn’t allow that to happen.

With a primal growl, he forced himself to move again, his sword sweeping through the air in a deadly arc. He struck down the orc that had wounded him, but his legs were growing weaker, the blood loss too much to ignore. The forest was full of bodies now—his and theirs. He had slain many, but not enough. Elrond staggered back, his vision blurring even more. His breaths came shallow and ragged, and he could feel the life draining from him. He fought to stay conscious, but the pain in his side was overwhelming, and the sight before him became a haze of shadowed figures. He felt his knees buckle, the weight of his injuries too much for him to bear. Desperation clawed at his mind as he fought to stay upright, but the ground beneath him seemed to shift and sway as most orcs fleed after the bloodshed of their kins. Finally, he could no longer stand. The sheer exhaustion of the fight, the blood loss, and the overwhelming pain brought him to his knees. He leaned against a boulder for support, gasping for air, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His hand still clutched the hilt of his sword, but his fingers were growing numb, slipping from the handle as the darkness crept in.

The forest was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of blood and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Elrond had fought fiercely, but the ambush had been more than he expected. The sharp pain in his abdomen was a constant reminder of how outnumbered he had been. His robe, once pristine, was now soaked in his own blood, the crimson staining his once-elegant attire. Despite the agony gnawing at him, his grip on his sword remained firm, his resolve unshaken. He had slain many of the orcs, their bodies now lying in the scattered chaos of the battlefield, but the damage to his own body was far worse than he had anticipated. He had managed to drag himself to the cover of a boulder, leaning against it for support. The ground beneath him was stained with blood, both his own and that of his fallen enemies. His mind swirled with the haze of pain, but his sharp Elven senses remained alert—just enough to hear the faint crunch of footsteps approaching. His heart gave a slight flutter when he recognized the familiar presence before he even saw them. “Elrond!” Your voice broke through the fog of his pain, the sound of it pulling him back to the present. He turned his head toward you, struggling to focus on your face through the mist of exhaustion. His chest heaved with every breath, and though his vision was blurred, there was no mistaking the concern in your eyes.

Recognition flared in his greyish blue gaze, but he was too weak to hold his usual noble composure. He offered you the faintest of smiles, though it was laced with pain. His mouth was dry, his voice barely a rasp. “They ambushed me,” he said, each word drawing a strained breath from his chest. “I managed to drive them off… most of them, anyway. A few fled…” He winced, his hands pressing harder against the gaping wound on his side. The blood soaked his fingers, slipping through them like water, yet he didn’t release his hold. He had always been stubborn, never willing to show weakness, even now. But you could see through it all. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, his strength waning with each passing second. The sight of him in such a state ignited a fierce need to protect him, even though you knew he would fight against it. You rushed to his side without hesitation, fear pooling in your stomach. You knew he would try to resist, and sure enough, as you knelt beside him, his eyes flickered with the sharpness that usually accompanied his wisdom and strength. “You shouldn’t speak,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve lost too much blood.” Elrond grimaced at your words, but there was no way to hide the growing pain from his features. His body, though still so strong, was betraying him. “I’ll be fine,” he protested, his voice barely more than a whisper. His stubbornness flared even in the face of imminent danger. “I’ve had far worse,” he insisted, though the strain in his tone told a different story. “You shouldn’t—”

“Stop arguing,” you cut him off, your voice trembling but resolute. “Let me help you.” He hissed in pain as you gently moved his hands away from the wound. Despite his weakened state, Elrond’s natural instinct was to resist. He attempted to sit up straighter, his muscles tense and his face contorting with the effort. “No,” he managed, but the protest was weak, forced. His resistance made your heart ache, but you weren’t deterred. You placed your hands over his injury, feeling the warmth of his blood against your palms as you carefully applied pressure to stem the flow. The force of the blood was appalling—his injury was severe, and the pressure was more than you could have imagined. Elrond’s breath caught in his throat as he flinched at the touch, his body shuddering with pain. “Mellon nín,” he whispered, the word slipping from his lips without thought, laced with a faint trace of vulnerability he so rarely allowed himself. Despite his obvious suffering, you refused to relent. His stubbornness might have caused him to resist your help, but your resolve was far stronger. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to overpower the pain that was steadily draining him. You continued your work, applying more pressure, your hands steady and soothing as best as you could manage.

“Please, Elrond,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper now, your heart aching at the sight of him in such a vulnerable state. “You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, his fierce will faltered. His eyes softened, his breath a little less ragged as he allowed you to help him, though the weight of his pride still lingered in the air. He no longer argued, but the quiet, lingering pain was evident in every sharp breath he took. You could feel his body slowly sinking against you, the last of his strength draining away as you worked to heal him. As you held him, you could feel the weight of his trust—fragile and fleeting in this moment of weakness. Though Elrond was many things, the most powerful and indomitable being in all of Middle-earth, there was no escaping the vulnerability that now clung to him. You would not allow him to face this alone, no matter how much he tried to push you away. You had no idea how long you sat there together, the minutes stretching into what felt like eternity, but you wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Not when he needed you most.

You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but there was no hesitation. Elrond’s life hung in the balance, and you were determined not to lose him. Carefully, you wrapped strands of your hair—normally (your hair colour), silky, and unassuming—around the jagged wound on his side. The blood seeped through the strands, staining them red, but it was the only way to stop the bleeding long enough for what needed to come next. It was a sacrifice, but the pain was nothing compared to what he had endured. Elrond winced, a sharp breath escaping him as you secured your hair against his injury, but he didn’t resist. His Greyish blue eyes watched you with a mix of admiration and quiet acceptance, his body sagging against the boulder. The pain had taken its toll on him, yet he still carried that glimmer of pride in the way he met your gaze—stubborn, unyielding, even in his moment of weakness. His breath came in shallow gasps, but there was a quiet strength in the way he endured it, even as his life force threatened to ebb away. He had fought so fiercely to protect Rivendell, to protect all of you, and now it was your turn to save him.

Once the hair was securely wrapped, you took a moment to center yourself. You inhaled deeply, steadying your breath, willing your heart to calm. The air around you seemed to pulse with anticipation as the power within you began to stir, the magic that ran through your veins, ancient and full of purpose. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of it—the responsibility of wielding such power, the knowledge that it could be the difference between life and death. But you were ready. You began to sing, the first notes soft and barely audible, yet they carried the weight of centuries of knowledge and power. “Flower, gleam and glow…” Your voice was low, but clear, and as the words left your lips, something changed. A soft golden light began to pulse in your hair, at first faint, then growing brighter with every word. The strands of your hair, once dark, shimmered and gleamed, becoming a brilliant gold that seemed to draw the very essence of light into the forest. Elrond’s eyes widened as he watched the glow, his breath catching for a moment. The warmth in the air was palpable now, radiating outward from you like the very sun itself. It wrapped around both of you, filling the air with an almost tangible sense of peace. The dark, shadowed forest was bathed in golden light, the magic swirling around you, washing over Elrond’s injury, soothing it, and slowing the blood that had soaked your hair.

“Let your power shine,” you continued, the melody lilted with power. Each word became a prayer, a plea, not just for him, but for all that you held dear. The golden glow spread across Elrond’s wound, the warmth wrapping around him like a blanket, easing the tension in his body. He inhaled deeply, the sharp pain in his side receding, the frantic pulse of his heart slowing to a steadier rhythm. The gash, so raw and ragged just moments before, seemed to soften under your touch, the flesh beginning to pull itself together, knitting and mending as if the magic were pulling time itself backward, erasing the damage done. His hand, which had been pressed tightly against his injury in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, relaxed slightly. His fingers twitched with the faintest of tremors, but there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes as the glow bathed him. The pain that had been overwhelming him moments before began to fade, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread from the wound out through his entire body. His breath deepened, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away.

“Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine…” Your voice was stronger now, your heart pouring into each note, the golden light that surrounded you pulsing in time with the rhythm of your song. Elrond’s breath became steadier, the color returning to his face as the injury slowly but surely began to close. You could feel the magic working, could see the visible relief in his posture as the torn flesh mended itself under the influence of your power. His eyes, which had been clouded with pain, were now focused, sharp, and full of something else—something like wonder. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. The glow from your hair brightened, filling the air with warmth, and the last of the blood began to congeal, sealing the wound completely. What had once been torn and open was now smooth, the skin unbroken. The gold in your hair dimmed slightly, the intensity of the glow tapering as the magic settled, its work done. “Save what has been lost… Bring back what once was mine…” The final note lingered in the air, a soft sigh of energy that hummed through the stillness of the forest. Your body felt lighter now, the strain of the magic beginning to subside, but the relief that filled you was overwhelming. You had done it. You had saved him. The golden light slowly faded, leaving you both in the quiet aftermath, the only evidence of the healing a slight shimmer around you.

When the golden light finally faded, leaving only a soft, lingering warmth in the air, you opened your eyes. Elrond was still there, sitting before you, his expression unreadable for a moment as his gaze fell to his now-healed abdomen. His fingers hovered hesitantly over the smooth, unbroken skin, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The jagged wound that had threatened his life only moments before was completely gone, leaving no trace of the violence it had endured. His hand moved over the area with slow reverence, as if testing the reality of it. You watched him in silence, your heart still racing from the exertion of the healing. The soft glow that still clung to your hair, though faint now, seemed to intensify under his gaze. Your cheeks flushed beneath the weight of his scrutiny. It was a feeling you weren’t entirely used to—being the subject of such intense attention, especially from someone like him. Someone whose presence alone was always powerful, commanding. You had saved him, but now it felt as though he were seeing you in a way he hadn’t before. His voice broke the stillness, low and filled with awe.

Elrond’s eyes met yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the faintest smile touched his lips. It was weak, but it held gratitude, something far rarer for him than you ever expected. Slowly, he sat up straighter, the last remnants of pain melting away with each breath he took. His skin still glistened with the healing warmth, the tension in his body ebbing as his strength returned bit by bit. The once fierce exhaustion that had weighed on him now seemed to lift, leaving behind only a quiet, steady relief. “You… you saved me.” His words were soft, almost a whisper, as though speaking them aloud might somehow shatter the moment. His fingers brushed over his abdomen once more, the disbelief in his touch evident. He looked at you, really looked at you now, as if seeing you for the first time, his grey eyes wide with quiet wonder.

There was a weight in the air, thick with the magic that had passed between you, but it wasn’t the kind of weight that pressed down. Instead, it seemed to pull the world into sharper focus—the rustling leaves, the cool breeze, the distant sound of the stream, all of it faded into the background as Elrond’s gaze locked onto you. It was as though, in that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you tried to look away, uncomfortable with the intimacy of his attention, but you couldn’t. You found yourself rooted in place, caught under the gentle force of his unwavering focus. He looked down again at your hair, glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest, its soft golden hue almost ethereal against the dark backdrop of the woods. The way he looked at you, so intently, made you feel exposed, vulnerable. It was as if the very essence of who you were was laid bare under his gaze.

Before you could say anything, Elrond reached out. His movements were slow, measured, as though he wanted to ensure that nothing he did would break the fragile moment between you. His fingers brushed lightly against a stray strand of your glowing hair, pushing it gently behind your ear. The touch was so soft, so delicate, that it made your breath hitch in your throat. It was the first time you had ever felt his touch, and it lingered in the air long after his fingers had left your skin. The weight of it was profound, a silent acknowledgment of something deeper than the healing you had just performed. “Your light…” His voice was reverent, like a prayer whispered in the presence of something sacred. His eyes never left yours, and his hand, after a moment, dropped back to his side, but there was something different about him now. The tension that had once pulled his features tight in pain was gone, replaced by a softness you hadn’t seen before.

“It is unlike anything I have ever seen.” His words seemed to carry a weight, a recognition that whatever you had done for him transcended the simple act of healing. You had done more than save him from death; you had given him something beyond that. “You bring life where there is death, hope where there is despair.” The quiet sincerity in his tone wrapped itself around you, and you couldn’t help but feel the full impact of what he said. It wasn’t just praise—it was an understanding. He had witnessed the miracle of what you had done, not just with his body, but with the way you wielded your power. He understood the cost of it. He understood what you had given. You swallowed, finding your voice at last, but his words hung in the air like a fragile thread connecting you to him. As much as you wanted to respond, to deflect or downplay his praise, you couldn’t. There was too much truth in what he said, and you felt an overwhelming rush of emotion at his words.

His expression softened even further as he straightened, meeting your eyes with a quiet intensity. His gaze was no longer one of the distant, authoritative figure you had known so well. Now, there was something else there—something personal, intimate, and full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, and this time, the words were more than just a polite acknowledgment. There was something in the way he said them that made your heart skip, made everything else fade away. “Not just for my life, but for bringing light to a dark moment. I will not forget this kindness.” The weight of his gratitude was enough to leave you breathless. It wasn’t just his thanks, it was the promise in his words—an understanding that this moment, this act, would not be forgotten. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath in that moment, as though the world itself was pausing to bear witness to the exchange between you. You could feel the sincerity in his words settle deeply in your heart, the bond that had been forged in this shared moment of healing and vulnerability. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, both caught in the stillness, in the connection that had formed between you—stronger than any magic, more powerful than any words.

[lordelrondofrivendell]

"And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in."

[kat651]

How your elven lover kisses you/ shows affection 

ℒℯ𝑔ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓈：

in public he’s a model of maturity. He offers you his hand and holds the door. 

Will occasionally place a kiss on your hand or cheek when he can. 

Will put an arm around you if you’re feeling uncomfortable. 

When alone, he’s still gentle and caring. 

Kisses all over your face. 

Cuddles if you want them. 

Thranduil:

he doesn’t care if your in public, he is going to kiss you. 

Constantly pulling you to his chest. 

Would carry you all over if he could. 

Teasing you constantly. 

Alone he’s insane. You’d think he’s been touch starved.

