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eunoiaastralwings · 1 year ago

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Hi Eunoia, this is my first time requesting so I'm hoping I'm doing this correctly (I've read through your rules as well), but could I request a mini fic/headcanon about fem!reader reuniting with her lovers Fingon and Maedhros in Valinor after the Ring has been destroyed? (Plot: Reader stayed in Middle Earth after Fingon and Maedhros' deaths to look after Elrond, and only returns to Valinor on the last boat with Elrond, Bilbo, Galadriel, Frodo and Gandalf after Sauron is gone?)

Haven Reached

featuring maedhros x fingon x fem reader

fandom tolkien-the silmarillion

warnings slight angst

a/n i reply after 1658565 years - I hope this is what you intended hun sorry if it isnt as you hoped to have

You stepped onto the shores with help of the son you had raised.

As you did – many fair elves turned to you, captured by the beauty and elegance you carried effortlessly without fail.

With eyes that spoke wisdom of many passed ages and kindness that could sweep the many ellon or elleth right under their feet – you stepped gracefully into the shores of Valinor from the last boat.

For a moment – your eyes looked back into the seas. . .Arda seemed almost a distant memory now and while you were supposed to return to Valinor many, many years ago to heal your aching heart and crying soul for your beloveds. . .

As a mother – you stayed behind, willing to put your heartaches aside to the twin sons you had gained.

Even though one of your adopted sons, Elros had chosen a different path in life. . .a short mortal life, you still failed to return, staying behind for Elrond.

For deep down – you knew he needed you and would fare well if you departed Arda so soon.

But suddenly your thoughts were grasped away when a voice called your name – mending a part of your heart with the lightness of that gentle voice.

“Melda. . .”

Your heart fluttered – then turning your eyes immediately those nestling browns of one of your lovers made half your soul crying out to him.

“Finno. . .”

Your voice – soft, delicate, and beautiful just as he remembered -like the early spring breeze.

“Y/N. . .”

He didn’t waste a moment longer to swiftly embrace you in his strong arm – caging you to his chest as if you were the air that he longed to have.

“You’re here. . .”

He said almost breathless – as if he was unable to believe his own eyes.

His hand came to rest on the back of your head – cradling your head as he pressed a kiss to your head, lingering there for a few moments longer.

“You’re here. . .”

He repeated – holding you tighter. If you listened carefully, you could hear an emotional tinge in his voice.

“Finno. . .”

You whispered – the tears you had suppressed for so long coming in with full force and Fingon did not hesitate to soothe you.

Soon gently lifting your face and locking your lips firmly in a familiar and almost forgotten kiss – soothing half of your crying soul as he embraced you with his tender affection and love, with touch of his desires he was forced to hold back as you were still standing among the shores.

The kiss was nothing short of what you had imagined with Fingon on your countless nights dreaming of meeting him – it was tender, loving, tearful and blissful.

“Come . . .”

He softly whispered.

“We shall meet Maitimo – otherwise he will think I have whisked you away all by myself, melda. . .”

Your heart fluttered as his loving tease just as you remembered came.

You smiled – cupping his face and stroking his cheeks – the imagines of his death finally leaving as he held you. . .your soul slowly reached that peace you had always dreamed of.

Fingon lips stretched into that charming smile that never ceased to flutter your heart.

The softest of red coated your cheeks and her fingers gently traced that smile you longed to see for many ages now.

Fingon reached forward and kissed your forehead – soon taking your hand to guide you to your Maitimo.

You momentarily looked over your shoulder – your motherly instinct making your eyes search for your son.

Elrond met your eyes and nodded encouraging – silently telling all was well as he embraced your daughter -in-law.

“I always knew you would be a wonderful mother – I am very much proud of you, my love – in everything you have chosen to do, no matter how gravely we missed you. . .”

Fingon softly whispered as his hand protectively held your small hand in his strong large hand.

“Thank you, melda. . .”

You smiled -Fingon’s ears perked up recognizing the change of your accent now.

If anything, it pleasantly surprised him – and he endearingly loved how your accent changed to hold only a tinge of your former Valinor accent now – now vastly an accent of Arda with a tinge of your old accent.

His eyes sparkled getting used to the change – realizing how much he already loved it.

“You sound beautiful. . .”

He said – cupping the side of your face gently for a moment.

***

Fingon led you towards the gardens of Lord Irmo – your hands were delicately brushing the flowers of the garden, each one unique to the next.

A vast variety of textures and color you couldn’t find in Arda – making you realize just how long you have been away from your birth place.

Maitimo saw Fingon walking towards him from the corner of his eyes – immediately standing tall.

“Where is she? I heard the last of the boats have-”

But Maitimo seemed to have cut himself off seeing your small figure treading up behind his male lover.

A shaky breath left Maitimo’s lips as his eyes locked with your eyes – the part of his soul that had being missing about to be reunited.

But you could see the clear hesitance in your other lover’s eyes.

Fingon turned to you – giving you the soft encouraging nod as you step past him towards your other lover.

Maitimo’s entire body froze – his eyes wide as you approached him.

It pained you to see him so nervous and scared – he gulped now that you were so close, only a foot or two away.

You knew why he was hesitant and scared – for Maitimo did not even spare you a glance or even spoke to you one last night as he fled from Eonwe’s tents with the silmarils.

He knew you broke your heard as he discarded you for the sake of the oath – he had placed the oath above you.

“Russo. . .”

You said softly reaching out to cup his face – he flinched stepped back a little.

Your heart ached at the sight. He must have seen the flash of hurt that crossed your eyes – because then he left out sigh closing his eyes heavily, before he fully crouched before you.

“Y/N. . .meldanya. . .forgive me. . .”

He whispered – a heartbroken whisper.

You sighed reaching out to cup his face and gently stroked his cheek – he instantly closed his eyes leaning into your touch and kissed your fingertips softy.

“Oh. . .Russo. . .”

You called him softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead as he broke into tears in front of his two lovers.

Fingon came forward – laying a comforting hand on Maitimo and an arm around your waist, his thumb caressing you softly.

“We’re here now. . .together”

Finno whispered laying another kiss to the side of your head – as Maitimo finally had the courage to find your lips in a soft kiss realizing you had forgiven him.

“Together. . .forever. . .”

You promised the two of them – now had you had your lovers back you weren’t going to give them up again.

Taglist form

tara's taglist:@mismaeve @fizzyxcustard @wandererindreams @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @asianbutnotjapanese @bunson-burner @floraroselaughter

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

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lamemaster · 1 year ago

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Tolkien Elves with a South Asian Reader

GIF by aashiqaanah

Request: Can you write an Indian reader insert story? It's ok if you don't want to share. 🙂

AN: While I don't want to write a specific nationality. I will write it based on the general South Asian experience. I hope that works and you like it. (also crazy story time my account was terminated for a while out there)

Genre: Romance and angst

Erestor:

"How does my love rank lower than yours? What criteria do you elves use to measure the purity of love?"

"I would be more cautious on a sword's end," the black-haired elf moves his blade precariously close to your neck. But you find it hard to care for it at the moment.

The crisp breeze of the night seems to cling close to you. Besides your worn-out clothes do little to keep the chill away. You have long given up the hope of freeing yourself from the binding the elves have put you in. Instead, all your attention is directed at the elf who calls himself Erestor.

An unknown rage fills you as you glare at your captor. Maybe if it were another day you would have begged for your life. You would have done that for the people waiting for you back at your camp. Children and women, for whom you became the bandit of Laor pass.

You had not expected to be caught by a part of elves. It had been an evening like any and you had set your sights on the gracious rations that the party carried. Food that would feed your people.

It didn't take long for elves to catch you. The guards dragged you to their leader. And maybe you had expected scorn but not hatred that lined their leader, Erestor's eyes. "Your kind is not even worthy of friendship let alone love," somehow the conversation had turned into a battle of wits. "We elves know of it better than any. Back then and even now your people side with the evil" One of the guard's fingers dig into your arm as their leader spit accusations at you.

The unfairness of his every word tugged at your heart. How could he...how could he talk of something he knew nothing of.

You press closer to the blade digging into your neck. You look directly at the elf as you do so, "In a world where Gods live in far off West, abandoning the East, letting my people suffer from one of their kind without mercy. In a world where your kind forge jewels with the light of the stars and bid us to fight your battles that promise us nothing but the deaths of our starving children whose fathers fought for an oath-bound lord. Do you not remember the bargain of your lords? It is the same as any other dark lord." The elf flinches as your words ring out loud in the night.

"Tell me why did my people had to pay for your kind's need to create. We lived in peace before your king forged the rings that brought us ruin." Your breath comes uneven. Unnoticed by you, hands holding you have long retreated. "From past to present, we the people of the East have borne the burden of the West. Our people have been thralls in the halls of darkness as you fought your righteous battles. And they have done so for their children as you have done for yours."

You stand up from where you have been kneeling. Your knee throbs with a subtle ache. No one dares to stop you as you step close to the leader whose eyes evade you.

Your voice resonates with a mix of anger and sorrow, and the intensity of your words leaves the elves around you momentarily speechless. Erestor's grip on his sword loosens slightly, his stoic expression faltering as he tries to find a response to your passionate outburst.

