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xximmortalkissxx · 4 months ago

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🌸 How Do You Hold A Moonbeam In Your Hand? 🌸

Pairings: Elrond Peredhel/OC

Summary: When Elrond Peredhel, recently appointed Herald of High King Gil-Galad, arrives in Lindon eager to greet his new role and responsibilities, he is unexpectedly met by a mysterious and spirited elf named Rána. Though she seems entirely out of place among the stoic denizens of the court, unbeknownst to Elrond, his mysterious guide is far more than what she lets on.

Warnings: None. Complete and utter fluff.

Word Count: 3.6k

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The white sails of Elrond’s ship billowed against the morning breeze, catching the first rays of the rising sun as Lindon came into view. The voyage had been long and as Elrond looked upon the beauty of his new home, like a phantom limb, he instinctively turned to reach for his twin brother Elros. His fingers, however, touched nothing but the open sea air.

As reality settled in his heart once more, Elrond recalled his brother's parting words. “ Promise me you will live your life dear brother, beyond that of a mere politician. Find adventure, love, something beyond duty and prestige. After all, you have eternity. Why spend it being eternally dull?”

He smiled to himself, what adventures… or misadventures was Elros getting into now? He was sure he would find out someday, but until then he would think of his mortal brother fondly and try to borrow some of his courage for the road ahead.

As the ship docked, Elrond confidently regained his land legs and began to make his way into the harbor. It was bustling but not loud, elven cities were always marked by a certain reverence and Lindon was no exception. Adjusting his cloak, Elrond could already feel the weight of duty upon him. As the new herald of the High King Ereinion Gil-Galad, he knew it was imperative to make a good impression, and in his mind that meant being as punctual as possible.

Making his way up the main road, Elrond marveled at the city perched atop the hill, all elegant white towers, tall golden trees, and soft meandering gardens. He savored the sight, taking in a deep breath, the air of Lindon was fresh and scented faintly of rich earth, delicate flowers, and sea salt. Returning his gaze to the path leading up toward the High King’s halls, Elrond flinched as a sudden rustling broke his tranquil stroll.

Out of the bushes tumbled a beautiful elven maiden, laughing breathlessly as she stumbled into Elrond’s chest. He caught her arms gently, looking her over quickly to make sure she was alright. Countless golden leaves clung to her tangled silver hair and her dress, though clearly of fine make, was dirty and askew off her shoulder. In her arms she held a wicker basket filled to the brim with golden flowers.

“ Elen salary lúmenn’ omentielvo.” the mysterious maiden greeted with a self-deprecating laugh, her deep blue eyes sparkling with mirth as they met his.

Caught off guard, Elrond’s composure faltered, though he quickly recovered. Dropping his hands, he offered her a polite bow. “ Mai omenina , I am Elrond-”

“Peredhel, the new Herald of the High King.” she answered for him quickly with a playful bow.

“I’m Rána,” she added, gently brushing at the dirt on her dress. “and I was supposed to meet you at the harbor…but it would seem I’m a little behind schedule. Elanor flowers, while beautiful, love to grow in the most precarious of places.”

Elrond couldn't hide a small smile of bemusement. Rána - a name meaning “wanderer.” Fitting, he thought, seeing the mischievous sparkle in her eyes and the leaves tangled in her hair. She was certainly no ordinary resident of the court.

“Forgive me, but are you…” he hesitated, glancing at the dirt smudged across her nose, “an attendant of the High King?”

Rána laughed, a sound as light and unrestrained as birdsong. “An attendant? Hardly. But I do serve the High King—as a constant thorn in his side.” She replied with a chuckle. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she looked him up and down with unabashed curiosity.

“This is your first time in Lindon, correct? What were you planning on seeing first?” she asked, her excitement palpable.

“I was hoping to head straight to the main hall, I would like to get my bearings before my audience with the High King.” Elrond replied, his eyes returning to the path ahead.

Rána furrowed her brow, looking from Elrond to the path and back again.

“Then it's a good thing I found you, the only audience you were on your way to was with the High King's horses.” She paused in thought a moment, gently tapping her chin.

“Would you not rather see the city first? The High King’s audiences can be so dreadfully dull .” She wrinkled her nose, as if “dull” were a dire affliction.

“Besides, I may be the best guide in all of Lindon. I know every path, garden, tree, and elf here. Plus…” she paused and leaned in closer as if sharing a precious secret. “I know which shops have the best sweets.”

Elrond, though slightly taken aback, found himself smiling despite himself. There was something refreshing about her spirit, her lack of regard for formality. Perhaps a brief tour of the city would ease his nerves.

“If you truly know Lindon as you say,” he replied, his tone warm and sincere, “then I would be honored if you would show me around.”

“Elmendëa!” she exclaimed, taking Elrond’s hand firmly in hers as she turned them down a hidden path. “So… Herald of the High King, what does that entail?”

“Apparently, rescuing clumsy maidens stumbling down hillsides.” he teased with feigned severity.

She laughed again, not a trace of self-consciousness to be found. “Oh, then you'll be kept very busy.”

****************************************************

As they moved through the city, Rána showed Elrond everything Lindon had to offer. Quiet woodland streams, hidden alcoves in the cliffs overlooking the sea, and the bustling markets smelling of fresh baked goods and the sweetest pastries.

Rána pointed out secret nooks in the gardens, whispered to him of hidden glades, and laughed as she shared tales of the elves who made Lindon their home. It had been far from the stately, reserved introduction he’d expected upon his arrival, yet it had also been the perfect way to see the heart of the land—and, he suspected, the heart of the one who showed it to him.

By the time they reached the steps of the High King’s hall, Elrond felt more at ease than he had since his parting with Elros, his spirits lifted by Rána's easy humor and animated, if not exaggerated, stories. She turned to him as they neared his chambers and gestured to the door.