Holds you in his lap

Neck bites 

Long passionate kisses

Falls asleep with you in his arms. 

Haldir:

isn’t big on PDA the farthest he’ll go is gently holding your hand, but only if you ask him to or he senses your uncomfortable. 

Uses a different tone with you than he does everyone else. 

Once it’s just the two of you, he’s a completely different person. 

Snuggles

Lets you play with his hair (always falls asleep if you do)

Butterfly kisses for days. 

Clings to you like a child. 

Elrond:

Will gently squeeze your shoulder as he walks past. 

Soft smiles when no one is looking. 

Not big on PDA. 

once it’s just the two of you, its gentle snuggles usually while he reads you a book or plays with your hair. 

Occasional kisses on the top of your head. 

Is a softy. 

Lindir:   

to the untrained eye, you and lindir just seem to be good friends but there are signs, though only the people he’s really close to can see the signs. 

He shows you subtle PDA by simple acts of service such as bringing you tea or grabbing something from another room that you may have forgotten. 

If you’re sitting at a table, he’ll occasionally take your hand when he knows no one can see it. 

Once alone however, if you aren’t each others center of attention he gets clingy. 

Pulls you away from what you’re doing so he can have quality time with you. 

Goes from soft and submissive in public to straddling you in the bed while placing kisses over your entire body. Is still gentle with you though. 

Then suddenly, he needs you to baby him and hold him tight. 

Loves to play lay with your hair. 

[mushroomates]

who i would let borrow my car in lord of the rings:

boromir- would likely take it to a car wash and fill up the tank for me afterwards. no questions asked and the keys are in his hand before he finishes his sentence.

gimli- would change my tires for me. a bit worried about him off roading but he’d take care of it. it’s extremely likely that he also took it through the car wash but not out of politeness but because he got it caked with dirt and mud while driving.

elrond- i’m willing to bet my life on this man being a reliable driver. he could get negative traffic tickets- as in, the cops pull him over just to tell him how good of a three point turn that was. this man is married to the turn signals.

sam- there might be dirt and dog hair left over for weeks but yeah i’d trust him. he probably just needs the trunk space for a dresser he found on the side of the road.

who in lord of the rings i do not trust with my car:

gollum- yeah obviously he’d drive it into the swamp in .2 seconds. this little fucker does not follow road laws or any laws. the second gollum takes my car i know its over.

gandalf- i do not know how one sends an automotive on a quest but im pretty sure my car is in moria rn and i’m never seeing it again

legolas- has the biggest passenger princess energy i’ve ever seen. would total my car immediately after going diagonal across the highway because he saw a cool tree

thranduil- like father like son. passenger princess who has not been behind the wheel for decades. would guilt trip me into giving him a ride before even asking to borrow my car. gets pulled over for having a whole ass wine bottle in the cupholder.

pippin- there would be peanut butter stuck in the console for months and i’d be finding loose snacks and trinkets in my seats years afterwards. also strikes me as the type to be obsessed with the radio to the point of reckless driving

[curiouser--and--curiouser]

Elrond Peredhel A-Z Smut Headcanons

Kinktober 2024 - Week 1

Warnings: SMUT, switch!Elrond, dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, cum, anal play, toys, dirty talk, etc., x reader, gender neutral reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Such a sweet and attentive boy. Elrond is immediately up on his feet, getting whatever you may desire. Especially if you'd just had a more rough session, he would always double check he didn't hurt you and pamper you. Definitely his body's last hurrah before he eventually falls asleep in your arms.

On the flip side, if you'd taken control for the evening, he would be so appreciative of you taking care of him while he stared at you with loving, glassy eyes, bringing him back down to earth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Elrond likes (how much you like) his hands. They are the link between his mind and the page as a herald, and the thing to make you truly fall apart. Some of his favourite memories feature him crowding you against a wall with his fingers inside you, gently shushing you so you are not caught.

On you, Elrond always comes back to your hips. Stroking them, grabbing them, kissing up and down them. His hands are always at your hips: to manhandle your pliant body into a new position, or just hanging on for dear life as you make him lose his mind.

Also, just a quick point about Elven ears generally: definitely a major erogenous zone for all elves, so if you even lightly brush your lips against his ears, Elrond is ready to give his soul to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he actually sees it as a sign of connection between you both. Either cumming inside of you and mixing his with your own, or spilling all over both you and himself, he just can't help but stare down between you while trying to catch his breath.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The first time he ordered you to ride his thigh, he came in his pants. The sight of you getting yourself off on him, the power he had over you - it was too much for him. He tried his best to hide it as you were coming down from your own high.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Elven life is so long, so Elrond is undoubtedly fairly experienced, having a fair share of elves and mortals lured by his charm and good looks. But I feel he may not have ever been as experimental as he may have fantasised of late at night, stroking his cock at great pace. However, despite his long life, Elrond had never loved someone so much as you; he is slightly stunned the first time you make love, forgetting for a moment what to do and where to put his hands.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Below you. In awe. Watching you. Seeing you in control in any situation does things to him, and you on top of him, riding him, controlling him, choking him, makes him lose his mind. Nowhere in the whole of Valinor does Elrond expect to see something quite as beautiful as you over him with your head thrown back in pleasure. All he can do is wrap himself around you and hold on.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Elrond can go both ways. He can be all cute smiles and giggling, all in your own little world. Or deadly serious, purely focussed on you and the love you share.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't believe he is completely shaven, but the small amount of curly hair that is there is very nicely kept and groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Such a hopeless romantic. The first time, he decked out his rooms with rose petals, dimmed lights, silk sheets - everything to give you the most pleasurable and intimate experience for your first time together.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He would always just prefer to find you. But if he is ever away on a mission for Lindon, Elrond can't help but spend nearly every night one hand fisting his cock and the other covering his mouth, muffling his moans and whimpers. He will always take a reminder of you with him, and it stays firmly between his lips when he dreams of feeling your touch again.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

First and foremost, Elrond is a switch - he is overwhelmed the moment you stand over him and use an authoritative tone, but can have you in a puddle on the floor with once single command.

Hair pulling - those beautiful curly locks are too gorgeous to not run your fingers through and grab, and it makes Elrond's eyes roll back in his head every time. And if you ever pull him by his hair, either back to your lips or back to his work under the covers, he's going to cum right then and there.

Face sitting - Elrond would die a happy man, suffocated between your thighs. Nothing is too much for him - he just wants to do good for you - so give him all you've got and watch him buck his hips up and rut against the air like an animal.

Commander kink - need I say more? You were there when Gil-galad ordained him Commander Elrond, and the name immediately went straight through you - and he noticed. Now, he will do barely anything until you have sufficiently begged your commander to keep moving, before he finally slams into you with a power you never thought he could possess.

Overstimulation - it doesn't come out often, but when he is angry with you - and you can't help but fight back - Elrond has no choice but to teach you a lesson. Soon, he has you on his lap, your back to his chest, fingering you harshly as you cum over and over and over again. And he just keeps going, even as your head lolls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, baby, one more. Just give me one more. I want to hear those beautiful moans again. Look at you, finally being so good for your commander."

"Yes, Sir."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Sometimes the simplest is the best: in the confines of your shared rooms and marriage bed, you can take all the time you might desire with each other, completely uninterrupted and focussed on each other. Otherwise, he loves to spend a day with you in the woods; take a picnic, sing to you, and make love to you under the canopy of trees.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just the sight of you. Also, pretty sure Elrond has a competency kink. Seeing you working and succeeding and leading really makes him weak and submissive. And for any little doubts and anxieties that may crawl there way into his mind, just simply knowing you want him, and only him, really frees his soul.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't believe Elrond would ever be into impact play. He may sometimes grab you with hard hands and leave bruises on your hips, but he would never intentionally hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Elrond is without a doubt a skilled and enthusiastic lover. At any possible opportunity, he will go down on you (or otherwise beg to) and how could you say no to him? His tongue was moulded by the Valar themselves just for you and his eyes close in pleasure as he plays your every string like a lute. Also, he has no gag reflex.

On the other hand, Elrond absolutely loses his mind when you suck him off. He is so overwhelmed and can barely breathe. Definitely when you surprise him by undoing his pants and distract him from work at his desk. And definitely when he stands before you, you on your knees, tears streaming down your face, taking everything he gives you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Elrond has a lot of energy, so he can't help but use it sometimes, pounding into you with his lips connected to your neck. But his roughest side comes out when he is stressed from work or angry with the world, your face pushed into the pillows and body pinned to the bed as he takes you in whichever dark way he may desire. If he is in more of a romantic mood, he takes it slower, deeper, more sensual, wrapped up in each other's bodies. Usually slow and sensual, but loses his mind sometimes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He always needs you, so whenever and wherever possible. In great hallways in between his meetings with the King, pushed up against the wall (something he had been thinking of doing the entire meeting beforehand. In the gardens in a little secluded corner you know, shushing each other to be quiet between giggles and low moans.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If he isn't busy with work, Elrond is always down for a quickie. So, you have both taken a lot of risks in your time with regard to location. He was a bit cautious when you first got together about experimentation, but he has become (very) open with time. Elrond just wants to make you happy, and he will do nearly anything to make that happen.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Elves, y'all… The lot of them have the stamina of the Valar, so you happen to be of a race with any less endurance, then good luck… Elrond is no different: bouncing with boundless energy, ready to go again with very little rest time. He can go all night long. Insatiable.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't believe his own personal collection would be vast before getting together with you; his primary possession a small metal vibe he teases himself with to thoughts of you. However, he is excited to delve into your own collection, eager to find out what you like and don't like, and which he could persuade you to use on him. He never expected he would ever react like this, but the moment you mentioned it, it lit a fire in him... and so did those nipple clamps he found at the bottom of your box.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He dishes it out but he can't take it. You really both drive each other insane. Private whispers of dirty promises just before he is called away by Gil-galad, or intentionally low-cut robes that make him choke on air when you bend over - you are both insufferable.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's so loud, he just can't help himself. He gets lost in you and your body that he sometimes forgets he's making noises at all. Loud moans all the time, and delicate whimpers when you climb on top of him. But this transforms into low, feral growls when he is jealous or angry, his animalistic and possessive side coming out. Also, no one in the whole of Middle Earth can stop this man's constant dirty talk whispered in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I don't think Elrond had done a lot of anal play before meeting you. He had experiemented with himself, fingering himself with breathless gasps in the confines of his chambers. But never particularly with other people; he had always been more of a giver than a taker. It intrigued him, and you helped to bring him into the light. You started slow, trying to relax his nervous trembling, but soon he was thrusting back against you or the toy, eyes glossed over as you hit the just the right spot again and again. Now, it is a frequent feature of your nightlife together, where he can embrace his little subby side and let go to complete pleasure.

"Please, my love, more, I need more. Fuck. I need you so bad, please give me more, I can take it. I love you. Please."

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is not the longest, but has a fair girth and is slightly curved up in just the right way to make you see stars.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Definitely high. He's so in love. He will physically tell himself to calm it before meetings with the High King (more frequently than he'd like to admit), and then he is able to stay focussed on the job at hand. But when he is writing speeches - and ultimately calm in his beloved art - he can start to feel his mind wandering to you. All the strength in his body is needed to make sure all his work is finished before running off to find you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he has taken of you thoroughly, Elrond gets very sleepy. He tries his best to engage in pillow talk with you, but soon his eyes start to flutter close - not without them leaving your beautiful face.

[elffromforests]

Gil Galad : You are still baby to watch such adult scenes in film.

Elrond: But I am 1600+ years old. You were already king at this time!

GG: I. Said. You. Are .Still .very young.

Elrond: Cool...😑 just great

[elrondlas]

Begging vs demanding. Get you a man who does both. Like Elrond 🧍🏻‍♀️

[meteors-lotr]

Bard: I need relationship advice

Elrond: Break up

Bard: At least listen to me first

[tarantado-si-viann]

The Elves Reacting To Their S/O Wearing Their Clothes^^

Pronouns: You mostly so it's GN^^

A/n: So, hello! I'm new here on tumblr and I just thought that a nice, maybe warm, headcannon ( is that how you spell it? ) would do good for a first start.,. I'm sorry in advanced if there are spellings that are needed to correct! Also, I was lowbat at the moment so I could only do three huhu. But either way, please enjoy<3

P.S- if you liked this one, do me a favor and reblog, won't you?

LEGOLAS•°`~

• "And what's this I see?"

• Although Legolas didn't mind lending his clothes to other people, you may be the first to amuse him in this state.

• There you were dressed in his casual, green, elven shirt with his double sized elven pants on you.

• "Why, hello there! I don't believe we've met...?" he smirks, rubbing his nose as he circles around you in curiosity. You giggled at his pretending and you played along.

• "Y'know, I haven't seen such a handsome ellon like yourself," you state and punch his arm gently. "You are?"

• For a moment, Legolas doesn't know what to say. In fact, he paces around, brewing the correct words until they lingered on the edge of his tongue.

• "The love of your life."

• You were shocked with his sudden answer and felt a trickling heat that crept onto your face in a flustered blush. You stumbled back while hovering your right palm unto your dusted cheeks in embarassment. Legolas chuckled and pulled you close into his arms.

• "Oh, melleth nin, I adore you so. However, I was truly surprised to see you in my own garmets. What made you think of this adorable nonsense?"

• "I didn't think I'd come up to this as well. You know me, full of surprises. Wait... are you perhaps cross?"

• Legolas kissed your forehead and rubbed circles on your back.

• No, Legolas wasn't cross. He was delighted by this incident that he even offered you to borrow more of his clothes next time. Why would he be cross with the person he loved the most?

• "I am not cross, my love. I am very happy and this just gave me an idea! Why don't we do this together? You wear my clothes again and I'll wear yours. Are you up? We could go surprise everyone here in Mirkwood!"