"In every battle waged, in every great design, it's our people who suffer the most," you continue, your voice unwavering. "While your kind sits in palaces adorned with stars, basking in the light of Valinor, it's our children who starve, our homes that burn, and our dreams that shatter. Your measure of love may be different, but I ask you this, Erestor – what do your people know of sacrifice?"

The tension in the air is palpable as the elves exchange uneasy glances. Your words challenge the very foundation of their beliefs, and Erestor's eyes finally meet yours, filled with a mix of defensiveness and curiosity.

"Do not think that you know the struggles of my people," he replies, his voice tinged with the remnants of anger.

Next to crackling fire, the camp stands at a stalemate in the battle of words. Pride, rage, and sorrow are the kindle to the burning flames.

Fingon:

Fingon had been traveling with Maedhros when he first met you. A courtier at one of the Eastern kingdoms.

Dressed in gleaming rubies and emeralds, armed with a lute you stepped into a hall full of men and elves. Your eyes lined with kohl and your hands bearing the marks of henna.

In a hall that glares at you with contempt and lust, you do not cower. Instead, you look everyone in the eye. Even Fingon gets to meet your unflinching gaze.

Bending at your waist you bow to the king seated on the throne but even that bow fails to lower your majesty. There is a knowing light in your eyes and a condescending smile on your lips.

"This is Y/N, our esteemed entertainer for the evening," the king introduces you. Musicians line behind you. "Come on Y/N show your elven guests here the courtesy of East. Sing them a song and move your feet to a mesmerizing dance." It seems wrong for the king to order you. Unfair for you to be presented as an object but you do not seem to be offended. Seemingly above everyone in the court.

If Fingon suspected you to be a disguised Ainu at your first glance, his suspicions turn into awe when you perform. The world seems to rest on your fingertips and time seems to blend into your steps.

Fingon's fingers move mirroring yours. He does not know the words but he does not need to know them to understand them.

Your song mocks the king who seems to be blinded by the monopoly over your body. The anklets you wear do not hinder you. And Fingon's breath hitches the second your hair comes undone. As if hearing his thundering heartbeat you look at him.

Amidst the thunder of applause, you look at Fingon. And you smile not with contempt but with something that Fingon reflects back in his own smile.

Hidden in the binding of this body, my soul shines bright,

It yearns for our eyes to meet, bending the rules of wrong and right,

Maedhros:

"I will marry an elf." The loud declaration silences the entire camp. It is followed by cursing voices and sounds of shushing pleas.

However, in doing so it garners the attention of the elf lord, Maehros. The one who seeks to reunite the East and the West of Middle Earth to defeat the Dark Lord.

While men fawning over elves had been no surprise for most, it was at this point an irrefutable fact. The secondborn seemed to be attracted to the firstborn like moths to a flame.

But this kind of open declaration was still...unheard of. Both elves and men had acknowledged the weird attraction and mutually decided to ignore the innate instinct.

This silent treaty breaks with you. And Maedhros cannot help but be intrigued. So, he hunts for you. Away from prying eyes that would cook rumors, Maedhros finds you by the vegetable garden that seems to have the entirety of your attention.

"Why must you marry an elf?" The eldest Feanorian tries not to laugh when you jump almost a foot high at his unannounced arrival. The shovel in your hand flying away.

With a hand on your chest, you turn to look at him. A frown adorns your forehead, "Ai, can you not scare me?" You do not address him as a lord or a prince. Maybe just don't know or maybe you do not care for it but Maedhros cannot find it in himself to take offense.

"Forgive me for that," Maedhros apologizes and much to his surprise you look nothing like the embarrassed woman he had expected to confront.

Instead, with the confidence of a preening peacock you seat yourself on the ground. "It's quiet alright. I do have to get used to it if I am to marry one of your kind," you understandingly nod. And Maedhos marvels at your nativity. Unblemished in the Adra that has been marred.

"I want to marry an elf to teach all the men of my community a lesson." You reply in a solemn voice. "I grew up watching my father beating my mother. My grandfather insulting my grandmother without a care of her heart. I grew up in the patriarchy of the East. With men who cared not an ounce about their partners." Maedhros cannot bring himself to speak. Not even when you sniff. There is pain there. Helplessness of a being he deemed to be untouched by anything mal a moment ago.

A pain that rips his heart. The tears of his own mother come to his mind. Deed of his father and his brothers that would haunt their mother.

So he listens attentively as you continue with determination in your voice. "I will marry an elf to teach every single man in my life a lesson. I will show them how much my husband will love me," you smile through your tears. It isn't blind infatuation that Maedhros expected but something deeper.

"Your kind treat your female so much better and I...I want that for my kind too. I want to hand back my sisters, my mother, my aunts their self-respect that men have rolled in dirt."

A sane part of Maedhros yearns to tell you of elves. Of how his father left his mother, how his grandfather married another, how Thingol discards the wisdom of his wife, or how Eol captured Aerdhel.

But he cannot. All he can do is, pat your head in a comforting gesture and pray for the success of your mission.

"Will you marry me then?" you propose to the Feanorian who snorts the very next moment.

#erestor x reader #maedhros x reader #fingon x reader #the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion headcanon #South asian reader #tolkien elves #noldor elves

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mascula-sappho · 4 months ago

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I know we all talk about homophobic straight boy Tolkien nerds, but what about homophobic straight girl Tolkien nerds, the ones who write fanfic of obviously gay characters x f! Readers, the ones who have no grasp that sindarin is not the only elvish language, the ones who idealize aragorn, and love Galadriel for being a girl boss but not Aredhel, the ones who make up fictional, completely canonically unsupported wives for Maedhros and Fingon, the ones who love the women of Tolkien but put tons of uncanon gender roles into elvish society for no reason.

#silmarillion #silm fandom #silm #tolkien #lotr

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batsyforyou · 11 months ago

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How Fingon was as a Baby Headcanons

Tags: Babysitting, babies, being a cute menace,

Pairing: Maedhros x fem reader

Author’s Note: @asianbutnotjapanese @lamemaster @a-world-of-whimsy-5 As usual if you no longer wish to be tagged please let me know!

He chews peoples hair and pulls harshly on it

Just has it wrapped around his tiny little fists so cutely but also so terrifying

Has yanked at some poor elf’s ear when trying to get their hair

Loves to grip onto fingers with the strength of Superman

Also likes to put his fingers in his mouth and the fingers of his captives

His own thumb is not excluded from this

He suck’s his thumb so often

Just had the most baby doe eyes ever with him sucking his thumb

He looks so cute and innocent but he is not

He is so cute but so rowdy

Loves to crawl away while giggling like a nut who just escaped Arkham Asylum

Especially when he is trying to escape bath time

His two favorite toys are: a blue ball that he throws at everyone and a white horse plush

He doesn’t build with blocks he smacks them together and laughs cutely

He loves Maedhros and Maedhros loves him

Once bit Feanor’s and his Ada’s nose during cuddle time

So keep him entertained! Please for the love of everything good

He is so energetic that he exhausts you more than a normal baby

Makes you regret dreaming of giving Maedhros cute babies (this is remedied when Maglor comes along)

Loves to put his hands in Maedhros’s curls and tug

Maedhros tends to wince a lot over it but he usually gets him to sleep peacefully on his chest so he lets it happen

I mean he has the rest of eternity to regrow hair right?

Fingon is such a glowy baby that he is almost bioluminescent with his blue eyes glowing more than the rest of him

Like the bioluminescent water you can sometimes see at that one ocean or something similar

Sleeps with literal pigeon eyes

One goes one way and the other goes another way

Its so cute but so concerning thankfully he does grow out of it

But his opened eyed stare is literally you wondering what he’s looking at

Overall Fingon is a hilarious baby and a 10/10 level cuteness

Masterlist

#tw babies #tolkien #silmarillion #the silmarillion #fingon #fingon the valiant #Maedhros x fem reader #x reader #Batman references

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autumnshighlady · 1 year ago

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Tolkien Masterlist

Feanor

Wildest Dreams (ft. Fingolfin)

A Lesson in Language

Maedhros

coming soon

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

SERIES

The Professor series [WIP]

completed: Nesta, Gavriel, Feanor

coming soon: Rowan, Eris, Dorian, Maedhros, Helion

All I Gave You Is Gone (Tolkien x ACOTAR crossover) [WIP]

part 1 / part 2 /

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ladyoflindon · 3 months ago

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Just to be clear, the elves in question include the Fëanorians, Nolofinwëans, Arafinwëans, Lords of Gondolin, Lords of Doriath, and elves from Imladris.

For whichever category you voted for, please comment and specify which elf you would like me to write for. Feel free to elaborate in the comments what kind of story, like the elements you’d like me to include, I should write!

Thanks a lot, everyone!

I want to write a Silmarillion fic. I love romance stories so it will be centered around a Silm elf and an OC! Comment which elf you think I should write about.

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doodle-pops · 1 year ago

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“How Much Do You Love Me?”

A/N: This was originally planned for the underrated character event and ended up being scrapped at the last minute. Enjoy!

I’D DIE FOR YOU…in a heartbeat, if you ever asked them to choose, they would instead give their lives so that you can continue living. They preferably die, even if the act was selfish, which meant leaving you alone for the rest of your life. It would pain them to leave you behind to suffer and grieve their deaths, but it was better than staining their hands with blood while continuing to live. It simply wasn’t a part of their nature. It felt more heroic to give their life to save the love of theirs.

Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Fingon, Argon, Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Egalmoth, Rog, Galdor, Beleg, Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, Erestor, Gil Galad, Manwë, Irmo, Námo, Eönwë, Tilion

I’D KILL FOR YOU…and there’s no joking around when some got on their knees and swore to remove anyone and anything that threatened to harm or take you away from them. They have no issue in removing the enemy with their hands—getting them dirty was all a part of your protection. The act of taking someone’s life never or no longer bothers them so long as you remain safe and alive.

Feanor, Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras, Fingon, Turgon, Maeglin, Thingol

I'D BURN THE WORLD FOR YOU…and they would do it in a heartbeat if that was the only way for the both of you to live in peace without any enemies and threats. A guaranteed method to sustain both your happiness and forever. A world without anyone to obstruct your love and steal either of you away. They would set the world on fire to remove everything so long as you remain at their side, and from the ashes, they’ll merely create a new world for you both to live in peace.

Feanor, Thingol, Melkor, Mairon

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819

If you would like to be tagged, click the taglist link to join.

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imclimbingthestairsoforthanc · 7 months ago

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Love and Loss - Maedhros x Reader

Even after all those years, you could feel your lover's cold words biting into you like shards of ice. Despite his cruelty, losing him hurt. Sharper still was losing part of yourself.

The frigid air of Angband cruelly caressed Maehdros’ body as he hung, limp and numb, from the mountainside of Thangorodrim. He craned his head at the golden light that peaked above the horizon. It was so strange - it was a light eerily familiar with Laurelin.

He had met you there - under the golden tree of Valinor. The pink blush of your dress matched the Yuletide decorations and complimented your buoyant smile. It was one that he had soon begun to detest.

He’d refrained from burning the ships at Losgar for the sake of you and his dear friend Fingon, through whom he had met you, but that wasn’t something he had ever cared to admit. No, he feared what his father might do to him in wrath were he to admit it. But that wasn’t to say that the indignation that his father felt to quite literally everyone of the Eldar save a precious few wasn’t a growth in the caverns of his own mind. The friendship that blossomed between the two of you had long been neglected and cast away.

It could have been a trick of Morgoth’s. It was not out of character for the fallen Vala to torment Maedhros with impersonations of loved one’s and visions of the peaceful life he led before leaving home. Teasing him with memories and voices and phantom touches was something Morgoth seemed to take pleasure in, and though Maedhros had - wrongly - begun to harbor ill will towards you for a short while, Morgoth didn’t seem to mind taking full advantage of your memory from time to time.

“Friends? A lover?” Morgoth would say as Maedhros reached out his free hand to take yours and kiss it under Laurelin’s light like he did that day upon your first meeting, only to prod his fingers at nothing but the biting cold air of Angband, “It would seem they have forsaken you, even in memory.”

It was not, in fact, a picture of the light of the tree. Emerging over the horizon was a fiery orb hung in the sky, beautiful and terrible and, quite frankly, frightening. Maedhros had never seen anything like it. If it was an illusion, it was most certainly not one made of memory.

Metal flickered in the blazing light, and when a rich, clear sound echoed off the mountainside, Maedhros recognized the gleaming gold to be the gold of the trumpets of Fingolfin.

He couldn’t really say he felt any bitterness or contempt as he watched the blue banners arise over the hills in the West. There was no resentment or hatred rising up in his throat like bile. After countless days (years? decades?) hung on the mountainside, Maedhros couldn’t really feel anything but desperation.

Years of enmity were lost on his mind as he cried out to his kin marching over the hills. His voice was strong; his cries echoed on the rocks and down into the valley. He made no notion to stop, no matter how hoarse his throat would be or how cruel and fierce his lashings of penance.

Harsher still was the response of Fingolfin’s host - or rather, the absence of a response.

______________________________________________________________________________

Turgon was the first to spot the great bird hurrying toward Hithlum bearing his brother and his cousin. He cried out in astonishment, and a hundred more gasps followed his own. Surprise soon turned to horror.

Blood poured out of Maedhros, but from where could not be seen lest he was unswaddled. His face was contorted in anguish, and he clutched onto Fingon like a vice.

Despite the years of disregard he displayed for your relationship and the resulting contempt you festered for him, you almost pitied him. Almost.

You didn’t move as Fingon dismounted the great bird, only stared at the shrunken body of someone once loved and once loathed. Nothing stirred in your gut at the sight of him like it should have. There was no fierce rage blistering your insides as you watched Fingon carry Maedhros across the concrete in Hithlum like years of friendship had not been tossed to the wind - as Maedhros, unworthy as he was, re-entered your life, at least for the moment in thought. There was no real pity enveloping your now-still heart as you watched the black-haired archer haul his dear friend - your friend - to the healing rooms.

You wished you hadn’t looked.

Amidst the blood and dirt that caked his skin you saw Maedhros’ once gleaming eyes wild and frantic. You adored when those eyes were warm and kind and you loathed him when they were cold and piercing, but something entirely gut-wrenching crept under your skin as you saw Maedhros Fëanorion in utter agony and panic.

You shrugged, then turned away and made your way to your chambers. He’d lost too much blood - if he made it to the morrow he’d not remember you, or the tears that he surely would have seen pooled up in your eyes upon his return.

______________________________________________________________________________

It seemed that even though Maedhros wouldn’t remember the day’s events, he was determined to make sure everyone else would. His cries of anguish were indescribable; his screams unlike any you had ever heard before, even crossing the Grinding Ice. You had tossed and turned for well over half the night, and you were about to visit the healers, well, the ones that weren’t occupied with Maedhros, if there were any, for some sleep inducing herbs when a knock sounded at your door.

“Are you awake?” came the voice of Aredhel. You did not bother to cover yourself before you answered. She wore a grave look on her face - one she had not worn since Elenwë had passed. Her eyes were tired and her brow was taught. Her lips were puckered slightly and set in a straight line. Her voice was quiet.

“He is calling for you.”

The screaming stopped for a moment as the words settled. Out of an old habit that had not quite died, you nearly reached for your slippers and robe. You stopped yourself and let out a sharp breath.

“Will you not come?”

Aredhel had been alienated from the sons of Fëanor, just like you had. She knew what it felt like to be separated from friends, from family, but it was unlikely that she knew the weight of her request.

You scoffed, “No.”

“Nesa, plea-”

“Tell Findekano to color his hair,” you said sarcastically, “and find a gown that flatters him. I doubt any of mine will fit. The patient is tired. He will take the ba-”

“Nesa!” Aredhel said, new vigor in her tone, “Please.”

Another scream rang out. Aredhel’s eyes glossed over and she elongated a blink. She was exasperated, however much she tried to conceal it for selflessness’ sake, and desperate.

You sighed, “Let me get dressed.”

You couldn’t tell if the sound of your boots against the marble floor had become significantly louder than you last remembered it or if you were subconsciously stomping your way to the halls of healing to drown out Maedhros’ cries. In his defense, he had admittedly gotten quieter; it could have been because his pain was lessening, it could have been because his throat was hoarse. Your steps weren’t deliberately quick, but the irritation that was held behind each one made it seem like you were eager to be somewhere. You stopped abruptly a few feet away from the door. You heard him let out a guttural groan before inhaling sharply.

You took a long, deep breath before opening the door.

“Thank Eru you're here,” you heard Fingon say, “He won’t stop begging for you. It was getting worse and worse, albeit his condition has improved.”

You grimaced. The smell of blood and desperation filled the air. Maids and aides were rushing in and out of the room, still unable to keep up with the clean water and dressing despite the improvement. How bad was it?

Your feet, once trampling under you down the hall, now felt heavy and slow as you made your way to the chair by the bed. Your robes would have to be thrown away - you were sure whatever liquid that was in the floor and soaking into them was not clean water. It was a shame. You liked these robes - long and golden and royal blue. They made you look taller.

His eyes had no tears in them - perhaps he’d cried himself dry - as he looked at you. His face was twisted and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Your eyes trailed to his neck and to his chest, where numerous smaller bandages were fastened. When your eyes fell lower, you found yourself horrified.

His right hand was gone.

That had been where all the blood was coming from, you concluded. You watched with widened eyes as one of the healers wrapped the bleeding nub tightly with another clean cloth. The blood, though still pouring out profusely, seemed to be letting up a bit.

You met his eyes again. They were as blue as ever, and even Morgoth himself couldn’t douse the fire inside them, but they were glistening and frightened and desperate. They widened as he saw you again.

“No!” he shouted, “Leave me alone!”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Fingon and Aredhel both said he called for you, and for what? So he could send you away? What a waste of your time! You took a step closer, despite his protests.

“I told you to leave!”

You said nothing.

“But my lord,” said a healer gently, “You called for them - said it was someone that loved you.”