• A fond smile painted on your lips as you nodded in agreement. "Sure thing."

THRANDUIL•°`~

• "Y/n!" A needy voice echoed down the halls calling your name.

• "Huh?" you flinch on your spot, hurriedly placing king Thranduil's belongings back to where they exactly were minutes ago.

• Although you may had messed up... too much. Why, you didn't even know where to begin.

• "Where do these hangers go? How about the robes, oh! And the brushes as well!" you thought while your hands quickly picked up everything you saw. Hot damn!

• The footsteps grew louder and louder until they finally stopped at Thranduil's room. He was annoyed, no joke.

• The door carefully opened, revealing you caught in the headlights.

• "Y—"

• What were those? WHAT WERE THOSE ON YOU? WAS THAT HIS RED ROBE AND RINGS ON YOUR FINGERS?

• Thranduil was speechless. Unlike his son, he wasn't too keen on lending his spare clothes. But this, this would have to been an exception.

• His irritation disappeared like a bubble in an instant. "Uh... I'm sorry..." you sighed and began to remove everything you had a hard time putting on. What was truly the waste was the small, leaf branch circlet thingy that took you hours to prepare.

• However, Thranduil stopped you, a shy look on his face.

• "N-no... please... ke-keep them... I mean, well, uh... I—"

• You laughed nervously. "Wait what?" He looked so sincere, so that had your mind twisted in confusion and at the same time, gave you a hard time comprehending what he just said, not to mention his stuttering.

• "No... keep them, please. As long as you're happy, my dear."

• You blinked a few times before a happy grin etched on your face. It was a sight to see for Thranduil.

• He walked closer to you and fixed the stray hairs on your face, tucking them under your ears. He hummed in satisfaction before placing a quick kiss on your lips. He then turned back to the door when he didn't notice you followed his heels. "What?" he asked you in the least of annoyance.

• You shook your head and wrapped your left arm around his right one. Giving in, he dare let you roam inside the halls with his vibes radiating off of you.

• But wait...

• Where's the circlet thing????

ELROND•°`~

A/n: oof, that's my father figure^^

" Dear, Y/n! Please slow down!" Lindir called from behind you, dragging his heavy clothes along as his panting grew louder and louder across the halls.

You didn't pay mind to him as you continued to jog towards the council meeting, to which you could already see outside the door.

Lindir, who was too tired to chase after you, leaped into the air, catching you off guard, and grasped the end of your long robes. His body hit hard on the floor which made you shriek in guilt.

"Oh, Lindir! Are you hurt? Where does it hurt??" you worriedly call as you helped him sit up. The ellon wore an irritated expression on his usual bright face which made chills slither down your spine. You knew this wasn't normal, and to Lindir… well…

ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH.

"Y/n! Calm down at once! My lord Elrond will not be pleased when he finds out that you have fitted once more into his fine robes! Not even the mere 'fun' I'd expect from someone as superior as you. Yet, you've decided to do it again, I mean, LOOK AT YOU!!"

This wasn't the kind of critique you had expected from your best friend. Nonetheless, it offended you when you realized you had offended him as well. This poor elf was now injured for your sake. He just didn't want you to be judged and judged so rudely. No, not like the last time you imitated Lord Elrond's attire at one feast. Damn elves.

"I'm sorry, mellon. I'd be careful next time. But… I don't want to take these off yet! Can't we make most of the hard work?" you pleaded, pulling the puppy eyes that seemed to get everyone and literally EVERYONE all of the time.

"Screw this. Be free, Y/n. You are big and old enough to make decisions of your own." he spits with concealed amusement in his tone. To this, you smile, help him stand and leave him alone in the hallways.

"Make Elrond love you hard!" you kept in mind.

The council consisted of several elves including the Sindarin, Legolas, and Elrond who was seated at the edge of the circle of chairs. Gandalf was on one side and a dwarf at the other edge. The rest was occupied by more elves, a hobbit, and two humans, leaving you a rather intentional saved spot beside the Lord of Imladris.

Everyone's eyes laid on you. You had imitated every part of Elrond— his hair, clothes, shoes, and a hand made ringlet that matched his own.

Elrond raised a brow at you, but you could tell that he was delighted with… you. "Ah, well someone's tardy today. Where have you been and what have you been up to?" he asks slyly with a smirk on his face.

"I certainly had brewed some sort of mess back in your chambers. Tut! Well, that's nothing to worry about now, meleth. We should begin this instance!" you smile cheekily, patting his arm, head resting on his shoulder. You had made yourself too comfortable before a meeting. How would you be able to focus now?

"We'll discuss this 'brewed mess' after today's meeting. For now, we will figure out ways to destroy the ring."

•°`~~~~~~♪

This was so dumb.

Feel free to request!

No tags at the moment^^

[theworldsoftolkein]

Rivendell - by AZED

His house [Elrond's] was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley." J.R.R Tolkien

[ladyoflindon]

I’ve Got You (Elrond Peredhel, Rings of Power) – S1 Ep7

Author’s note: Technically Elrond x OC, but could be a reader insert if you block out the OC’s name 😉; she’s the daughter of Gil-galad and Princess of Lindon, Eleniel, she had gone to Eregion with Elrond earlier in the season; I write better with named characters (so I write with OCs); italic phases with “S.” denote the use of Sindarin, while “Q.” denotes the use of Quenya

Eleniel paced the floor of Celebrimbor’s forges anxiously as she waited for her husband to return. It had been days since Elrond left for Khazad-dûm, hoping to pay a visit to his friend, the Dwarven prince Durin. At least, that’s what Elrond told her.

Eleniel couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something would go wrong. Every second spent delving deeper into the recesses of her mind was another moment spent pacing in the forges. Someone cleared his throat behind her, snapping her out of her reverie.

“You’re going to wear a hole in my floor, ingaranel nin (S. my princess),” Celebrimbor mused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He wiped his brow before running a hand through his brown curls. “It’s Elrond, isn’t it? You worry for him.”

“Yes, Lord Celebrimbor,” Eleniel admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I know he’s just visiting Durin, but I can’t shake this feeling that I have. It’s not a good one.” Her blue eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip, refusing to let them fall. The smith sighed before moving to stand by her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know you care for him, but all this worry…it’s not good for you. Look, you haven’t stopped pacing. I’m sure the young Peredhel wouldn’t want you to worry about him like this.”

“Well, he’s a hypocrite then, isn’t he?” Eleniel laughed, her voice hollow. “He wishes I do not concern myself about him, yet he keeps giving me reasons to worry.” Even till now, this was Elrond’s habit, and Eleniel only let him get away with it because of the adorable expression he’d flash at her every time she was about to admonish him.

“I suggest you take a break from pacing. Perhaps the view of Ost-in-Edhil from my study would do you well?” Celebrimbor suggested, already walking away and gesturing for Eleniel to follow. She did, the hem of her pale blue gown flowing behind her and sweeping the ground like leaves.

Celebrimbor was right, Eleniel told herself. At this time of day, Ost-in-Edhil was bustling with activity. The light of the setting sun bathed everything before her in hues of pink and gold. Truly, the capital city of Eregion was splendid.  Eleniel’s hands gripped the cool railing of the balcony, her eyes following the elves milling about below. Two elven children looked up at her, waving and flashing excited smiles, and she waved back, gracing them with a smile of her own.

Just then, a flicker of activity just not too far away from where the children had stood caught her eye. A figure approached the gates of Ost-in-Edhil, cloaked in what was supposed to be white, but his clothes were matted with dirt. Eleniel’s heart caught in her throat as she gazed at the figure.

Elrond was back.

Without a second thought, Eleniel turned and ran out of Celebrimbor’s study and down the stairs until she had reached the ground floor. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the forge tower, not caring as they slammed behind her. Running as fast as her feet would take her, she finally made it to the gates. The guards, recognising her, let her pass.

Eleniel threw her arms around Elrond, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re home, meldanya (Q. my beloved), you’re home,” she murmured, her voice low enough only for his ears. When she pulled apart to gaze into those grey eyes she loved so much, she found them full of tears. “Elrond?” Eleniel asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m such a failure, ingaranel nin,” Elrond sniffled, hastily wiping his eyes, but more tears came. “I was so close! We could’ve gotten the mithril needed to save elvenkind, but…but I…”

“It’s okay, Elrond,” Eleniel said soothingly. Her hand cupped his face, her thumb wiping soot from his cheeks. She knew what had happened. Her sunshine had tried his best, but the dwarven king, Prince Durin’s father, had forbade any further mining for mithril. She’d suspected that the dwarven king would respond as such, but never did she expect that he would throw her beloved out like that.

Elrond sobbed silently. Eleniel grabbed his shoulders gently and steered them away from the gates. “Hush, Elrond, you did your best. No one will blame you, you tried,” Eleniel said softly, pulling her husband down to her height to kiss his forehead.

“I failed, Eleniel,” Elrond said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Now the elves will fade, all because of me.” He fished something out of his pocket, a small ore that gleamed in the light of the setting sun. “Durin gave me this, a small mithril ore. Such a small piece for all elvenkind, how can it even help?”

“It helps more than you know, Elrond,” Eleniel smiled at him, the kind of smile Elrond loved to see. “Celebrimbor will find a way, I’m sure of it. He’s only the best smith in all Middle-earth. How could he not?”

“The High King entrusted me with this,” Elrond sniffled once more, tears streaming silently down his face. “I failed him. How can I face him?”

“Listen to me, husband.” Eleniel’s voice was firm. Her fingers wiped the tears from his face, before brushing one of his brown curls behind his pointed ear. “You’ve done your best, and I’ll see to it that my father knows so. No one can blame you for King Durin’s response.” She hugged Elrond tight, and he returned her embrace, pressing a kiss into her fragrant hair. “Truly?” Elrond pulled away just enough to look into Eleniel’s blue eyes.

She nodded. “I’ve got you, Elrond. I’ve got you.”

[earthlybeam]

Hii, if your requests are open may I please request something a bit bittersweet but with a good ending? Sort of?? With Legolas , Thranduil and Haldir (and/or anyone else you'd prefer more!)Something like them and the reader being separated in war/battle and them thinking the other is gone but then they reunite after a long time and it's tears and happiness and all that soft stuff. Bonus points if the reader is also mortal/human

A bittersweet tale with a heartwarming ending—featuring Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir and bonus character Elrond love him too much. 🫶❤️‍🩹

So Imagine the reader you a mortal (gender is up to you as non state) , and the elves being separated during a fierce battle or war. Both sides believe the other is lost, the grief of separation weighing heavy on them. Yet, after an agonizingly long time, fate intervenes. Against all odds, they reunite in a moment filled with overwhelming relief, tears, and joy. It’s a tender celebration of love enduring through loss, hardship, and the passage of time. 🫶🥹❤️‍🩹

If anyone else has any requests feel free to ask 🫶

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The Battle of the Five Armies had come and gone, leaving behind scars that no time could ever truly heal. For Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, the toll of loss weighed heavily on his heart. Amidst the chaos—the relentless clash of swords, the anguished cries of the fallen, and the suffocating haze of smoke—he had searched for you. His human love. His heart. His beloved starlight. He had fought against the tide of battle, his mind only on you, but in the confusion and chaos, you had been swept away, lost to the carnage.

In the days that followed, Thranduil himself took to the battlefield, disregarding the pleas of his soldiers to return to safety. His silver armor, once gleaming, was now dulled with blood and ash, his movements precise yet desperate as he turned over fallen bodies, scanned the shattered terrain, and searched through shadowed crevices. When the wind carried no trace of your scent, his heart constricted. When he found only a scrap of your bloodied cloak caught on the jagged rocks of a cliffside, he knew despair.

𐂂 Thranduil did not cry out. Kings did not weep in the presence of their people. He held the torn fabric tightly, the blood staining his palm as he returned to his soldiers with an expression that betrayed nothing. His orders were delivered with icy precision: count the dead, tend to the wounded, prepare for the long journey home. The Woodland Realm must endure, for he was their king, and they needed him to remain steadfast.

𐂂 But that night, in the solitude of his chambers, Thranduil crumbled. He sat on the edge of his ornate bed, your bloodied cloak still clutched in his hand. The walls of his chamber, once grand and filled with life, now seemed to press in around him, cold and suffocating. The emptiness in his chest felt like a wound that would never heal, and his grief clawed at him like a living thing. The silence mocked him, for he knew the sound of your laughter would never fill these halls again.

𐂂 Thranduil had lived for centuries, enduring losses that few could understand. He had stood on the battlefield when his father, Oropher, fell during the War of the Last Alliance, his grief then a sharp and sudden wound. He had watched his beloved wife fade away, claimed by the creeping darkness that plagued the woods. That grief had been a slow, relentless ache. But this? This was different. Your absence was not a wound or an ache—it was an emptiness, a hollow void that had been carved into his very being.

𐂂 He missed you in ways that made his chest tighten and his breath catch. He missed the sound of your voice, so soft and full of warmth, the way it caressed his name when you spoke it. He missed the human lilt in your Sindarin words, a melody that was uniquely yours. He missed the way your laughter would echo through the halls, bright and carefree, a sharp contrast to the somber atmosphere of the palace.

𐂂 He longed for the nights you spent together, tangled in one another’s arms beneath the moonlight. He could still feel the press of your lips against his, kisses so full of passion and fire that they left him breathless. A kiss from you had the power to undo him, to strip away his crown and his burdens until he was not a king but simply a man who adored you. He missed the small, human things you brought into his immortal life. The way you would coax him out of his solemnity with your mischievous smiles and playful demands. One rainy evening, you had dragged him into the gardens, insisting that he join you to dance in the storm. At first, he had resisted, scolding you for risking your health, but when your fingers entwined with his and your laughter rose above the thunder, he had relented. Together, you had spun and swayed beneath the deluge, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin. In that moment, he had felt something he had not felt in centuries—freedom.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was sharpest in the quiet moments, when the absence of your presence was most keenly felt. He missed waking up before the sun just to hold you a little longer, your body warm and soft against his. He missed how your fingers would trace the elegant lines of his face, your touch reverent, as if you were committing him to memory. He missed the ritual of dressing together each morning, your hands brushing as he fastened the clasps of your gown/robe or adjusted the delicate circlet you wore.