He looked to the healer and made a near snarl, “Do not patronize me!” He turned to you. “You are the worst enemy I have ever had!”

Ah.

You reluctantly made your way to the chair next to the bed as the aid tried to reason with him, to no avail. He lashed out at you with his left hand. You stopped him firmly with your right.

“Maedhros,” you said, and for a moment he looked at you and seemed a child again, unmarred and burdened not with the grief of the East, “I am not Morgoth, and you are not in Angband. You are in Hithlum. You are safe.”

He seemed, for a moment, at comfort, and though his turmoil did not leave him, he despaired no longer.

You sat with him in silence for a long while, but it was not a comfortable silence. He tried to make conversation with you, perhaps to distract himself, or perhaps because in his delirious state, he thought you wanted to be there.

You suppressed a scoff. To watch him bleed? After all he’d done to you, though, maybe he thought you’d like it.

Time dragged on. For a while, the healers insisted you stay until he was asleep. As the night grew older and your thoughts wandered to memory, you found yourself staying not at the healers’ request, but at your own free will.

Maedhros had done terrible things, yes - though he wasn’t as active as his father in Alqualonde and he didn’t burn the ships, he had pledged himself to you. He had made a promise under pain and longsuffering - one that he had broken. But how much pain, and how much longsuffering before he was vindicated? Before his transgressions annulled? Were they reconciled when he was taken, or when his hand came off? You couldn’t help but pity him.

It was a pain you knew too well.

Crossing the Helcaraxe had been hard on everyone, and losing your left hand didn’t make it any easier. Losing it was painful and healing hurt more, but nothing was as detrimental as what came next. At first, you had been the ‘funny aunt’ to Idril who could use puppets on her arm, and a beacon of hope and a picture of determination to a young Aredhel, but as time went on, you found themselves looking at you with poorly hidden pity, eyes clouded over like storm clouds amongst stars at a masquerade ball.

But it was not pity that Maedhros really needed - no. It was redemption.

His disregard for those he claimed to love was prominent, proved at his departure and highlighted by his actions. But his father had gone mad and his grandfather was killed. He was in a tight spot. Was he truly evil at heart? It seemed cruel to expect him to compromise, what with part of him already compromised. But how else was he to be redeemed? Was he to fast? Or to cut off his hair like Fingon had his hand? Was he to kneel on your doorstep for one hundred days, begging for vindication? For your forgiveness?

You could give him that - forgiveness. It was far-fetched, or so you thought, to bargain for unearned forgiveness when he had a bucketload of consequences that were to come with his actions - a lack of your love and tender care that he once had being one of them.

Your mother would chide you. Forgiveness was to be given freely. Only Mandos himself and only by leave of Mawë could mercilessness be wrought, and whether or not a person was deserving of it was not for any of the Eldar to decide, not even the greatest. It was something you struggled with as a child - after all, anyone could hurt you, but that didn’t matter as long as they couldn’t hold a grudge to rival your own, right?

Maedhros stirred. You let go of his hand - when had you reached for it? - as if it burned and stood abruptly. Dawn was upon you. His body was broken. You knew the emotional turmoil he would soon undergo, and you doubted he would make it. He could reckon his fortune for forgiveness with the Decider himself.

______________________________________________________________________________

You slept throughout the next day, though no rest came to you. Memories and subtle convictions plagued your mind. At last, late in the afternoon, you decided to have a bite to eat and get some fresh air.

Thirty pairs of eyes followed your form, breaths held and shoulders tense as you made your way to the kitchens of Hithlum. You had not toyed with the prospect of being bombarded with questions about the state of the Noldorin prince, but, you supposed, it was for the better. You knew little about his condition as of today, and you wished you knew less than you did.

Despite the beauty of the day, a cloud of tension stalked Hithlum eerily. The gardens were almost too quiet. If you hadn’t any fear of being caught, you would have talked to the spotted swan orchids potted near the bench.

You sat in silence for a moment and rued leaving your room, beginning to doze off after you had decided to rouse and go about. You jumped when the bench shifted underneath you.

“I don’t suppose you're the worst enemy I’ve ever had.”

You sighed and looked down at the bowl in your hands, elbows resting on your knees. “That isn’t what you said last night,” you said, “Or all those years ago, for that matter.”

Maedhros fell silent for a moment. “I know.”

It seemed as if the both of you had a bubble around one another, and the proximity forced them to squish and mold against one another. It was only a matter of time before one of them would pop, leaving you vulnerable and Maedhros even more so.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long, awkward while.

You said nothing.

“Melda, please-”

“Do not call me that.”

He let out a broken sigh and hid his face away from you. Not that you were looking. His mouth contorted into a grimace, and tears pricked his eyes.

“Woe is me!” He said suddenly and quietly, but his voice grew louder, “Woe is me! And woe is the day I left you on those white shores! Now I am at a loss - of a love and of a limb. My departure was the greatest of my misdeeds. I shall rue it, and of all my fell deeds, leaving you behind shall be accounted as the worst.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little smug at his admittance.

“I see that hanging by your wrist for thirty years has not quipped that tongue of yours.”

“No,” he replied, “And I fear nothing ever shall. But for the will of my tongue, I’d have all that I have ever wanted by now - all that I have wished for while hanging from that precipice. How now shall I go on?”

“Do not be a fool,” you said, rather harshly, but years of biting winds and boots filled with snow will make a person harsh, “What is done is done. There is no use lamenting what once was, for by lament alone it shall not come again to be.”

“If you would hear my lament,” he said, “Then maybe you would forgive me.”

You straightened your posture. “You have not asked my forgiveness - and do not do so yet! You have a great deal to learn before you can be reconciled, if I see fit.”

He raised his eyebrows, “If you see fit? I beg your pardon, but was I false to hope that you might hear my plea? Did you lose your mercy and compassion on your journey?”

“I lost many things.”

Maedhros squared his shoulders towards you. His eyes trailed down your frame, and then widened. His breath hitched, and a tense silence befell you both.

“I am sorry,” he said after a while. His voice was timid and shy. Even in begging your forgiveness, the Fearnorian pride that tainted his blood did not cower; his words were ever confident, ever secure in their purpose. Upon looking at your left arm, which his right now mimicked, his boldness left him.

“Hush. You are bold to ask forgiveness of your misdeeds towards me, but you did not cut off my hand.”

He said nothing. For a moment. Your posture straightened. His, though you were now vulnerable to him, slouched.

“Then forgiveness I do not ask of you,” Maedhros said, “only one thing, if your kindness would go so far: council. I do not know what to do next - how I am to relearn all that I have known.”

“It is a long process, even for the greatest of the Eldar - even for one filled with the light of Valinor,” you replied, “It will end, but it feels like it never will.”

“What does it feel like?”

White shores flashed across your eyes. You could feel your mother’s disappointed gaze burning into your back. Green lights came into your peripheral, and for a moment you could feel Turgon’s embrace and Idril’s excited shivering. Your mouth twitched into a fleeting smile. Then there was a crack, and a splash, and a woman’s scream and a man’s desperate pleas to the gods - whichever ones were listening, Manwë or Ulmo or Melkor himself. You gripped the bench with your right hands. Your heart beat increased and a weight fell upon your arm like heavy stones. A thousand tiny needles pricked your skin. You began to feel stiff and lifeless. This time, there were no harp-calloused hands hauling you to the dry, and the weight on your wrist only got heavier. Your eyes flew open.

“Cold,” you said quietly, and shuddered, “As if the chill was drawn from all the waters and the ground and the winds of Eä and even the cold of the souls of the wicked, and then sewn onto my bones.”

You slowly reached with your right hand towards what used to be your left.

“And sometimes, I feel stiff - like my hand has been covered in tar and I cannot move it,” you continued, “And sometimes, there is nothing.”

Maedhros did not dare meet your eyes.

“They will look at you with such pity that maybe their gazes will regrow it, but they will not. Until they know your power, your will, your resolve, until deep down they fear you, they will whisper to one another how unfortunate you are to have suffered such a loss. Your arm will heal, but until you have surpassed resolution and have become fortitude incarnate, you will not again be well.”

Maedhros didn’t respond at first. He sat for a good long while, unsure of whether you were talking about your hand or something entirely different. Your gaze was directed towards the morning glories climbing up the Western stairs, but your eyes were somewhere far off from the gardens of Hithlum.

“How do you bear it, then,” he said, “Until it does heal?”

“There isn’t anything for it,” you replied, “Except to bear it. In Valinor, maybe, you would heal in time tenfold. Though, from what I heard, providence in Valinor is not an option.”

“No, it is not. But I have told you already, it is my greatest regret. And you have said it yourself: what is done is done.” His eyes were filled with determination, but void of all hope.

The sun began to set, and the two of you sat together late into the night. Memories floated about your mind of your life before your departure - before his departure, and sooner or later your mind drifted to your memories with him. Some were good memories, but most were not. His departure - his oath - replayed over and over in your mind.

“Why did you do it?” you said, “Why did you leave?”

He was quiet for a moment, and you couldn’t tell if he was hesitant or thoughtful.

“I would have left all the same, I suppose,” he said, finally, “or been forced out, anyways. A man will be worthy of his father’s name or be tainted by it - after the attack at Alqualonde, I do not know which would have been worse.”

You seemed unsatisfied with his answer, but what he told you was the truth - and he knew of nothing else that would satisfy you, not even a lie.

“I would have loved you all the same,” you said.

He let out a sharp breath, “Would you have?”

You cast your gaze down. “I have endured bitter cold and hardships across the Grinding Ice. What is time to the Eldar? But it is my greatest loss. I loved you even then.”

He stood, abruptly, and knelt in front of you, clasping your right hand with his left. “You knew what I had done then. Can you not love me now?”

You retracted your hand, “You think too highly of yourself. My love for you is trapped under the ice; miles now lie between memories.”

“You held it in your left hand, then,” he reached again for you and found your wrist. “I have given my right in atonement. Is that not enough? Shall I give my left? I gladly will.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you said, “By your right hand you were fell and your deeds were wicked, but by your left you may yet be forgiven. Convince me.”

“What will it take?”

“What will you give?”

“I have told you already,” said Maedhros, “if that is not enough, then I will give you everything.”

You searched his blue eyes for a lie or a fault, but you found none. Your resolve nearly broke when his eyes roamed across your face, searching desperately for your reaction. Would it break him - for you to tell him to get lost? No. He had endured so much, and he did not break you when he was separated from you the first time. You imagined vividly enough to make yourself believe that he would break, and soon had yourself convinced that it was mercy that led you to give him his chance.

“Sit up. Hold me for a while like you did long ago,” you said, “Let me think, and perhaps my terms will not be too great.”

It was not mercy. Forgiveness was difficult, even more so if one’s wounds had gone untreated for too long; but perhaps it would come a little easier if you found solace from your afflictions in the careful embrace of your guilt-ridden afflicter. Your heart stopped at his touch, and though you knew it wasn’t forgiveness, something welled up in your heart that made you wish that things were not as they were, or at the very least, that they could go back to the way things had been.

“As you wish.”

#the silm fandom #the silmarillion #silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #maedhros #maedhros x reader #maitimo #maitimo x reader #russandol #nelyafinwe

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elficially-done-with-life · 1 year ago

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Just a Shadow of myself

Pairing: Maedhros x reader

Summary: After Angband, Maedhros is unsure if you want to stay with him.

Warnings: mentions of Maedhros' torture

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"You should find someone that is better than me." Maedhros murmured weakly. His eyes were full of pain and sorrow as they stared up into your eyes.

He lay on your lap, for after Fingon had rescued him, he was still not strong enough to sit upright for long.

His red hair framed his face in such a way that he resembled a painting.

"What are you talking about?" you asked softly and began to stroke his hair gently. Despite everything he had been through, his hair was still soft.

Maedhro's brow furrowed in deep worry lines, causing him to grimace painfully. Apparently, even that simple little movement brought him hurt. You wished you could help him heal faster, somehow.

"You deserve better, Vanimelda. I- I am just not who I used to be. I am at best a shadow of the man you knew and loved," he said hoarsely and you could see that he was on the verge of tears. Others wouldn't have noticed that, but after everything you two had been through, you could easily tell.

You leant forward slowly and gave him a gentle yet deep kiss on his lips. "My dearest Maitimo." you whispered softly against his lips. "No matter what happens, I will always love you. And even if you are only a shadow of yourself, I prefer this shadow to all others. Because for me, there is only you. And you must not give up now. Together we can make everything better again."

Maedhros looked at you with those sad eyes. You swallowed. "Unless you do not want me anymore," you said in a trembling voice, because it would be your worst nightmare if that were the case.

Maedhros let out a soft whimper. "I love you so much." he whispered, "More than anything in this world."

It took him a lot of strength, but he lifted his hand and gently stroked your hair. "Just thinking about you gave me the strength to get through all the pain. It meant a lot to me if you would continue to stand by my side."

"Then that's exactly what I will do," you whispered softly and gently stroked his now scarred cheek with your knuckles.

It would be a long road, but as long as you were together, you would manage everything.

#tolkien x reader #x reader #maedhros x reader #maedhros #silmarillion x reader #maitimo

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lamemaster · 4 months ago

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Songs of Heart- Spring

Pairing: Turgon x Reader x Fingon (hehe)

Genre: Dramamamama and Angsssst

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Had you known better, you would have never looked his way. You would have shielded your eyes from his. Yet, despite the lament, you are certain that you would have done it. You would have betrayed yourself even with the foreknowledge of your destruction.

Fall | Winter | Spring | Summer | Epilogue

AN: narrative is a mess but it's saucy. Slight NSFW

Reader

Fingon’s death hurts more than you expected. Perhaps, in some unspoken way, the bond between you both had lingered, despite the coldness of your marriage.

Tears come when they bring his body to the camp. You sob. He was once your friend. Your husband. And now he’s dead, leaving you burdened with the sins you committed against him—sins you never sought forgiveness for.

You wonder if you’re allowed to mourn someone you never truly loved. If your neglect over the ages grants you the right to shed tears for the man now gone. Gone, without one last tender word or even a bitter, reconciliatory gesture.

The threads that once bound you to him are frayed, beyond repair.

It feels as though the kingdom of your childhood games has come to life, as though you’re back in those times when Turgon played the king, you the queen, and Ecthelion the knight. It’s easier to fool yourself in this way.

The grief of fading would be a welcome reprieve. You would have let the winds unravel the seams that hold you together—if not for the life pulsing within your belly. A secret well kept. A secret the world will soon see in the coming months.

Fingon

Your trembling hands tug his collar pulling him lower to your height. The tightness of it, constricting his throat. His face heats up in the company of his soldiers who fall quiet at the scene. You stand in front of him with rage-ridden eyes that bleed through unstopping tears.

But all this fails to hurt. Instead, Fingon finds his heart leap at your enraged sight. He takes in your unkempt hair, your matted braids, ruffled robes, and the redness under your eyes.

“Have you lost your mind Fingon?!” Your words tremble with a scratched up voice. Your hands wrap around his face. “Why?” You whisper with a weary sob. “Why must you break me in such a manner?”

Despite the instant protests and rationale on the tip of his tongue, Fingon withholds it from you. Instead, he basks in the devastation of his absence on you. Tears and fear that you have festered for his sake. And he is filled with joy.

For the first time in months, his lips find themselves lifting into a smile. His heart shuddered with relief. The consolation of knowing that your heart had not forsaken him. There lingers love, despite his acts. Beyond right and wrong, you love him still. If not love, you may someday return to loving him.

The grief and grime of Angbad is now a fleeting thought. After weeks of loathing and misery, he has you. This, he considers his blessing. An act of Eru of returning you to him.

“Answer me!” You shake him. “Have you no love for living? Are you so eager to follow your uncle to the Halls of Mandos?” You glare at him in a manner that might have worried him once, but in the present it is a welcome change from the void of a frayed bond.

Wrapping his arms around you, he plops down falling asleep on the spot. Uncaring of his soldiers or anyone who happened to walk upon the scene. His eyes glazed into a slumber, he denied himself. His hands still bloodied with Maedhros’ blood wrapped around your waist smearing the red onto your gown.

Reader

You were on your way out after tucking Idril into bed when it happened. He appeared before you, without warning, his eyes catching yours in the empty hallway. Turgon stood tall, every bit the king of Gondolin—every bit of your childish dream, now brought to life.

It was as if time itself had reversed, and you were both back in the radiant halls of Tirion, hidden away in the cherished corners of your childhood home.

“Turukáno,” you whispered his name in Quenya, the language of home. His eyes widened in shock, as though hearing his name was a miracle—as though a name alone could heal tragedies and rotting souls.

But you believed him, as you always had. In an instant, his arms wrapped around you, his lips pressed to yours. His hands clawed at you, desperate to cling to the fleeting pieces this moment of weakness offered. Greed surged through you, a deep-rooted hunger to take everything he offered, to hold onto him for just a little while longer.

His hands roamed hungrily over your body, slipping through the silks and belts that fell away without protest. In what seemed like no time, you found yourself in his chamber, gazing up at the ceiling painted with the image of the Two Trees, once thought lost to time.

Poised between your legs, he looked at you for permission. As if you could ever deny him. As if you hadn’t been drowning in the need for this very moment, for him.

Beyond Fëanor’s oath, Fingolfin’s loyalty, beyond the looming darkness that awaited you both—this doom was yours to choose. After eons of rotting from the inside out, you allowed your ugliness, your deepest self, to be laid bare before Turgon.

There was no resentment for his abandonment, no guilt for your betrayal of his brother. In this moment, you were simply yourself. Not a wife, not a sister, not a daughter-in-law or an aunt. Just you. And Turgon accepted that, as he always had.

Hours later, as the first light of dawn crept in, you found him again. This time, he was lost to the land of Irmo, his arms holding you snugly against him under the image of the Two Trees. You basked in the warmth of his embrace, if only for a fleeting moment.

Gathering your clothes, you dressed in the stillness of the room. Lost in the haze of pleasure, your mind had yet to welcome the onslaught of guilt, loathing, and shame—but that too would come. They were the most familiar of your states of being.