𐂂 Evenings in the library were the hardest to endure. The two of you would sit close, a fire crackling softly in the hearth as you read to one another. Your voice, clear and melodic, would weave through the ancient stories, and he would pause every now and then to press a kiss to your temple or trace a finger along your jawline. You had a way of making even the longest nights feel too short. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty.

𐂂 There were nights when you’d set the books aside, pouring glasses of deep red wine and lingering over its warmth. He’d sit on the floor between your knees, his broad back leaning into your lap, while your fingers deftly braided his hair, weaving intricate patterns as you talked. You’d trade stories, share secrets, laugh until your sides hurt, and unravel the mysteries of one another until the fire burned low.

𐂂 Eventually, you’d settle together on the chaise, his arms wrapped around you, his head tucked into the curve of your neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat would lull you into a sense of peace, and you’d wonder how hours could slip by so quickly when they were spent in his arms. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty—a hollow echo of what they once were.

𐂂 He missed your presence at his side during council meetings, your steady gaze meeting his when the weight of his crown became too heavy. Though you were mortal, you had a wisdom that he cherished, and he often leaned over to murmur in your ear, seeking your insight on matters of politics or war.

𐂂 He missed the sound of your voice. How it could rise in fierce defiance, matching his intensity when you challenged him, or soften into a gentle melody when you spoke of your dreams. You had a way of looking at him that unnerved him at first, piercing through the layers of his arrogance and pride, as if you saw the man beneath the crown. And he had let you see him—a rare gift, one he now regretted giving so freely, for it left him feeling more exposed in your absence.

𐂂 Thranduil carried himself as a king should, his grief hidden behind an unyielding mask. But when he was alone, the cracks in his composure showed. He wandered the halls of his palace late at night, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a shroud. He imagined he could hear your footsteps, the soft echo of your voice calling his name.

𐂂 The gardens, once a place of solace, now only deepened his sorrow. He would kneel by the flowers you had tended, his fingers brushing over their leaves as though he could touch a piece of you. He remembered how you had once knelt beside him, your hands dirtied from planting new blossoms, and how you had laughed when he teased you about your lack of grace.

𐂂 He would sit beneath the ancient trees, staring up at the stars, and wonder if you could see them too, wherever you were. His fingers would stray to the ring he had meant to give you, the one he had carried in his pocket for months, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment would never come.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was a testament to the depth of his love. He had lived for centuries, but you had taught him what it truly meant to live. Your absence was a void that no amount of time could fill, and though he remained every inch a thin the walls of his heart, he was simply a man mourning the you who had been his world.

𐂂 Three years had passed in the lonely corridors of his palace, years marked by an unrelenting stillness that clung to the Woodland Realm like a shroud. The celebrations of the victory at the Battle of the Five Armies had long faded into memory, their songs and triumphs reduced to whispers of the past. For Thranduil, there was no solace in victory, no joy in the enduring peace. His thoughts, no matter how he tried to quell them, always wandered back to you.

𐂂 He thought of your laughter, so bright it seemed to illuminate the shadowed halls of his realm. He thought of your touch—soft, grounding, and warm, a balm to his weary spirit. He thought of the way your eyes shone, even in the darkest moments, like stars breaking through a storm-laden sky. But these thoughts were no comfort. They were daggers, sharp and cruel, reminding him of the emptiness that had taken your place.

𐂂 The elves whispered of their king, pitying him. Thranduil, who had endured centuries of loss and seen his kingdom thrive despite it, now seemed diminished. His grief was a weight that bent him in ways his people had never seen. Once proud and untouchable, he had become a man lost in memories, a king trapped in mourning.

The return:

𐂂 Three (or more up to you) years had passed since fate last smiled upon Thranduil. Three years of silence, of searching, of despair. The Woodland Realm had recovered from its battles, but its king had not. His people spoke in hushed tones of his sorrow, how he spent long hours gazing toward the edges of his forest, as though willing you to emerge from the shadows. Yet the forest, which once seemed endless and alive, had remained achingly empty.

𐂂 Then, on an autumn evening when the air was thick with the scent of fallen leaves and the golden hues of the forest began to fade into dusk, hope returned. A scout came to the palace, his face grave but his icy blue eyes bright with news. A figure—a lone, weary traveler—had been seen wandering the edges of the forest. The description matched you.

𐂂 Thranduil needed no further confirmation. Without so much as a word, he swept from the council chambers, the echo of his departure leaving the room stunned in silence. Mounting his great elk, he rode out into the deepening twilight, his silver armor catching the last remnants of the sun. The colors of autumn blurred around him as the wind tore at his hair, but he paid no mind to anything except the direction the scout had pointed.

𐂂 He pushed his elk harder than he ever had before, the urgency in his heart an unfamiliar but undeniable ache. As the shadows lengthened and the forest grew darker, Thranduil urged his mount deeper into the woods. The only sounds were the rhythmic beat of hooves against the forest floor and the faint rustle of leaves. It was then, when all seemed still and silent, that he heard it. A voice. Faint, carried by the wind like a song drifting through the trees. It was fragile, almost unreal, but it was unmistakably yours. “Thranduil.”

𐂂 His hands tightened on the reins, his heart stuttering in his chest. Could it be? The voice that had haunted his dreams, the name spoken in a way only you could, both familiar and utterly sacred? Fear warred with hope. What if it was a trick? An echo of his grief? Yet deep in his heart, he knew it could only be you. Urging his elk onward, Thranduil rode toward the sound, his sharp eyes scanning the darkening forest. The trees seemed to bend and shift as though guiding him forward, and at last, the forest opened into a small clearing bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

𐂂 And there you stood. The Sight of You. The world seemed to stop. Time itself held its breath as Thranduil dismounted, his cloak swirling around him in a cascade of silver and forest green. He moved forward slowly, his steps hesitant, as though afraid that the vision of you might dissolve into mist. But you were real. Time had touched you, softening the youthful glow of your face, marking you with lines that spoke of trials endured and years spent apart. Yet you were unmistakably, gloriously you.

𐂂 You turned at the sound of his approach, your eyes widening with shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, as though the earth itself shifted beneath your feet, you ran to him. Thranduil caught you in his arms, lifting you from the ground as though to anchor you to him, to banish the years of emptiness that had carved their mark into his soul. His grip was unrelenting, his hands clutching at you, trembling as they mapped the reality of your form.

𐂂 “Thranduil, my love,” you whispered, your voice breaking as your hands framed his face, tracing the sharp angles of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. Your touch was desperate, needing to confirm that he was real, that this was not another cruel dream.

𐂂 “You… you are here,” he murmured, his voice cracking with disbelief. His icy-blue eyes brimmed with emotion as his hands rose to cradle your face, his long fingers trembling against your skin. “Alive.” He traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, as though committing every inch of you to memory. A shuddering breath escaped him, and his composure—the centuries of restraint he had so carefully mastered—crumbled in the wake of your presence.

𐂂 Then, unable to hold back any longer, he kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of years lost and love enduring. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation, as though he could pour every ounce of his grief, his longing, his unyielding devotion into that single moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil wept.

𐂂 Tears slid silently down his pale cheeks, unchecked and unashamed, as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath came in uneven bursts, and his voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, “I thought I had lost you. I searched every shadow, every corner of this forest. I found nothing. I thought…” His voice faltered. “I thought you were gone.”

𐂂 Your hands tightened on his cloak, clutching at the rich fabric as though to anchor him to you. “I told you, my king,” you said, your voice trembling but steady with conviction. “It would take more than a war to keep me from you.” Your words broke the last of his resolve. He let out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and pulled you closer. “You never stopped hoping,” he murmured, his tone one of wonder. “I never stopped,” you confirmed, tears shimmering in your eyes.

𐂂 For a long moment, there were no more words, only the silence of the forest and the quiet communion of two souls reunited. The weight of the years, the pain of your separation, melted away, leaving only the undeniable truth of your love.

𐂂 When Thranduil finally led you back to the Woodland Realm, his people watched in awe. Their king, who for centuries had been distant and untouchable, now radiated a warmth they had never seen before. It was as though you had brought life back to him, restoring a light that had been long extinguished. Though the years apart had changed you both, your love endured—fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. And for Thranduil, who had carried the weight of loss for so long, you were his salvation.

Aftermath:

𐂂 Thranduil had always known what it meant to love a mortal. He had known it from the moment his heart first stirred for you, from the way your smile softened the edges of his carefully guarded world. He had known it when you walked beside him through the gardens of the Woodland Realm, your steps so light yet leaving an indelible mark upon his soul. And he had known it when he held you for the first time after your return, the warmth of your presence a bittersweet reminder of how fleeting your time together would be.

𐂂 He no longer let the weight of his duties keep him from your side if you needed him he try get their as fast as he can. Every stolen moment was precious, every shared glance and quiet word a treasure. He found himself lingering in the small, human routines of life that he had once dismissed. He would rise before dawn to watch you sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest a melody that soothed his ancient heart. He would sit beside you in the evenings, reading to you in the lilting tones of Sindarin, the stories of old taking on a new significance with you nestled against him.

𐂂 Yet, beneath the surface of his newfound joy, a shadow lingered. He could not ignore the truth of your mortality. It was a quiet ache that never left him, a silent countdown that ticked away in the back of his mind. He knew there would come a day when your hand would no longer be there to hold, when your laughter would no longer fill the halls of his palace. And though he was no stranger to loss, the thought of losing you—his love, his heart—was a wound he could not bear to dwell upon.

𐂂 On days when your mortal strength faltered—when the weariness of your journey or the limitations of your human frame caught up to you—he would lift you into his arms without hesitation. His steps remained graceful and unhurried, as though carrying you was the most natural thing in the world. You protested at first, laughing softly at the indignity of being treated like a child, but his calm, unwavering expression silenced you. “You are mine to protect,” he would say simply, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me carry you.” And so you would rest against him, your head on his shoulder, as he bore you through the forest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his steps became a comfort you cherished deeply.

𐂂 The evenings were your favorite time. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars emerged one by one, you and Thranduil would retreat to the quiet solace of his private gardens. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and the hum of life, a testament to the harmony he had nurtured in his realm.

𐂂 You would sit together beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the space around you. Thranduil often brought a delicate glass of Dorwinion wine for himself and a fragrant tea for you, brewed with herbs from the forest.

𐂂 “I have lived so long,” he said one night, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Too long, perhaps. And yet, in all that time, I have never felt as I do now.” He turned to you then, his blue eyes bright with a vulnerability few had ever seen. “You have given me something I thought lost to me forever: hope.” You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cheek in a gesture of comfort and devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” you promised, your voice soft but resolute.

𐂂 His hand covered yours, his thumb caressing the back of your fingers. “I know your time here is fleeting,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I will not waste the gift of your presence. Every moment with you is a treasure, meleth nín, and I will cherish it until the end of my days.”

𐂂 Though the inevitability of your mortality weighed heavily on him, Thranduil chose to focus on the present. He insisted on celebrating the small joys of life: the laughter you shared over a quiet meal, the way your eyes lit up when he presented you with a token of his affection—a delicate circlet of silver leaves or a rare flower from the depths of the forest.

𐂂 He became fiercely protective of you, ensuring that no harm would ever come near. His guards were instructed to keep watch over you whenever he could not, though he was rarely far from your side. Even Legolas, upon returning to Mirkwood, marveled at the bond between you.

𐂂 “You have done what I thought impossible,” Legolas said to you one day, his tone both teasing and sincere. “You have softened my father’s heart.”“I didn’t do anything,” you replied with a smile. “He was always this way. He just needed a reason to show it.” In the years that followed, Thranduil made good on his vow. He loved you with an intensity that belied his normally reserved nature, his devotion to you a constant in a world ever shifting. And though he knew your time together was but a blink in the span of his immortal life, he found peace in the knowledge that you had returned to him.

Bonus part :

𐂂 Thranduil had planned to propose before the Battle of the Five Armies had changed everything. He had commissioned a ring crafted from mithril and set with a stone as clear as starlight, a design as enduring and timeless as the love he felt for you. It had been hidden away, waiting for the perfect moment. He remembered vividly the day he intended to ask. The two of you had walked through the forest, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of life around you. You had smiled at him, teasing him about his pensive mood, unaware of the question he carried in his heart. But then the drums of war had sounded, and everything had unraveled.

𐂂 After your loss in the chaos of the battle, he had buried the ring deep within the treasure vaults of his palace, unable to look at it without feeling the sharp sting of grief. But now, with you back at his side, the thought of that ring returned to him, a quiet but insistent reminder of what he had almost lost. One evening, as the stars glimmered above and the forest glowed with the soft light of fireflies, Thranduil led you to the same clearing where he had found you again. The air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and woodsmoke, and the world seemed to hold its breath as he turned to face you.

𐂂 “I meant to do this long ago,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. From the folds of his cloak, he drew out the ring, the mithril catching the faint starlight. “Before the battle… before everything, I wished to ask you something.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide with wonder and tears glistening at their corners. He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he knelt before you, his regal composure melting into something infinitely tender.

𐂂 “I know that our time together is fleeting,” he began, his voice low and reverent. “But that is what makes it precious. You have given me a joy I thought I would never feel again, a love that has restored the parts of me I thought lost to the shadows of the past. Will you, for as many days as we are given, be my star, my light, my heart?” When you nodded, tears spilling over as you whispered your answer, he slipped the ring onto your finger and rose, pulling you into an embrace that spoke of a love too vast for words.