Yet, this time, there was something else: a restlessness, an unease, mingled with nervousness and anticipation. Days later, soaking in the warmth of a bath, you felt it—a flutter, a flicker of life. The existence of a joy you hadn’t known in ages.

And so it came to be—the fall of the eldest daughter-in-law of Nolofinwë. In the coming months, you became a widow, expecting the child of her husband’s brother.

A child who could never have been sired by Fingon, the High King—who died without ever reuniting with his estranged wife—was sent to Gondolin, entrusted to the care of his niece, Idril.

Talk of the town and a tale still told in hushed whispers to this very day.

The tale of Gil-galad’s origin.

Idril

“Love cannot be all black and white,” Tuor countered the princess.

The said princess huffed in annoyance. “Is it then a stranger to honor, loyalty, and shame?”

Her gaze drifted to the child running through the corridors of her home—the child who bore her father’s eyes and smile. Her half-brother. Half-brothers, the curse of the Finwë line.

While most bowed their heads and addressed Gil-galad as the son of Fingon, the late High King whose shadow still haunted her father, Idril saw it differently. She found joy in it.

The hardness in her father’s eyes whenever her half-brother endearingly called him "uncle" was a sight she would share with her mother, when Eru finally reunited them. Idril was determined to ensure her father never fully accepted his role as Gil-galad’s father.

“Cousin, come here, will you?” she called with a false cheer, scooping up the elfling into her arms. Idril turned back to Tuor, her voice edged with irony. “You’re right—it truly isn’t black and white, is it?”

Turgon

Turgon gets to see his son an hour after he is born. Holding the little babe in his arms his face fills with pride. For the first time since the day he has stepped on this land, Turgon smiles.

His son twitches in his sleep. His tiny fists reach up in the air as the elfling sighs in his sleep. Turgon can feel your gaze on him. For hours he strained his ears from his study, listening for your groans of pain. He hadn’t accomplished anything that day. His heart had been to tumultuous.

He should have been there, to hold your hand. He has seen the pain before, he had been there for Elenwe. He had held her close, wiped her sweat, and whispered sweet words to her. And Idril, his darling daughter, had been so kind to her mother. Her labor barely stretched an hour before Turgon held her wailing little self in his arms.

But to you, he could not give any such comfort. All he had given you was this heartbreak, pain, and infamy.

For months you bore his daughter’s rage, his court’s snark while keeping your head low. All the while, he continued to be the king.

Now alone in the room with you, and his son, Turgon finally summons the courage to offer whatever little can. He sits next to you, holding your hand between his. “Artanaro,” he whispered to the elfling. His name that bears the name of the light of Elbereth.

Gil-Galad, he came to be known in the tongue of Middle Earth.

Ecthelion

Here's the passage with the additional lines seamlessly integrated:

Ecthelion returned from patrol to find his sister asleep in his private parlor, draped over the sofa like a cat napping in the winter sun. As he stood there, he noticed the lines of weariness on her face and the subtle frown that had become a constant companion. When had it appeared? Fingon’s death? Mandos’s doom? The fall of Gondolin?

They had once been happy—he, his sister, and their cousin Findarato. Long ago in Valinor, he remembered their smiles and scowls during playful sibling banter.

He had chosen duty, followed his lord. On the shores of Alqualondë, when you stood next to Aunt Eärwen, it wasn't for Fingon, Turgon, or even Finrod. You had come to these shores for him. He had known it the moment you looked at him.

You followed no lord but your brother. And that had led you here.

Ecthelion gently placed his satchel in the corner before covering you with a blanket. He would not leave you alone here. If the king failed to protect his sister, as his brother Fingon had failed, then he would. Ecthelion would not abandon you—neither in Valinor nor in Middle-earth.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #noldor elves #angst #fingon x reader #turgon x reader #Turgon #Fingon #Shot goes down #unfulfilled love #love triangle #please spare my drama-driven heart ✌️#idril #tuor #gil galad

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 1 year ago

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Discovering Elrond is your soulmate would involve...

Elrond x reader. This fic is dedicated to the amazing @montyc.

*****

💑 It is said that soulmates are a gift from Eru, bestowed upon the first Elves who awoke at Cuiviénen so that they might find their match and immediately start populating Middle-Earth. From then on, almost every Elf has one, meant to pair each of them with their intended mate, the one they will -or at least should- be with forever.

💑 An Elf is already paired with their soulmate when they are born, but they can only discover their bond through physical contact. When this happens, a glyph appears on both of their bodies -the same, on the same place on their skin, different from that of every other couple on Arda- which allows them to recognize each other. It can be a handshake, a hug, a kiss, but also an accidental contact or even a slap or a fist to the stomach; the moment the two bodies even just brush against each other, the glyphs materialize... even though it may take a while for an Elf to notice, which can in turn make it more difficult to find its mate, especially if it appeared on a private part of the body.

💑 Soulmates have long been a subject of study for Elves. It is known that glyphs can only appear if the two soulmates' skin touch - not through clothes, or bandages, to say nothing of armor- that they turn black on the skin of an Elf whose soulmate has died, that in rare cases they can bring together three partners instead of two and that the only way to make them disappear is for the carrier to kill their soulmate... but no one has ever known, or written, whether Half-Elves have them or not.

💑 Elrond was first told about soulmates by Maglor -who still had not found his, and secretly suspected he simply did not have one- and Maedhros -whose glyph matched Fingon's- after he had already been parted from his parents, and because of this he never had the opportunity to ask them about it. Elros never had one, but he had chosen to be counted among the Edain and had married a mortal woman, which probably meant he would not have had one in the first place since soulmates are a prerogative of Elves alone.

💑 Even though he is fully immortal, Elrond has started to suspect the same fate of his brother awaits him, since technically he was not born an Elf but instead chose to be counted among them. Most Elves meet their match early in life, not rarely even before reaching adulthood and seldom, conversely, after their second or third century of existence - a threshold he has long left behind him.

💑 That does not necessarily mean anything, let alone that he is doomed to a loveless existence, and to remain alone and unhappy for the rest of his days. Not all pairs of soulmates find happiness -some die, or are otherwise separated from their partners, or are simply too different in spirit or character to make a good match, despite having been paired by Eru Himself- which means, consequently, that is also possible to find love without having one.

💑 Maybe somewhere there is an Elf destined to never carrry a glyph, because their intended partner is Elrond, a Half-Elf - which will make it infinitely more challenging for them to find each other, but still; maybe one day he will fall in love with one of the race of Men, like his brother did, and have a happy, loving, fulfilling relationship... doomed to end soon, since his partner will die and he will not. Or maybe he will find love, just not romantic love, and he will live the rest of his life surrounded by friends, finding fulfillment in his duties at court and other interests, and while he will never marry, or raise a family, that does not mean he will never feel happy, and at peace...

💑 Years pass. Decades pass. And then, just when his already meager hopes have started fading altogether and the mere sight of a couple walking arm in arm fills his heart with melancholic solitude, he meets you. Actually, the two of you already know each other; you are one of the many warriors at the service of the King, and you could not help meeting Elrond, who is his herald. You are not exactly friends, more good acquaintances, but you have a good opinion of each other: you never treated him differently because of his Half-Elven nature, and you admire his intelligence, kindness, even in the face of his detractors, and readiness to help whoever needs it, while he appreciates your bravery, already tested in many battles, and loyalty to the King, as well as the fact that you are one of the few warriors at court who never gets involved in brawls and is capable of, and even inclined to, solve their problems with words and not with their sword.

💑 He once during a ball invited you to dance, since you were the only lady left sitting (!) and you declined, since you were not his responsability, and the two of you then spent two hours happily chatting, sitting side by side. In an occasion you helped him carry a heavy heap of books he needed to write a speech for the King; a few weeks later he found your favourite dagger where you had lost it in the gardens, and brought it back to you. You think he is very handsome, especially when he smiles. He thinks you are lovely, especially when you wear that cape that makes the colour of your eyes stand out.

💑 You think well and like each other - at a distance, well enough to exchange a nod and a smile when your paths cross and to greet each other and make small talk during social occasions. But would you have ever expected to find out Elrond is your soulmate, or he, you? No, not even in a million years. Ad yet, this is exactly what happens.

💑 An ally of the kingdom has asked for help in the face of an invading army, and Gil-Galad has answered calling for a thousand soldiers to lead to war. You were, obviously, one of the first to volunteer, but you were surprised to learn Elrond would also join the expedition, not taking care of the wounded even though you knew he is a capable healer, but taking part in the fight together with the other warriors.

💑 "I am our lord's herald after all; it is my duty to be by his side, in war as well as in peace." he points out one day when you meet in the armory and you see him choosing a blade to bring to the front; he smiles "Are you surprised? I may not be as experienced a warrior as you are, but I have been trained, and I like to think I have some skills with a blade." You apologize for having underestimated him, and admit you have no reason to think he cannot fight only because the only talents of his you were aware of are of a more peaceful nature.

💑 "Maybe we will see each other on the battlefield, (name)?" "I doubt; I will be part of the third company, which means I will be fighting from the rear." you admit ruefully; this is due to strategic decisions, not to your battle talent or lack thereof, and you do not doubt you will see as much of the battle as any other soldier, but it would have been more honourable for a warrior to fight from, and be part of, the forefront, where the King himself will be leading the troops "But I wish you good luck, Elrond, truly; may we both survive unscathed, or otherwise may we nurse our wounds side by side." This is a common wish warriors exchange before battle; Elrond seems touched, and smiles to you -he has a very beautiful smile, you cannot helo but notice- before returning the sentiment.

💑 In the end, you do meet on the battlefield, even though at first you do not realize. As usual, the complex and attentive disposal of the troops planned by the King has dissolved into chaos, and warriors of different companies, including the riders forced to dismount after their horses had been killed, fight side by side, awkwardly attempting to follow some kind of strategy but reducing themselves to simply go on, stay alive, and kill as many foes as they can; including you. Three warriors wearing the colors of the enemy seem to spring out every time you best one, you have no idea where the comrades of your troop are -dead? Wounded and unconscious? Or simply pushed to the other side of the battlefield?- and moreover a strong wind has begun to blow, rising a veritable dust storm and making it even harder to distinguish who is in front of you, apart from the colour of their armor...

💑 It is then that you see him. Elrond has just vanquished two enemies, but he paid an heavy price for it; kneeling on the ground, propped on his blood-stained sword and his arm also shedding scarlet drops, he fights to breathe, aware that still and genuflect as he is he offers an easy target to any enemy, but he cannot help it, he just needs a moment... A moment to rest...

💑 That moment is almost too much, since an enemy soldier approaches and raises a sword against him; Elrond instinctively does the same to defend himself, already aware that it is too late, but another soldier intervenes, vanquishing the enemy in a few elegant blows. That soldier is you, who were nearby, saw a comrade about to be attacked and intervened to defend him.

💑 You cannot see his face, because of the helm he is wearing; he cannot see yours, because of the dust and the blood caking it. But he knows you are smiling, with your dirty armour and torn cape, as you offer him your hand, and take his and help him raise. "Brave heart, friend." you encourage him "This is not the day we are going to die."

💑 A moment later you lose him; and then the battle is won, and there are wounded to treat -Lindon's, your allies', and your enemies equally- and it is a whole day and a night later that you are back home, and you are free to disrobe and take a bath, and it is then that you notice something on your hip, under a tiny mole you had since you were born, close but untouched by an old battle wound. It is a glyph, small but clear against the colour of your skin.

💑 You have met your soulmate.

💑 You are sure the person responsible for it is the Elf whose life you saved and who you helped on his feet during the battle; the glyph was not there when you left for the battlefield, and while you might have touched other soldiers on that very day -passing the weapons along, helping the wounded on the back of their horses... not to mention the enemy warrior who, lost their weapon but determined to best you, attempted to throttle you with their bare hands- he is the only one you remember whose skin actually pressed against yours, without the barrier of clothes or armor... and more than anything else, you feel it. You are sure of it, just like you are sure of your name, with that simple, instinctive and chaste touch you awoke a bond that had laid dormant ever since the two of you were born, waiting.

💑 You still cannot believe it; you have never felt so excited, and at the same time more nervous and uncertain than now. Love and relationships, let alone marriage, are of little interest for many warriors, more attached to their weapons than to a spouse -"Do you know why a dagger is better than a wife? They can both procure me lunch, but my dagger does not expect a gift on its nameday." is a particularly popular, albeit tasteless, saying- but it has always been different for you, ever since you were a child and you listened to the story of the first encounter of your parents, whose first physical contact happened when your mother, a healer, gave the kiss of life to your father, who had accidentally fallen in a lake and almost drown. You never thought that devoting your life to arms meant renouncing love and family, and in the privacy of your heart you had always hoped you would one day meet your other half, the partner Eru had created for you...

💑 And finally it has happened!... even though you have no idea who he is, you reflect as you lie in the tub full of hot water, brushing your fingers against the glyph on your hip and wishing it were instead a name, perfectly readable, in the runes you have been taught when you were a child. You are sure the Elf you met during the battle is a male and, given the fact he wore the same armour as you, a subject of Lindon and not of the kingdom Gil-Galad had gone to the aid of, but beyond that, you know absolutely nothing about him! He might reside at court like you, or -more probably, since you know all the warriors who serve on the King's personal guard and are almost sure you must have touched each of them at some point- conversely he might live in one of the many villages in Lindon whose soldiers answered the call, some of which lie many days ride from the palace. He could be anywhere, and you have no way to find out who he is unless you begin scouring the whole kindom and asking to meet every single soldier who was there!

💑 Is this really it?, you wonder as you cross swords in the courtyard with the other warriors or enjoy a goblet of wine at the balcony of your room, admiring the sunset; you have met your soulmate, and then you have lost him, less than a minute later, and now you are doomed to spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been had you had the chance to talk or to realize sooner what had happened? What sort of cruel joke is this? Is he also thinking about you? Has he realized his soulmate is the warrior who helped him during the battle? Is he happy about it? Is he also looking for you, even though you are almost sure in the state you were then, not even your mother could have recognized you? Or maybe he is happy, even relieved, because he is satisfied with his life as it already is, and has no interest in meeting you and discovering whether you are actually made for each other?

💑 Maybe he already has a partner. It is rare, but not unheard of, and it is known of people who found love and happiness after they lost their soulmate, whatever the reason, or even who rejected the bond to be with someone they had already met or simply because they were not happy with the person they were meant to be with. Having a soulmate does not authomatically translate to marital bliss, and not finding yours does not mean you have lost your only chance at love and happiness, but still...

💑 Still, it saddens you, and even if you do not expect to fall desperately in love as soon as you are face to face, nor to have him kneel and ask for your hand just after exchanging names, you wish you could meet him, even just once, or at least know his name...

💑 In those days you spend so deep in your thoughts you barely notice what is happening around you, you meet Elrond - once, in the library, where you have gone to fetch a book for your mother. As usual, you exchange greetings, and a smile; you are happy to see he survived the battle unscathed or almost, and he is kind enough to help you find the book you are looking for, since he knows the library like the palm of his hand. You do not reflect on the fact that since he was also on the battlefield that day and you do not remember ever touching him before, he could very well be the person you are looking for; and yet, he is.

💑 Just like you did, Elrond discovered his glyph after the battle; he had finished taking care of the wounded, he took off his tunic to bandage his arm... and then he noticed the glyph, peeking above the waistband of his trousers. Just like you, he realized the physical contact had to have happened during the battle, and the culprit was doubtlessly the warrior who had saved him during the few minutes he had spent alone, having gotten separated from the King. Just like you, he has absolutely no idea who that person is -he does not even know whether they are a male or a female, since he appreciates the company of both genders- and, as a consequence, how to find them.

💑 He should feel disheartened, even hopeless, but instead his heart is so full of excitation and enthusiasm, he can barely stay still; so what if he has to search through the whole kingdom to look for the partner Eru has chosen for him? So what if he knows absolutely nothing about them, including whether they are interested in a courtship... or already in one, or even married? He will find his soulmate, and ask for a possibility to turn that bond that had been chosen for them in a committed, voluntary relationship. And whatever happens from then on, he knows already he will not regret it.

💑 He is in luck, because he has to reflect on the best course of action only for a few days before the perfect idea hits him. Gil-Galad has decided to host a festival to celebrate the recent victory, and all the warriors who took part in the battle will be invited. Even though he is already so busy with his duties, and the task could easily be entrusted to the courts' scribes, Elrond volunteers to oversee the writing and the sending of the invitations, which he does, having them signed with his name... and with the glyph at the top of each sheet of parchment, as if it were a monogram. Soulmates glyphs are very diverse, with so many existing across all elvendom, and no one will realize what it actually is, except the soldier who carries its match on their body, and who will know that the person who drew it is Elrond! Then it will be up to the other person to act, revealing themselves or choosing not to, but still, he reflects as he sits at one of the desks in the library to begin copy the same short message over and over again, it is better than doing nothing and hope for a miracle.

💑 The next day, you are back at the library, returning the book your mother finished reading; you are in a horrible mood, since one of your dearest friends has just announced their engagement to their soulmate, who they easily found since their glyph had appeared on the back of their left hand. You are happy for your friend, but seeing them so happy and fulfilled with their soulmate has made you feel even more alone and frustrated, dejected in your desire to find your partner. You will have a few days of leave in a month, but they will not be enough to visit every village and town in the kingdom, not even a whole year would be; is your search really hopeless, doomed to fail even before you actually undertake it?

💑 You return the book to one of the librarians, and on your way out you pass next to the desk of one of the scribes, busy copying the invitations for the festival; they are an acquaintance of yours, so you stop to chat for a brief moment... and your eye is caught by the sheets of parchment on the desk - specifically, by the intricate symbol at the top of each of them.

💑 "(name)? Is something the matter?" the scribe asks, seeing you go pale in the face. You force yourself to nod and "What is this?" you ask, taking one of the sheets and pointing to the symbol; you cannot be mistaken, it is exactly the glyph that you are by now used to carry on your skin, proof of a bond you are intimately sure you will never have the chance to experience "Did you draw it? Did you... see it somewhere?" The scribe explains that they and their colleagues were specifically told to copy that symbol on each of the invitations for the festival, even though they have no idea what it means; it is probably just a seal that their overseer uses in his personal correspondence.