From that night onward, Thranduil treated every moment with you as a gift. He ensured that your days together were filled with joy, laughter, and the quiet, unshakable intimacy that defined your bond. The two of you traveled to the farthest reaches of the Woodland Realm, exploring hidden glades and ancient groves. He showed you the secrets of his kingdom, sharing stories that only the trees had witnessed.

𐂂 Yet he also prepared himself for the inevitable. Thranduil, who had faced countless wars and losses, steeled his heart for the day when you would no longer walk beside him. But he made you a promise: when that day came, he would not let his grief consume him. Instead, he would carry your memory like a flame, a guiding light in the endless expanse of his immortal life.

𐂂 And when the time came—years later, in the gentle embrace of a quiet spring—Thranduil held you close as your mortal body surrendered to time. He did not fight the tears that fell, nor the ache that gripped his soul. Instead, he whispered words of love and gratitude, promising that he would find you again, in whatever form the world allowed.

𐂂 For Thranduil, your love was a paradox fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. It was a love that defied the constraints of time, enduring not in the years you shared but in the eternal mark it left on his heart. And though he lived on, an immortal king bound to the world, he carried you with him always—a love that transcended even the bounds of eternity.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The battle had been chaos—a maelstrom of blood, steel, and fire. You had been separated in the thick of it, pulled away from Legolas by the tides of war. He had seen you fall, your mortal body collapsing beneath the weight of the enemy’s blows. He had screamed your name, but the battle’s cacophony swallowed his voice. Despite his best efforts to reach you, the press of the enemy and the demands of leadership had dragged him away, forcing him to retreat with his people.

𖧧 Days after the battle, Legolas returned to the site, his heart heavy with dread and hope. The battlefield, once a scene of turmoil, was now eerily silent, save for the whispers of the wind. He searched desperately among the broken bodies and shattered weapons, his eyes scanning every corner, praying to find you—alive or at least at peace.

𖧧 But all that remained was the tattered remnants of your cloak, caught on a jagged stone. His fingers brushed the fabric, trembling with a mixture of grief and disbelief. No sign of your body. He fell to his knees, the weight of the loss sinking deeper than the cold earth beneath him. The battle had taken so much, and now, even your remains seemed to have vanished into the void.

𖧧 Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and yet the memory of your last moments haunted him. He could not forgive himself for failing to save you. Every arrow he loosed, every step he took in the forests of Mirkwood, felt hollow. For an elf who could live forever, the weight of eternity without you loomed unbearably large.

𖧧 The Fellowship, though sympathetic, could only do so much. Aragorn offered quiet support, Gimli shared in the mourning in his own gruff way, and even the hobbits, who knew loss all too well, tried to cheer him with stories. But nothing could ease the ache in Legolas’s heart.

𖧧 Five years passed, and the world around Legolas moved forward, but he remained stuck in the past, as though caught in a never-ending cycle of mourning. The war was over, the Ring destroyed, and Middle-earth had begun to rebuild. Yet, every step Legolas took in the woods of Mirkwood felt hollow. His heart, once full of the song of the trees, had become a silent, aching void. He no longer found joy in the endless beauty of the forests. The trees, once his closest friends, now whispered their sorrow to him as much as they did their solace.

𖧧 He had watched, for centuries, as the seasons changed, but he had never truly understood how fleeting they were until now. The impermanence of life had never struck him so deeply. He had lived through countless ages, witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, seen friends come and go, but none of it had ever hurt like this. The thought of you—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you held his hand in yours—was a constant presence in his mind. He longed for you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of the forest, when the noise of the world faded away.

𖧧 The ache was a part of him now, a permanent scar that could not be healed. Legolas missed you more than he ever thought possible. He missed the way you would hum soft songs to him when you thought he wasn’t listening, the way you would laugh at his awkward attempts to fit in with the others, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of something that brought you joy. He missed the way you would lay beside him on quiet nights, your head resting on his chest, listening to the heartbeat that was steady and sure while your own was more fleeting, yet so full of life.

𖧧 He missed the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you would hold him close when the world outside seemed too dark. He missed the feeling of you nestled beside him in the evenings, when the world grew still, and the air was thick with the scent of the forest, the fragrance of pine and earth that he had always loved. You were so different from him, so mortal, and yet so full of life. You had a way of seeing the world with fresh eyes, finding wonder in the simplest things. It was that wonder, that joy you radiated, that had drawn him to you.

𖧧 But now, the world felt empty. The laughter that had once filled the air now echoed hollowly in his memory. The wind, which used to carry the melodies of the forest, now whispered your name in his ear, a constant reminder of what he had lost. Legolas would often wander deep into the heart of Mirkwood, lost in thought, searching for some kind of peace, but he could never find it. He would find solace in the quiet rhythm of the world, in the stillness of the ancient trees, but it was never enough. The trees had always been his companions, but now they felt distant, like they too mourned your absence.

𖧧 His nights were the hardest. Legolas had always been a creature of the day, a warrior and protector, but it was in the quiet of the night that his grief truly took hold. He could not sleep for the thoughts that churned in his mind. He would find himself sitting at the edge of the forest, staring out at the stars, the ones you had once pointed out to him, tracing constellations with your fingers as you shared stories of ancient times. Those memories would bring him some comfort, but they also deepened the ache in his chest. It was as if the stars themselves were now distant, removed from the world that had once been shared by both of you.

𖧧 In the years since the war, Legolas had done everything he could to honor your memory. He had planted trees in your name, hoping they would grow strong and tall, just as you had. He had given himself to the land, using his hands to heal the scars left by battle, to restore what had been lost. But even this work, which once brought him peace, no longer satisfied him. The trees, the rivers, the creatures of the forest—they all reminded him of what he had lost, of the life he could never have with you again.

𖧧 He longed to hear your voice again, to feel the warmth of your hand in his. He wished for nothing more than to see your face once more, to run his fingers through your hair, to kiss you as he had done so many times before. But you were gone, and all that was left was the echo of your presence, lingering in the spaces between his breaths.

𖧧 The grief had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his existence. And though the passage of time had dulled its sharpness, it had never truly faded. The elves, ever perceptive, could see the change in him. They knew something was missing, though they never spoke of it directly. Even Thranduil, who rarely showed emotion, could not deny the shift in his son. But no one could truly understand the depth of Legolas’s loss. None but him could feel the weight of eternity without you.

𖧧 And yet, amid all the pain, there was a quiet hope, a longing that refused to die. It lived in the quiet moments when Legolas would catch himself smiling at a memory of you, or when he would find a token—perhaps a flower or a small stone—that reminded him of you. It lived in the whispers of the trees, in the soft rustling of leaves that felt like a whisper from your soul. It was the hope that, somehow, one day, fate might be kind enough to return you to him. But until that day came, he would continue his lonely path, living in a world where time moved on, but his heart remained still.

Your return:

𖧧 It was in the quiet solitude of the grove, the sunlight filtering through the new leaves of the saplings that had sprung to life in the wake of war, that Legolas first heard it—a voice that seemed to tear through the thick fog of his sorrow. It was so familiar, so dear, that it sent a chill down his spine.

𖧧 “Legolas?” For a moment, everything around him ceased to exist. His heart stopped in his chest, and the world seemed to tilt. The voice was unmistakable. It was yours. He whirled around, his elven senses alert, searching the trees, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with frantic intensity. And there you were. Standing among the trees, as if time had folded itself, and all the years between that fateful battle and now were nothing but a fleeting dream.

𖧧 You were alive. You were real. His breath caught in his throat. Your form, though unmistakably yours, bore marks of hardship—scars that told stories of the pain you had endured, the battles you had fought, and the life you had fought to cling to. But it was you. The same warmth in your eyes, the same gentle smile that had once lit up his world.

𖧧 For what felt like an eternity, neither of you moved. You stood, frozen in place taking in the sight of one another. Legolas’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as if it, too, was trying to catch up with the reality unfolding before him.

𖧧 Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, his legs carried him to you, his arms reaching out and enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His strength was overwhelming, as though he feared that if he loosened his hold, you might slip away again, like some fragile dream. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face buried in your hair, as if he could breathe you back into existence, pulling you close, unwilling to let go.

𖧧 “I thought you were gone,” he whispered, his voice strained and thick with emotion, the words almost strangled by grief and relief. His chest tightened painfully as he spoke, the weight of the years he had spent mourning you pressing on him, only to now find you before him, alive and real. “I saw you fall. I mourned you.” The sound of your voice, trembling but steady, broke through the tension. “I thought I was gone too,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking. “I was taken, Legolas. Injured, captured… but I survived. I kept hoping I’d see you again.”

𖧧 Your words were a balm to his soul, though they only deepened the ache in his heart. He could not imagine the pain you must have suffered, the darkness you had endured, separated from him for so long. And yet here you were, standing before him, alive and whole, despite everything.

𖧧 He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His fingers traced the familiar features he had longed for—your jawline, the curve of your lips, the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. His touch was soft, reverent, as though he feared he might be dreaming again, that this was a fantasy that would vanish as soon as he blinked. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.

𖧧 “Meleth nîn, you are here. You are alive.” His gaze locked with yours, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but this was different. You were back. The emptiness in his chest had been filled, but now the overwhelming flood of emotion threatened to break him. “I should have searched harder. I should never have given up—” Before he could speak another word, you gently pressed your fingers to his lips, silencing him. You felt the weight of his guilt, his self-blame, but you needed him to know—truly know—that none of it was his fault.

𖧧 “You didn’t give up,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hands covering his. Your touch was a grounding force, reminding him that this moment was real, that you were truly here. “You thought I was gone, as anyone would had. But now… now we have this.” You said the words with such certainty, such warmth, that it eased the last of his lingering doubts. There was no room for regret in this moment. Only the overwhelming joy of being reunited with the one person he had feared he had lost forever.

𖧧 Legolas leaned in then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that began gentle, almost tentative, as if he were testing the reality of the moment. His lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as though the very touch might dissolve. But then, the floodgates opened, and the years of longing, of pain, of separation poured into the kiss. It deepened, and the gentle touch became an urgent, desperate need to feel you close, to make sure that this moment—this precious moment—was real.

𖧧 His hands moved to your back, pulling you against him, his heart hammering in his chest as if trying to convince him that you were truly there, that this was not a dream. He kissed you as though he could shield you from time itself, as though he could protect you from everything that had kept you apart. He wanted to erase the years of pain and loss, to replace them with the warmth of your embrace and the sweetness of your love. For a long time, neither of you spoke. There were no words necessary. The kiss said it all—the years of grief, the lost time, the quiet hope that had never faded. It was all there, in that one kiss, that one embrace. And in that moment, Legolas felt whole again, as if the missing part of him had finally returned.

𖧧 He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes once more, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There was still so much he wanted to say, but for now, words were unnecessary. Instead, he smiled, a smile that was both bittersweet and full of hope, as though he were daring to believe that this time, you were truly here to stay.

Aftermath:

𖧧 The elves of Mirkwood were overjoyed to see their prince returned to them, though many of them struggled to understand the depth of the emotions that had taken hold of him. Legolas had always been composed, the epitome of grace and quiet strength, but since your disappearance, a shadow had clouded his spirit. The change in him was not subtle. The elves, who had witnessed centuries of sorrow and joy alike, understood the weight of grief, but even they had never seen such a profound transformation in their prince.

𖧧 It was not just his grief that marked him; it was the overwhelming joy that followed your return. There was a light in his eyes now, a light that had long been missing, and it was this light that brightened the entire Woodland Realm. His once-distant gaze had softened, the sorrow that had bound him now replaced by a quiet, hopeful contentment. The elves were accustomed to the stoic nature of their kind, but Legolas’s transformation was like a beacon of hope, one that spread through the woods like the first light of dawn after a long, dark night. Even the leaves seemed to shimmer more brightly in his presence, as though reflecting his renewed spirit.

𖧧 Though many of the elves had long accepted the sadness of time’s passing, and the inevitable cycle of life and death, there were still those who found themselves cautious about attachment to mortals. They had seen how fleeting the lives of men and women were, how quickly the ones they loved could be lost. The idea that an elf—immortal and bound to the land—might form a bond with someone so transient had always been a subject of quiet discomfort. Yet, they could not deny the bond that had been rekindled between Legolas and you. The joy he now radiated was something none of them had seen in centuries. It was a testament to the power of love, and the elves, for all their wisdom, could not ignore the beauty of such a rare and pure thing.

𖧧 Even Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, who had always been reserved and cautious with his emotions, could not hide the soft pride in his eyes when he spoke of your return. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the realm in twilight, he sat with Legolas and you beneath the towering trees. His expression, though still composed, betrayed a warmth that few ever saw from the elven king. “My son has been… unrecognizable without you,” Thranduil admitted, his voice low, his gaze resting on Legolas with an unspoken understanding. “Your return is a gift, one I did not dare hope for. In your absence, I feared he would never recover. I see now that I was wrong.” His eyes met yours for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment of the role you had played in bringing the prince back from the edge of despair.

𖧧 Legolas, ever the devoted partner, became almost protective in the days following your reunion. His presence was constant, his devotion unwavering. He rarely let you out of his sight, his gaze always seeking you out, even in a room full of others. His fingers often brushed against yours in passing, a small but deliberate gesture, like an anchor in the ever-shifting tides of life. His touch was a quiet reassurance, a constant reminder that you were still there, that you had returned to him, and he to you.

𖧧 Though the weight of mortality still hung over you like a shadow, it only made the time you spent together more precious. Each moment with you felt like a rare treasure, something he could never take for granted. Legolas began to show you the parts of the forest that he cherished most—hidden glades where the trees seemed to hum with ancient wisdom, sparkling streams that wound through the land like veins of life. He shared with you the quiet, sacred places where he had once wandered alone, his heart heavy with grief, and now filled with love. His heart ached with the knowledge that, as much as he longed to share eternity with you, time was never on his side.

𖧧 Still, despite the knowledge of your eventual passing, he held fast to every second. He cherished each touch, each laugh, and the fleeting moments of joy that seemed to glow more brightly in the presence of the inevitable darkness of mortality. When you walked together beneath the trees, your fingers entwined, he would often smile softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, knowing that each passing day was one closer to the end of your time together.

𖧧 One night, as the two of you lay together beneath the canopy of stars, the world around you seemed to fade into a dreamlike quiet. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic pulse of the earth beneath you. Legolas’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, as though he could shield you from the inevitable, protect you from the fragility of your mortal form. He pressed his lips to your forehead, his voice a soft whisper against the cool night air.

𖧧 “I will love you until the end of my days, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his words laced with the depth of his emotion, “and far beyond that.” His voice trembled slightly, as if he, too, feared the passage of time, but in the same breath, he expressed his unwavering resolve to love you for as long as he could. “Even when the days of your life are gone, my love for you will endure, woven into the fabric of time itself.”

𖧧 For an elf like Legolas, eternity had always been a distant horizon—unchanging, inevitable, and timeless. He had always lived with the knowledge that his existence stretched on, forever unmarred by death. But with you by his side, the brevity of your mortal life gave him a new understanding of eternity. Even as the seasons changed and the world around them shifted, the love they shared became a constant. It was as if, in your fleeting moments together, you had given him a glimpse of the infinite. And for Legolas, that was enough.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ The Battle of Helm’s Deep had come to a grueling end. After hours of fighting, the once serene valley had turned into a chaos of cries, clashing steel, and the smell of smoke. Amid the victory, there was sorrow. Haldir had led the Elven warriors with unmatched skill, but the cost was heavy. The loss of comrades, of friends—he had witnessed it all. But there was one more wound, one that cut deeper than the others: the sudden absence of you, his love, the one who had fought at his side.

➳ When the battle raged, Haldir had seen you fall. In the chaotic madness, there had been no time to reach you. The desperate hope that you had merely been knocked unconscious had been the only thing that kept him from succumbing to despair. He had searched the battlefield, and when the fighting ended, he had found no trace of you just the promise ring they both have. (That promise ring haldir had picked up and wore it on a necklace around his neck after that day), The hope had died then, buried with the fallen warriors.

➳ Days passed, and the darkness of grief settled upon him. The laughter of his brothers, the joy of their victory, felt distant to him. He withdrew into himself, ever vigilant, though there was no enemy left to face. The world around him had grown quiet, and the shadows of the past kept whispering in his mind, haunting his every waking moment.

➳ Haldir never spoke of it. Not to Aragorn, not to Legolas, nor even to Galadriel in his thoughts. How could he? To show weakness, to admit that his heart had shattered would have been a betrayal of his duty, of the pride of Lothlórien. So, he carried on, but it was harder now, each day a battle against the emptiness within.

➳ Not even year had done little to ease the ache in Haldir’s chest. The Battle of Helm’s Deep, a triumph for the free peoples of Middle-earth, had left him with a deep, unspoken sorrow, one that haunted his every step. The absence of you, his love, had carved an irreparable wound in him. At first, he had fought to hold on to the belief that you had survived, that perhaps the chaos of the battle had merely swept you away, leaving you battered and bruised but alive. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, that hope began to slip through his fingers, like the softest of sands in the wind.

➳ The ring you had given him (promise ring), the one he had promised to wear until the end of his days, had been the only tangible connection he had left to you. That promise had felt like a lifeline in those early days after the battle, as if by keeping it close to his heart, he could somehow keep you with him, even in your absence. But when the cold reality set in and the ring was the only thing he had left to hold on to, it became both a comfort and a torment. He wore it on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath the folds of his tunic, never once letting it out of his sight. It was the last piece of you, the last reminder of the life he had once dreamed of sharing with you. And it ached, pulling at his heart in ways he could not bear to voice.

➳ Each time he touched the necklace, a memory of you would flood his thoughts—the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of dreams and hopes for the future, the way your hand felt in his, warm and steady. He missed the little things, the quiet moments that had meant the most. The way you had always known what he needed without words. How, even in the midst of battle, you had found a way to offer him comfort with a mere glance or a soft touch.

➳ Haldir had always been someone who took pride in his stoic demeanor, in the discipline and duty that had shaped his life. But you had changed him in ways he could never explain. You had brought softness to his heart, a tenderness he had not known he was capable of. And with you gone, that tenderness had hardened into an unyielding shell, keeping the world at arm’s length.

➳ He missed the warmth of your presence, the way you would sit beside him in silence, content just to be in each other’s company. He missed the way your voice would soften when you spoke his name, how your touch would linger in the small gestures—a brush of your fingers across his hand, a fleeting kiss on his cheek. There was a quiet intimacy in those moments that had grounded him, reminding him that no matter how distant or aloof he appeared to others, there was someone who truly understood him, who saw the person behind the warrior. And now, in your absence, the silence felt deafening.

➳ He often found himself standing at the borders of Lothlórien, staring into the vast expanse of the forest that had once felt so alive, so full of purpose. The trees whispered in the wind, their leaves rustling with secrets, but none of those secrets brought him peace. He longed for the sound of your voice in the trees, for the echo of your laughter in the quiet of the forest. The land that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a cage, a place where he could not escape the memories of you.

➳ As he went about his duties, he felt the weight of the years pressing down on him. He had remained steadfast in his commitment to Lothlórien, never faltering, never straying from the path of duty. But deep inside, he wondered what it all meant now. Without you, what was he protecting? Without you by his side, the endless vigilance, the watchful eyes that never let anything slip by, seemed almost pointless. His people, his homeland, they deserved his protection, but so did you. And in failing to protect you, he had lost a part of himself.

➳ His younger brothers—Rúmil and Orophin—had noticed the change in him. They had watched him withdraw, bury his grief beneath a mask of duty and honor. They had seen the way his eyes grew distant, how the fire that once burned so brightly in him now seemed dulled. But they knew him too well to press him, too well to ask what was on his mind. They had seen the way he would glance at the empty places where you used to stand, and the way he would pause, as if listening for your voice in the wind. And in those moments, they said nothing, offering him the silence he so desperately craved.

➳ Six years had passed, and in that time, Haldir had hardened further, the memories of you still fresh in his mind but buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities. The world had moved on, but Haldir had remained rooted in the past. He had not forgotten you—not once. And yet, he had convinced himself that you were gone, that the hope of ever finding you again was a dream too far gone to reach.

The return:

➳ Then, one fateful day, the summons came. The familiar call to return to the borders of Lothlórien, to watch over his people once more. The weight of his memories pressed heavier as he made his way to the edge of the forest. And there, among the trees that had witnessed so much of his pain, he prepared himself for what he thought would be another lonely journey. But fate had other plans.

➳ Haldir would never forget the moment his eyes fell upon you once more. It was as if the world had stopped turning. The forest stood still, the breeze held its breath. And there you were, standing before him, as real and as alive as the day he had lost you. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he thought he might collapse from the weight of the emotions flooding through him. He had never stopped loving you, never stopped longing for this moment.

➳ For the first time in six long years, Haldir felt his heart beat again—not with the cold, unrelenting rhythm of duty, but with the warmth of hope. It was a warmth that had been absent from his life for far too long. It was like waking from a dream he had resigned himself to, the world around him suddenly sharp, vivid, full of possibility. The years of grief, of self-imposed solitude, had worn away at his spirit, leaving him hardened, distant, a shell of the Elven warrior he once was. But now, in that single breath, that fleeting moment when he first saw you, all of that shifted.

➳ His pulse quickened as he stood frozen, eyes locked on you as if you might vanish in an instant. His mind struggled to make sense of the impossible. You were here. Alive. Standing before him. Every ounce of restraint he had built up over the years crumbled in that instant. There had been no signal, no warning—just the quiet approach of your footsteps, the sound that shattered the numb silence of his existence.

➳ He took a step forward, but his legs felt weak. The elation, the disbelief, the agony of the years spent apart—they all surged through him, overwhelming him in a torrent of emotion. His breath caught in his throat. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, a sound so fragile it could break the very moment in which you both stood. The years of pain seemed to melt away with that single word. It was as though the years of separation, the endless nights of wondering, the grief of not knowing if he would ever see you again, all came rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

➳ Then, as if on instinct, he moved. He didn’t even think. He simply acted, crossing the distance between you in a few swift strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with a desperation that had not been part of him in years. His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his hands clutching you with such intensity that it almost hurt—but you didn’t mind. You, too, had lived with this ache, the gnawing emptiness that came with the loss of the one you loved. And now, in this instant, that loss was erased.

➳ Tears welled in his eyes, and though he fought them back, they came anyway—silent, betrayed by the depth of his relief. He let them fall, uncaring for once, for this moment was far more important than any of the self-control he had once so fiercely held on to. The warrior within him, so composed, so unshakeable, had melted into the man who had loved you more than anything. “I thought… I thought I had lost you forever,” he whispered, his voice breaking, as if speaking the truth aloud made it all real in the most painful way.

➳ His arms tightened around you, his hands trembling slightly as they moved to stroke your back, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here. He buried his face in your hair, taking in the scent of you, a scent he had never truly forgotten, even as the years had dragged on. In your arms, he was whole again. “I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured against your skin. “I thought… I thought I was alone in this world.” His words were desperate, a quiet confession of how much he had fallen apart in your absence.

➳ “I’m here, Haldir,” you whispered, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I thought I had lost you too.” You felt the trembling in his body, his silent sobs that shook him to his core, and you pressed yourself closer to him, letting him know that you were real, that you were here, that he was not alone anymore.

➳ He pulled back slightly, enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for some sign that this wasn’t a dream, that it wasn’t some cruel trick of the mind. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if he had to remind himself that you were really there. He knew you were real; the warmth of your body in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breath, it all confirmed it—but still, the disbelief lingered in his eyes. “How?” The word came out in a breathless whisper, barely audible, but it held all the confusion, all the questions that had plagued him in the years since your disappearance.

➳ You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I… I don’t know how. But I survived, Haldir. I survived for you. For this moment.” You took his hand, holding it to your chest, where his heart had always belonged. “And now… now we’re together again. That’s all that matters.” He blinked, his eyes welling up again, and this time he didn’t fight it. The tears spilled freely, tracking down his cheeks, a testament to the weight of his heart’s release. He let you see him—truly see him—unmasked in his vulnerability. The man who had carried the world on his shoulders, the warrior who had fought countless battles, was no longer untouchable. He was simply a man who loved and had nearly lost everything.

➳ His lips trembled as he spoke again, the words thick with emotion. “I feared I would never see you again,” he said, his voice quiet and raw. “You were my heart, Y/N. I feared I had lost you to this war. I feared that the one thing worth fighting for would be taken from me.” His hands cupped your face gently, as though he could keep you with him by sheer force of will. “But here you are. Alive. And I—” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of everything he felt. “I never want to let you go again.”

➳ “I will never leave you, Haldir,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking as you rested your forehead against his. The words felt like a promise, one that neither time nor distance could take away. “Let me heal you now,” you murmured, your hands brushing his cheek gently, wiping away the tears. “Let me be here for you. Let me show you that we can find peace again, together.” For a long moment, the two of you simply stood there, your bodies entwined, hearts beating in unison. The war was over, but in its place, there was a new battle—one of healing, of rebuilding what had been broken. But with each breath, each soft word exchanged between you, the weight of the past began to lift, and the love that had never faded began to blossom once again.

➳ When Haldir finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile full of quiet promise. “I will never let you go again, meleth nín,” he murmured, his voice steady once more, but with a tenderness that had been missing for so long.

➳ And in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade into nothing. There was no war, no grief, no loss—only the warmth of your presence, the unwavering connection that bound you together, a love that had withstood the tests of time and distance. No matter what came next, Haldir knew he had found you again—and this time, he would never let go. Together, you would face whatever came, knowing that your hearts had finally found their way back to each other.

Aftermath:

➳ In the days that followed, the world for Haldir felt both new and familiar. The reunion with you, the love of his life, had been everything he could have dreamed of and more. Yet, as the days slipped into weeks, there remained a shadow that followed him—a shadow not of war or grief, but of time itself. The realization gnawed at him, a quiet ache in the deepest part of his heart. He had lived for countless ages, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, watched the world change in ways that few could comprehend. His existence had stretched into eternity, a timeless rhythm, a slow and steady beat of life that allowed him to witness the birth and death of the seasons, the turning of the world on its axis.

➳ But you—his beloved—were different. Time would not wait for you. You would age, you would grow frail, and one day, far too soon, you would slip from this world as quickly as you had come into it. Haldir could no longer ignore this, though he tried. It lingered in the back of his mind as he held you at night, as he kissed you in the early mornings, as he laughed with you over meals. Every moment with you, every touch, every word felt precious. But the love he had for you was colored by an undercurrent of sorrow, one that grew more pronounced with each passing day.

➳ He would not be able to protect you from time. There was no shield against it, no sword to fight it, no battle to win. Time would take you, as it had taken so many before you, and no amount of Elven strength or magic could prevent it. At first, he tried to bury his fears, to hold on to the joy of having you in his arms, of sharing this time together. The two of you found moments of peace amidst the tension that clung to him—walking through the forests of Lothlórien, whispering sweet words to each other as the stars flickered above, listening to the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. You brought color back into his life, warmth where there had only been the cold emptiness of mourning.

➳ But time continued its inexorable march, and with each passing season, Haldir’s heart grew heavier. He could see the subtle changes in you—the faint lines beginning to form at the corners of your eyes, the softening of your youthful skin, the occasional weariness that would settle over you, even when you tried to hide it. He noticed how you moved, no longer as quick and unburdened as you once were, how you laughed less freely, as though each moment of joy was now a little more fragile.