💑 He. "And... your overseer is...?", you ask, your heart in your throat. "It is Elrond, the King's herald. He offered to oversee the writing of the invitations himself; he insisted on signing each of them, and asked us to add that symbol on the top of each sheet, and made sure we could copy it properly. I really do not know why; he is the least self-important person I know. He was here until five minutes ago, but I think he was called to the gardens by the King... (name), wait! Where are you going? Give it back, please, I need to make eighty more copies already..."

💑 You barely listen to them as you run out of the library as if you had a balrog on your tail, clutching a copy of the invitation, with the glyph on top and Elrond's signature at the bottom, your heart beating so fast in your chest it hurts.

💑 Elrond. You felt discouraged thinking your soulmate might live at the other side of the kingdom, and instead, his rooms are less than thirty fathoms from yours! It is true that he is not formally part of the kingdom's army, but how could you not even consider him as you mentally listed all the male Elves you knew who had taken part in the battle but you had never touched until then? You spoke to him two days before leaving for the front!

💑 You keep calling yourself an idiot until you finally reach the gardens, where the King likes to spend some time when the weather is good. Sure enough, you soon spot Elrond, talking to Gil-Galad as the two unhurriedly walk next to a line of beautiful rose brushes, the fruit -or rather the flower?- of the efforts of the palace's gardeners. You wait anxiously for a while, hoping the King will soon dismiss his herald and at the same time fearing the moment you will be face to face with him. You have no need to talk to him to make sure of what you already know for sure in your heart; Elrond had the scribes add the glyph to each of the invitations together with his signature to let every single warrior in the kingdom, including his soulmate, know he was looking for them. A clever stratagem, but superfluous all the same, and there is no need to send those invitations, because you are there already, you are his soulmate, and he is yours, and the thought to face him, even though you have known each other for decades, makes your legs tremble...

💑 What will he think when he discovers you are his soulmate? Will he be happy, surprised, or disappointed? Will he think you are too different in character and personality to get along as more than acquaintances? Whatever it is going to be, you will find out now, because Elrond has been dismissed by the King, and is now walking away to return to the palace... which brings him face to face with you, silently standing next to a bench.

💑 "Good afternoon, (name), how are you?" he pleasantly greets you, but the friendly smile on his face quickly disappears as he realizes how upset you look... and then he sees you wordlessly unfold the sheet of parchment in your hands. He stops when he is a step away from you; for a whole minute neither of you utters a word.

💑 "It is you." "Yes. It is me." you needlessly confirm, and the emotion filling your heart is finally close to overflow. You are not magically falling in love with him in the space of a second, like some swear happens to couples who become aware of their bond or meet for the first time, but you look at Elrond, and maybe you are just letting yourself get carried away, but you feel as if you were finally able to breathe after having held your breath for so long, or if you finally met someone you had missed without even knowing of their existence. You feel ready to cry, but you are happy; half of you wants to run away, as far and fast as you can, and the other wants to experience that moment to the fullest, like a goblet of fine wine... or a kiss.

💑 In the end you do cry, which is something you have always hated to do in front of other people, but Elrond does not seem inclined to judge you, especially because he seems as moved as you are; spontaneously, without any embarrassment, you embrace each other, Elrond's arms holding you by the waist as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. You both weep, and hold each other, experiencing that moment which is overwhelming in its sweetness, joyous and terryfing at the same time.

💑 "I must first of all thank you for saving my life." Elrond says in the end; he quietly proposed to talk as you walked in the gardens, an offer you happily accepted "Were it not for you, I would not be here now." "Which makes me even happier to have been there when you needed me; there is no need for thanks." you sincerely answer "So... we are soulmates. Is it... strange, for you?"

💑 Elrond admits it was unexpected, but not because, he quickly adds, he finds the idea of the two of you together absurd; he is... flattered, actually, and happy. He thinks you are beautiful, and there are so many things he likes about you... and he hopes you are not disappointed either, finding out he is your match. "Absolutely not; I think you are very handsome, and I have always thought highly of you." you quickly reassure him; normally you would not have been able to compliment someone so brazenly without blushing furiously, but Elrond is different... you feel at ease next to him, as if you were old friends and not just good acquaintances. It is nice; it is beautiful, and he is as well, with his sweet smile and his luminous and expressive eyes "I was just... afraid. And I still am, to be honest. Elrond... you are an herald, I am a warrior; I have dedicated my life to martial arts and the defense of my kingdom, while you are a cultured Elf, a diplomat, a scholar. Do you think we can... get along, even though we are as different as day and night?"

💑 It is painful to express your fear, especially while you are enjoying Elrond's company more than you have ever done, but you want him to know, because you feel -and what an unpleasant sensation it is!- that if you discover you have too little in common to work as a couple after you have spent time together and you had the opportunity to develop an affection to him, it will break your heart; it that is destined to happen, it is best to break things immediately.

💑 Elrond does not dismiss your fears, nor does he tries to reassure you as if you were a child, which you appreciate; he reflects for a while as you walk, alone for the first time in your lives as the sun bathes the garden in the golden light of the midmorning. "No one can foresee what the future holds for us, especially when feelings are concerned; it does not matter how carefully we make plans, I doubt it might help us avoid future complications or disagreements." he softly points out in the end "And being similar in temperament, occupation or interests does not necessarily ensure harmony. If anything, I wager I would find it incredibly boring to live side by side with someone who thinks, feels and acts exactly as I do; we would have nothing to learn from each other, and it would be equal to spend time by ourselves."

💑 "I think the same." "Ah, not a good start." Elrond states, making you laugh. "But you are right. I do not want to think we have so little in common we cannot even find something to talk about or to do together, and that does not mean we could not fall... develop feelings from each other, does it? My parents have different opinions and tastes about many things, but they learnt to love that about each other, and to make their differences balance them out. I just... I never though I would be able to do the same, and not for lack of will; or that I would find someone ready to do it for me."

💑 Elrond keeps silent for a moment; then he stops, and he turns, and he gently offers you his hand to take, and when you do you feel your eyes filling with tears again, but the feeling is much clearer and more definite than the one that wracked your heart a few minutes ago: a sweet, comforting joy, the certainty to be safe, and that whatever danger or problem you will meet, you will not have to face it alone.

💑 "I am sorry, maybe I am being too... too forward." you stammer, intimidated by his gaze, so deep, piercing and wise; you have never cowed in fear on the battlefield, but being close to Elrond makes you feel... small, vulnerable, as if your emotions were as visible as the words on the pages of a book. You must admit, it is quite pleasant "And we should get to know each other before discussing about the future..." "No." Elrond quickly stops you; he moves to face you once more, and he takes your hand in both of his; you can feel the warmth and the generous, comforting light emanating from his person, and this is when you start loving him, even though just platonically - for now "(name), I... I do not know what will happen in the future, but one thing I am sure of: you are brave, loyal, generous... Any Elf, any creature in Arda would be blessed to earn your love, and if that Elf ended up being... me... well, I do not think I would ever want for anything else."

💑 "I do not deserve all of this, Elrond." you answer in a whisper; you are forced to, because the emotion has choked your voice, and there is so little you know about him, but suddenly you know that whatever you may discover in the future, the good and even the bad, will be marvelous "I... I do not know if I will ever fall in love with you, this is not something you can force..."

💑 He reassures you, saying that since fortunately no law forces two soulmates to marry or even to begin courting, you can do things in your own time, learn to know each other and unhurriedly decide whether to part and never speak again, remain friends... or else. You can begin by spending some time together... maybe with a ride, that night? And then dinner? You think it is a splendid idea, and happily agree, and a beautiful, relieved smile appears on Elrond's mouth.

💑 You need both to return to your duties, but just as you are about to say goodbye to each other, Elrond's expression turns serious. "I know it goes against everything we just agreed, but there is something important you must know, even before we decide if we can be friends." he explains, so serious it scares you; what terrible secret is he about to reveal? "I am a Half-Elf. I am immortal, as you are, but that means that if I ever have children, they will also have to make a choice, and..."

💑 "I understand. And... I am fine with it." you reassure him; the idea to see your children pass away, even now that their very existance is only a remote possibility, is a terrible prospect, but you do not want to let fear decide for you "We agreed to do things in our own time, so... I think I should also leave my children the freedom to live their life as they want, whatever the consequences. Do you wish for children, Elrond?" "I think I do. Some day." he answers, and you both smile, as you unknowingly try to imagine what a child born from the two of you would look like. It would be nice, you think, if they inherited Elrond's smile, and his warm eyes. You feel happy, and hopeful, and excited, and all thanks to the handsome, kind Elf in front of you. "Then... until tonight, Elrond."

💑 "Until tonight, (name)." he answers; he takes your hand once more, and when his lips brush against the back, you feel a jolt of warmth spread through your body. Your gaze meets Elrond's, his smile revealing how aware he is of the effect he has on you "I look forward to it."

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