➳ And it was in these moments—when the years seemed to press against his heart—that he would withdraw. He couldn’t help it. The pain of knowing that the love they had shared would someday be cut short by the passage of time was too much to bear. He would wander the forest alone, seeking solace among the trees that had stood for millennia, the ancient trunks whispering secrets of a time long past.

➳ The memory of his brothers, the other Elves of Lothlórien, came to him in quiet moments. He had lived so long with them, shared their experiences, their pain, their joy. But he knew none of them could understand the weight of his loss. They did not have to face the crushing knowledge that one day, the light of his life would fade as the seasons turned. His kin were eternal, as was he, but you—his beloved human—were not. The thought of losing you, of watching you grow old and fade from the world, was a constant ache that he could not escape.

➳ One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, casting a soft glow over the forest, he found himself staring at you, lost in thought. You were standing near the water, the light catching your hair as it blew gently in the wind, your back to him. He could see the way you held yourself, strong yet weary, and the thought of someday losing you was unbearable. He stepped forward, quietly, until he stood beside you. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his presence beside you, the weight of his gaze upon you. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary; the quiet understanding between you both was enough.

➳ “You’re thinking of it again, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Haldir didn’t answer at first. He didn’t need to. You knew him too well, had seen the way his gaze would wander, the way he would pull away in moments of silence. He had never spoken of his fears, not aloud. But you knew. “I can’t help it,” he murmured finally, his voice thick with the weight of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Time is not kind to you, meleth nín. I—”

➳ “I know,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “I know, Haldir. But don’t let fear steal what we have now.” You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, filled with both understanding and sorrow. “We can’t stop time. We can’t change what’s to come. But we have this moment. We have today. Let me love you in this moment, and tomorrow, and every day that follows.” Haldir’s heart clenched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his carefully built defenses. He wanted to hold on to you, to keep you here forever, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Still, your love was the greatest gift he had ever received, and he would not let fear overshadow that gift.

➳ ���I will love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Every moment, every heartbeat, I will love you.” And for a while, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen. He couldn’t change what was to come, but he could choose to live fully in the time they had together. Even as the years slipped away, he would cherish every day with you, every touch, every word, every shared silence. In the end, that was all any of them could do—love as fiercely and fully as they could, until the time they had together ran out. And Haldir, for all his pain, was determined to make every moment with you count.

Bonus as I’m a smitten for Elrond god love the man (love older version Hugo.) 🫶🥰❤️‍🔥

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The winds of war had long been howling across Middle-earth, and Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, found his heart weighed down with an unbearable burden. Years had passed since you had left to join the free peoples in their fight for survival. Your mortal life called you to the front lines, while Elrond remained behind, bound to his responsibilities in Rivendell—offering counsel, wisdom, and healing to those who sought it. But despite his centuries of knowledge and the depth of his experience, Elrond could not escape the gnawing fear that something terrible would happen to you. Every day that passed brought him closer to the heart-wrenching reality that, sooner or later, he might never see you again.

✶ The day had come when Elrond, alone in his study, When the news came—the dreaded news that your battalion had been lost, that you were presumed dead—he could not have prepared himself for the devastation that followed. The feeling of his heart sinking, of his entire world unraveling, was something Elrond, despite his countless years of wisdom, had never experienced before. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed, but in that moment, he felt as though everything within him had shattered. In the silence of Rivendell’s halls, the place that had once been full of life and laughter, now stood cold and empty to him. The absence of your presence left an unbearable void in the very air he breathed. His beloved—his heart—gone forever…Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, felt a heaviness settle deep within his heart. He could no longer ignore the gnawing fear that had consumed him for years—the fear of losing you. The love of his life, his heart, his soul—lost in a war that he could not protect you from.

✶ Every report from the front lines brought a fresh wave of dread, though he clung to the hope that you would return, even as the weight of time pressed down upon him. He had known of your courage, your strength, but no amount of wisdom could prepare him for the moment when the news arrived—your battalion had been lost, the battle you fought in was disastrous, and you were presumed dead. The world seemed to collapse around him as he stood in the silence of Rivendell’s great halls, a place once filled with hope and life, now haunted by the absence of your laughter and love.

✶ He searched for you, though he knew, deep down, that the chances of finding you were slim. He traveled to the battlefield where your battalion had fallen, desperate to find any trace of you, hoping against hope that you had survived, that you might be out there, somewhere. But when he arrived, all he found was your brooch—the one you had stolen from him in jest, a gift he had given you years ago, which you had always worn. Now it was stained by the dirt and blood of the battlefield, and Elrond knew, in that moment, that he had lost you forever. His heart ached with a sorrow so deep it seemed to permeate every fiber of his being. The brooch felt like the final testament to the love they had shared—a love that seemed to have been ripped away from him by fate.

✶ In the three years that followed, though Rivendell remained a haven untouched by the horrors of the outside world, Elrond could not escape the weight of his grief. He threw himself into his duties—leading, guiding, offering counsel to those in need—but nothing could ease the longing that had taken root in his heart. There were moments when he would sit by the river in Rivendell, the waters glistening beneath the stars, and he would think of you. He would remember the way you would sit by his side during the evenings, talking about the future, discussing everything and nothing, always with the same warmth and laughter that had drawn him to you all those years ago.

✶ Elrond never let on how much he missed you, but you had always had an uncanny ability to see through his stoic exterior. You knew when something was wrong—knew when the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear. And you always knew just how to lift his spirits. The best way to cheer Elrond up, you had learned, was to talk to him about the future you both dreamed of. A future together, one free from the pain and loss of the present. He would listen, his face softening as he imagined the life the two of you would share: growing old, discovering new wonders, finding peace in each other’s company. The thought of those days yet to come always made him smile. He would hold your hand, his fingers warm against yours, and for a moment, the burdens of the world would fade away.

✶ When you were sad, Elrond was always there for you, offering his unwavering support. He would make sure you had everything you needed—food, warmth, anything that might ease your discomfort. He would never leave your side until he saw that familiar smile return to your face. You, too, had your own moments of melancholy, but Elrond’s presence, his devotion to you, always helped chase the shadows away.

There were those quiet evenings when Elrond would retreat to his books to escape the stresses of his world. He would sit, absorbed in the words of ancient texts, letting the pages carry him far from the weight of responsibility.

✶ You would leave him to his solitude, knowing that he needed the time to rest his mind. Yet, it was never long before he would beckon you over, silently passing you a book of his own. “Your presence calms me,” he would say, his voice barely above a whisper, though his lips often curled into the smallest of smirks as you would look up, embarrassed by the attention. Those quiet, shared moments were the moments he cherished the most.

✶ Elrond missed those times. He missed the way you could always make him laugh, even on his darkest days. He missed the way your presence could fill the air with warmth and light. But most of all, he missed the simple, quiet comfort of knowing that you were there, just beside him, in a world that seemed to keep shifting and changing.

✶ He missed you with a depth that words could scarcely convey. He missed the sound of your voice, so full of laughter and light, even in the darkest of times. He missed the way you’d always manage to draw him out of himself, coaxing him from the shadows of his responsibilities to enjoy the simple joys of life. There was a day, early in your time together, when you had convinced him to go out into the gardens, despite the pouring rain. At first, he had been reluctant—Elrond, ever the reserved and composed half-elven, did not see the appeal of dancing in the rain. But your eyes, bright with mischief and love, had won him over. “Just one dance, Elrond. I promise, you won’t regret it,” you had said, your voice warm and full of promise. And so, he had relented, allowing you to lead him into the rain-soaked garden, the droplets falling all around you both.

✶ You laughed as you twirled him in the wet grass, and though he had protested at first, soon enough, Elrond had found himself laughing too, lost in the joy of the moment. Of course, you both ended up drenched, shivering from the cold, and neither of you could stop giggling as you tried to dry off afterward. It had been one of those rare, carefree moments in his long life, the kind he cherished the most. But as the days wore on, Elrond found that those simple, shared moments with you became more precious than ever before.

✶ Afterward, he had caught a cold, something that had been all too rare for an elf of his stature. You took great pleasure in teasing him for it, even as you carefully nursed him back to health. You insisted on bringing him hot tea, wrapping him in blankets, and refusing to let him leave his chambers until he had fully recovered. The memory of your gentle care, your laughter as you made him rest, was something Elrond held close to his heart when the darkness of the war began to weigh too heavily on him.

The return:

✶ Then, one evening, as the twilight bathed Rivendell in its soft, golden glow, Elrond found himself walking alone along the banks of the river. The waters of Imladris flowed serenely, a timeless current that had witnessed the rise and fall of ages. The air was cool, fragrant with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the land around him seemed still, as though holding its breath in the presence of the moment. His mind was heavy, filled with the weight of years gone by, years in which you had been absent, lost to the war that ravaged the world. He had spent countless hours contemplating the future, wondering what would become of his people, of his family, and of himself. But more than anything, he had wondered about you.

✶ And yet, every day the gnawing emptiness in his chest seemed to grow deeper. How many times had he walked these very halls, the memories of you so vivid in his mind? How many times had he sat by the hearth, imagining what your voice might sound like in the quiet evenings, the firelight dancing across your face as you spoke of your dreams, your hopes, your future?

✶ Elrond’s footsteps were almost soundless on the stone path, his cloak trailing lightly behind him. He was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the river that had been a constant companion throughout his long life, when, from the corner of his ear, he heard it. A faint sound, barely perceptible, a soft footfall on the earth. At first, he thought it was the wind—after all, Rivendell had a way of carrying the wind’s whispers through its woods, the rustling of leaves and branches almost sounding like distant voices. But then, it came again. A sound so delicate, yet unmistakable—a footfall, the lightest of steps, as though someone was walking toward him through the quiet dusk.

✶ His heart stuttered in his chest, an unfamiliar jolt of hope coursing through him. “Meleth nín.” The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he had spoken them, a breathless whisper full of longing and disbelief. He had not allowed himself to hope in so long, but now, in the depth of his soul, he knew—he felt—something had changed.

✶ He turned, and there you were. You stood in the soft light of the evening, your form outlined by the fading glow of the sun, the last rays of the day catching the delicate strands of your hair, which seemed to glow like starlight itself. For a long moment, Elrond could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his entire world shrinking to the vision of you before him. His heart beat in his chest, each pulse like thunder in his ears, a sound that seemed louder than the river itself. There you were, alive, your eyes meeting his with the same warmth, the same strength that had once made him feel as though nothing could touch him. The agony of loss, the years of uncertainty and grief, all of it seemed to vanish in an instant, swept away by the overwhelming flood of joy and disbelief.

✶ His legs nearly gave out beneath him, as if the sheer weight of your return had drained all the strength from him. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between you in a few swift strides, his hands reaching out as though to touch you, to make sure that you were truly there, truly real. He clasped your hands in his, pressing them gently against his chest, as though to prove to himself that the ache in his heart, the longing that had consumed him for so long, was finally coming to an end.

✶ And without a word, Elrond sank to his knees before you, pulling you down to him as if he could not bear the distance between you for a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his face buried in the soft fabric of your clothing, your warmth the balm to a wound that had festered for far too long. His tears, long held back, shimmered in his eyes but did not fall. It was as though the weight of all those years, the grief, the fear, the longing—everything—had been too much for him to bear, and now that you were here, it was as though he could not bring himself to release the sorrow, even though he felt a profound relief flood his being.

✶ “My heart…” Elrond’s voice was thick, raw with emotion, trembling with the weight of the years that had passed. His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they carried the grief of lifetimes. “I thought I had lost you forever. The ache within me… it has been unbearable.” He shook his head slightly, as though the thought of a world without you in it was simply too much to fathom. “I… I could not bear the thought of losing you. Not again.”

✶ You cupped his face in your hands, your fingers brushing against the dampness on his cheek. His eyes were filled with a sorrow so deep, but they held something else now too: the flicker of hope, the tenderness that had never truly left, no matter how many years had passed. “I am here, Elrond,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, yet filled with a strength that only he could hear. “I’m here, my love. I never stopped thinking of you. I never stopped longing to return to you. The war may have stolen so much, but it never took my heart. It always belonged to you.”

✶ Elrond’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything he had longed to say, everything he had carried with him for all the years of uncertainty and pain. The kiss was full of tenderness, the kind that only time and separation could breed. It was the kiss of a love that had endured the test of time, a love that had never truly faded, no matter the distance or the years apart. He kissed you as though he feared that if he did not hold on tightly enough, you would slip away again.

✶ When the kiss finally broke, Elrond rested his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, his heart racing in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, as if it too were taking a breath, giving you both this precious, fleeting moment. His voice was firm, yet filled with all the tenderness in the world. “Together,” he whispered, his eyes closed as if to hold on to the moment. “Always together, my love. No more distance between us. I will never let you go again.”

✶ And though the world beyond Rivendell still carried its burdens, though the shadows of war still loomed over Middle-earth, Elrond knew that with you by his side, he could face anything. The love between you had not been lost, not even by the ravages of time and battle. It had only grown stronger, deeper, and as the stars began to glisten overhead, you both knew that your hearts would forever remain united—no matter the storms that might come. The world might change, but your love would endure. Always.

✶ In that quiet, timeless moment, as the stars twinkled above and the river flowed gently at your feet, Elrond felt as though the world had finally returned to balance. The pain of the past, the loss, the war—it was all still there, but it no longer had the power to tear them apart. With you, his heart was whole again. And together, you would face whatever the future held, side by side, forever.

Aftermath:

✶ The days after your reunion were a haze of joy and sorrow, a bittersweet blend of love and inevitability. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had lived countless ages, seen kingdoms rise and fall, and had endured the loss of many dear to him. Yet none of it, none of the weight of time and fate, could have prepared him for the agony that would come with the knowledge that your time with him—your mortal life—was limited.

✶ Even now, as he walked through the halls of Rivendell with you by his side, his heart could not fully rid itself of the weight of that truth. The joy of your return, of having you here with him again, was overwhelming, but it was marred by the shadow that always lingered in his thoughts—the shadow of time slipping away. It was always there, lurking, like a dark cloud on the horizon, and despite his efforts to remain present in each moment, it tugged at him, reminding him of the fragility of your existence in a way that no mere mortal could ever understand.

✶ He had known this truth long before you had returned to him. The years had always been numbered for you. He had watched countless mortals come and go, each one touched by the brevity of their lives, and though he had lived with that knowledge, knowing you would one day fade away had never been a burden he had been willing to bear. Your love had been worth the sacrifice, and he had cherished every moment, every second, as if it might be his last with you. But now, as he held you in his arms, that knowledge had become more than just an abstract thought. It was a constant presence, a weight pressing on his chest, that your time was slipping away, and he could not stop it.

✶ The passage of time had always been something Elrond had managed to bear. He was an Elf, and he had known loss and grief before, but to love a mortal—you, the love of his life—was a different kind of agony. It was a cycle of beauty and pain, joy and inevitable sorrow. He would not force you to endure the years of his existence; his love for you was too great to watch you grow old, your body changing, while he remained the same. And yet, to see you face the years that slipped away so swiftly… it tore at him in a way that even the countless wars and losses he had endured had never done.

✶ There were mornings when he would wake beside you, watching the sunlight play across your face, feeling the warmth of your breath against his chest. In those moments, his heart would swell with joy, and he would hold you tighter, as though afraid the very light of dawn might fade before he could hold you in his arms again. But in the quiet moments that followed, in the spaces between, his thoughts would inevitably turn to the future—your future. He knew he could not stop the inevitable. Your time was finite. In the stillness of the night, as you slept beside him, Elrond would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind lost in the torrent of his emotions, knowing that each day with you was one day less.

✶ He had never wished for immortality in the way his brethren had. He had not desired to outlast the world, nor to be untouched by time. But now, as he watched you—his beloved, his heart—grow more tired, more fragile with each passing day, he longed for something he could never have. He wished, more than anything, that he could turn back time, that he could change the rules of fate, and grant you the same immortality that he had been blessed with. But he knew this was impossible. He had known from the start, from the moment he had fallen in love with you, that this was the price he would pay. And yet, knowing it did nothing to ease the ache within him now.

✶ As the years wore on, Elrond tried to focus on the moments, on the love you shared. He lived for the quiet evenings by the fire, the shared laughter, the moments when you would walk together through the gardens, your hand in his, your voice filling the spaces between the rustling leaves. He cherished the mundane, the small, beautiful things that often went unnoticed. He would often find himself gazing at you as you spoke, your voice soothing his restless heart. He would listen to you tell him of your hopes, your dreams, the little things that made up your mortal life, and he would hold onto each word as though it were a treasure.

✶ In the quiet moments when the two of you would sit together, reading, or in deep conversation, Elrond would push the future aside, focusing solely on the present. You spoke of the life you had lived, and of the life you still hoped to live, and you shared your stories of the world, of the beauty you had seen. These moments were everything to him—his heart was full in these precious intervals of time, and he would give anything to stretch those moments, to keep you by his side for just a little longer.

✶ But the inevitable truth would always return, creeping in like a shadow in the corner of his mind. There would be a moment when he would see you—your face pale, your movements slower, your strength fading—and the ache would return, sharp and relentless. It was then that Elrond’s heart would break all over again, as he realized that no matter how much love and care he poured into every moment with you, there would come a day when the passing of time would take you from him.

✶ And yet, despite the pain, despite the grief that clung to every passing day, Elrond never let go of you. He refused to. He held onto you, fiercely and without reservation, because he knew that this love—your love—was worth every moment of suffering that might come. The years might take you, but they could not take away the love you had shared, the memories that had been forged in fire and warmth, and the quiet promise that no matter what, he would always carry a part of you with him.

✶ When the time came—and it would come, as it always did—Elrond would be ready. Not because he had accepted it, but because he loved you, and that love would remain even when the world had moved on. He would hold onto you, always, knowing that every moment spent with you had been worth more than all the centuries he had lived.

✶ And so, he would cherish the time left, every second, every heartbeat, until the inevitable came. Even in his sorrow, he would find peace in the knowledge that he had loved you truly, deeply, without regret. In the end, the love that had bound you together was the truest, most eternal thing in a world full of fleeting moments.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

My hand aches from all the writing I’ve done, but it was completely worth it. It was so deep tears streamed down my face when I was writing like this, so honest and profound, feels like diving into the core of my soul. It’s painful yet beautiful goddamm wish it wasn’t fictional characters love to he their in middle earth. 🫶🥹❤️‍🔥

But enjoy my dearies. 🙏

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[lordelrondofrivendell]

“Such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.”

[kat651]

Imagine: elves having highly sensitive ears and you finding out by accidently touching them.

(You are half-elven and your ears aren’t near as sensitive to touch). 

Elrond:

You sat on the divan, lord Elrond was laying with his head on your lap as you gently played with his hair, letting him rant to get all his hidden bottles up emotions out. “Oh! And then-” he sat up and sighed. “I’ll just say that meeting was a disaster…” he slumped and looked over at you. “I’m sorry to rant like this…”

You smiled. “It’s alright…” you mumbled as you gently tucked a stray hair behind his ear, tracing it up to the pointed tip then down to his jaw. As you did, the pulled away. “What? What is it?” 

“Nothing, it’s just that the ears of an elf are highly sensitive…”

You scooted closer. “Is that so?” You placed your hand on the back of his head so he couldn’t pull away and with the other you hand you gently traced the edge of his ear. 

He went to pull away but you held him fast and it only took a moment for him to go limp in your arms as you continued to mess with his ears. 

You smiled as he lay with his back pressed against your chest. His eyes were shut and his lips slightly parted as you continued to gently mess with his adorable pointed ears. 

You smiled as a soft blush spread across his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “Aww, you look so cute when you blush…”

He opened an eye and looked up at you before he closed his eye again. 

“Elrond…” you whispered after a moment. 

The elven lord didn’t answer. He didn’t even stir and on top of that his breathing has slowed. You smiled and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead before closing your eyes as well. 

Legolas:

You and Legolas had been close for some time now and you had innocently came up behind him and began to mess with his hair, slightly damp from having recently washed it.  

He turned to look at you. “Y/n?” You began to braid the hair by his ears, putting it into the style he normally wore. He relaxed and let you fix his hair for him. All went well until the last braid. Your pinky slowly slid down the outside of his ear as you braided it. He leaned back until his head fell on your chest as he breathed deeply. 

“Legolas?” 

“Ears…sensitive…elves…” he mumbled. 

You smiled and kissed his temple. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You asked, finishing off the braid. 

He shrugged as you then went and touched the tip of his ear. He smiled and closed his eyes. “I knew you’d… mess with… me…”

Thranduil:

You chuckled as he walked into one of the manny tents that lined the elven war camp. “What is so funny?” He asked, draping his cape over a chair. 

You walked up to him. “Here,” you said, motioning for him to lean down a bit. He did, raising an eyebrow, you gently adjusted the silver crown, re-centering it in his forehead. As you did, you bumped the top of his ear. His eyelids fluttered for a moment before his hands flew up and grasped your wrists in one swift movement. You yelped in shock. 

He loosened his grip a bit and gently rubbed your wrists. 

You whimpered. “L-lord Thranduil?” 

He sighed and let go of your wrists before standing straight and looking down at your startled face. 

He sighed. “Sometimes I forget you are half human… elves ears are highly sensitive…”

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t know I-”

His lips met yours as he slowly brought your hands to this ears. You hesitated a moment before gently rubbing your finger along his ear. He let go of your wrists and pulled your body closer. “Y/n…”

Lindir:

Lindir had been messing with you in a playful matter all day and you eventually decided to play back. You gently took his face in your hands. “You stubborn… elf…”

You had expected his eyes to widen and him to turn an adorable shade of pink but instead his eyes fluttered closed and lips parted slightly. “Y-y/n…m-my ears…”

“Hmmm… are they sensitive?”

“Yes, v-very…”

“Well it would be a shame if someone were to oh I don’t know perhaps…” you stood on the tips of your toes and very gently took the tip of his ear between your teeth. 

His body instantly went limp and you gently lowered him to the ground before nipping gently at his ear while you ran your fingers through his hair. 

He clawed at your back. “Y-y/n…” 

You smiled. “Hmmm?”

He managed to look up at you before something took over his brain and his lips smashed on yours. “I love you…”

Your eyes widened. You’d only been dating him for a few days. You hadn’t even told anyone and here he was, kissing you as if you’d been together for years. 

You pulled away, startled. “Lindir?” 

He looked up at you with pleading eyes before he realized what he had done and he scooted away. “Y/n I-I’m sorry i-”

You pressed your lips on his again and began to mess with his ears once more. “I love you too.”

pt two here

[mushroomates]

gandalf headcanons

hides spare pipe weed under his hat . pippin saw him do it one time. no one believes pippin.

even when he’s like- let me access my emergency stash- and pulls out a doobie from his hat. everyone’s like “woah such wizardry”

it drives pippin bonkers.

will cheat at cards, chess, checkers- has been known to enchant dice to make them weighted. again, denies

just a reminder that he canonically sleeps with eyes open. i’d also like to add that he can sleep standing up. he also does do both during long meetings sometimes.

the sleeping w eyes open particularly messes with legolas. he can’t handle prolonged eyecontact on a good day and now this wizard is staring into his soul and is only maybe conscious

sleeps on his back, stiff as a board. occasionally sits up, pauses, has a brief moment of lucidity and then goes back to bed

also sometimes talks in his sleep. in various languages. sometimes legolas is certain these languages are made up, but they’re spoken with such vigor it seems hard to believe that

you can have full conversations with him. they’re not particularly intelligent or understandable conversations but still very interesting dialogues that he does not recall in the morning. a favored topic is the inflated price of everything.

this is particularly amazing because gandalf does not pay for most things.

often things are gifted. sometimes he finds them, and keeps them as his own. more often than not he mooches off of others, and at times, has been known to take things

not steal. if you stopped him he’d give it back. but no one really has.

he just kind of. picks up something. looks at you. and walks away with it

sometimes will leave small tokens in return,, like rocks with strange runes on them or a single feather

sometimes will return the item after days, months, or years (decades, centuries)

oh i meant to give it back but then the civilization collapsed so-

he tends to favor things shaped like other things- a tea pot that is a boot, a spoon that’s shaped like a flower (evil evil EVIL) salt and pepper shakers that are little houses

also has a fascination with garden gnomes. will often take them ‘home’ as well. where do they go? who knows but they’re his now

no one knows where they go or what he does with what he acquires. a running theory is he has a secret house that no one is allowed in that’s full of weird knick-knacks

in actuality, he gives most of these things away. the garden gnomes are for tom bombadill, the weird spoons are for thranduil because he gives them to legolas and legolas HATES spoons that aren’t *spoons*

arwen is charmed by crossstich, galadriel likes weird soaps and candles, (gandalf the cheese wizard doubles as gandalf the bed bath and beyond wizard.)

saruman does not like novelty salt shakers but gandalf is convinced he does and keeps giving them to him.

on that note gandalf thinks towers are gaudy and would never have one

is very tempted to set up shop in the shire. everyone is against this idea which is why he really wants to.

Disturber Of The Peace- literally loves to uproot unsuspecting hobbits for fun

most known being the baggins, but like, he’s not above standing outside the proudfoots home with a ~mysterious~ envelope until he’s batted away with a broom or very passive aggressively dismissed

he’s like a stray cat that they need to stop feeding with adventures

there’s a list written by the thain of the shire “appropriate times to set off fireworks” . “never” and “when given explicit permission” are the only two things written. unfortunately gandalf is selectively literate

he does not, ever, know what time it is. if he does he won’t tell you-at least in a way that’s understandable to normal people

what’s the time? “it’s today” okay and when is that? “now” thanks buddy.

what times sunset? “when the moon is rising.” when’s that? “at the end of the day”

yk island time? that’s wizard time. just. no sense of any sort of time passing at all. it could be an hour or five days and he will refer to it as a minute. or vise versa. you invite him for tea on tuesday and he shows up on sunday, in the dead of night, with a hand full of seashells and covered in ash. no explanations. he leaves just as suddenly as he came, with a hermit crab in your kettle and dishes in the sink. but yeah, technically, he was there for tea on tuesday.

or arrives four weeks later because you didn’t say what tuesday.

it’s anyone’s guess, including him, what he has in his pockets. four twigs, each exactly 17 centimeters long? sure. half ball of twine wrapped around a chunk of moss? why not. three tea bags, clearly used, tied together and soaking wet. a small glass bottle with strange dust labeled “numbers”. a single tooth. reading glasses, cracked, missing a lense with a shoelace tied around the bridge. he doesn’t even wear glasses.

don’t. ever. ask him for directions. he can give you them, just. in a way that’s so alien that they’re impossible to follow

he kinda just. goes off of vibes? like if it feels like the right distance he will do with it. it’s not miles away but that sounds right

in his heart it is.

is always right. no amount of reason can convince him otherwise

at best, you’re both wrong but still. he knew it all along

rarely knows the right lyrics to things. if he’s called out he’ll just say “well in this version..” because he’s been everywhere and is ancient so no one can really argue

picks fights with a shocking large number of birds.

randomly and for seemingly no reason, in a multitude of languages most long forgotten.

[black-eyed-boy]

Day 4 : war and leadership

Fall of eregion.

This is a re upload of an older drawing i did bc havent had time to draw but! It fits so :)

Im starting my drawing for day 5 rn so hopefully ill be able to finish it!

@elrondweek