“Well, Herald Elrond, here you are. I suppose you’ll want to freshen up before your audience with the High King?”

He nodded, the weight of his calling settling over him once again. “Thank you, Lady Rána. Your company has been… most welcome.”

Rána shrugged, “I was happy to help, it's been ages since I had someone new to tour around my home.”

“Will I see you again soon?” Elrond asked, surprising even himself by the eagerness in his voice.

“I’m sure you’ll see me again very soon.” Rána replied and with a small, teasing bow, she slipped back toward the gardens, disappearing as quickly as she’d come.

Once alone, Elrond took some time to himself in his new chambers. His belongings had already been brought up and folded neatly, a welcome sight as his cloak and shoes had trailed through most of the mud in Lindon. Fastening the pin on a clean cloak, he gazed out the window towards the gardens below and couldn't stop thinking of the lively elven maiden who had stumbled into his life. Elrond pondered her position here and lamented not asking while he had the chance. Who exactly was she? A maid? Gardener? A mischievous river spirit? One thing he did know was Rána was as unruly as the forests she loved, and as unpredictable as the winds that swept through them.

As he entered the grand hall, Elrond marveled at its grandeur. The chamber was vast, with high, vaulted ceilings supported by elegant columns carved from shimmering white wood. Each column was intricately engraved with scenes of Elven history, reflecting the splendor and grace of the Noldor. At the far end of the hall, arched windows stretched nearly to the ceiling, offering breathtaking views of the sea and the rolling hills of Lindon.

Elrond's typical composure failed him as his eyes traveled to the dias. There, seated beside High King Gil-Galad, was Rána—or rather, not Rána at all. She had exchanged her rumpled attire for a golden gown embroidered with delicate laurel garlands, and her silver hair was now braided and crowned with a circlet of golden leaves. She met his gaze across the hall, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Welcome, Elrond,” the High King greeted, with a warm smile. “I expect you have already met my daughter, Princess Isilmë.”

Elrond fought to keep his composure as realization dawned. His mysterious guide, the carefree wanderer with an easy laugh and dirty dress, was none other than the High King’s daughter.

“Yes,” he managed after clearing his throat, “I have had the pleasure of meeting the Princess.”

Across the hall, Isilmë—or Rána , as he still thought of her—smiled at him with that same mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes. Gil-Galad’s own eyes crinkled with a rare, subtle smile. “Indeed. Though, I suspect there was no small amount of subterfuge involved, Isilmë?”

The princess shrugged with mock-innocence. “It’s rare for anyone to meet me without already knowing who I am. Besides, your new Herald deserved a proper welcome. Not some cold reception littered with placations and protocols.”

The High King shook his head with a sigh, though there was an unmistakable fondness in his gaze. “Well, Elrond, I must apologize on behalf of my daughter. I hope her…unconventional temperament has not scared you off.”

Elrond fought to maintain his composure, though he couldn’t resist a small smile.

“On the contrary High King, my tour of Lindon with the Princess was most educational and enjoyable. I am positive there is no one else who could have shared the spirit of this realm with such passion.”

His response seemed to please the High King, who nodded respectfully.

“It appears I have chosen my new Herald well. Not many would describe my daughter with such tact, fewer still would have the patience for such a lengthy excursion in her company.” Gil-Galad's tone was formal, but there was a teasing glint in his eye as he gestured to Isilmë. She laughed in response, wrinkling her nose at her father's jest, then stood gracefully with a simple crown of golden Elanor flowers in her hands as she drifted towards Elrond.

“Welcome to Lindon, Herald Elrond. Truly. Now that we have been properly introduced, I expect we'll be seeing much more of each other.” Isilmë stated, her tone was formal but the sparkle in her eyes still lingered as she moved to place the crown on his head.

He met her gaze and nodded respectfully. “I look forward to it Princess.”

“We will be holding a feast in your honor come golden hour, until then we will leave you to settle in.” the High King nodded to Elrond, dismissing him politely.

“High King,” Elrond replied, bowing deeply to Gil-Galad, and then with a touch more humor, “ Princess .” bowing to Isilmë.

****************************************************

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the palace gardens became a sight to behold, fully alive with light, music, and laughter. Golden rays bathed every flower, sculpted greenery, and tree in an ethereal light. Towering mallorn trees, their golden leaves luminous, rose like the pillars of the grand hall. Delicate vines cascaded from their branches, interwoven with tiny lanterns that sparkled like stars above the gathering.

The elves who weren’t dancing under the golden canopy, sat at long elegantly carved tables, draped with richly embroidered silken cloths. Platters of delicacies filled every surface: fruits that glistened like gemstones, loaves of warm golden bread, and ornate carafes filled with sparkling wines and meads. Intricate crystal glasses gleamed in the fading light. Each place setting adorned with delicate flowers and a small scroll, bearing a poem or blessing for each and every guest.

Elrond sat at a place of honor next to the High King, politely greeting every new and old face congratulating him on his new position. Across the way, Isilmë wove through the crowds, holding a silver pitcher of wine. She wore the same golden gown from earlier that afternoon, but her silver hair was now loose, cascading down her back and catching the light like veins of mithril. Her demeanor was relaxed, and her laughter infectious as she stopped to fill goblets and exchange jests with every guest she passed.

Elrond couldn’t help but watch as she approached, her easy charm lighting up the feast more than the evening's sunset ever could. When she finally reached him, Isilmë beamed, setting the pitcher down, and, to his surprise, hoisting herself onto the table, causing the tiny bells woven in her hair to ring gently against her back.

“Well, my lord Herald,” she began, her voice teasing as she leaned forward and held up the pitcher. “May I offer you some wine?”

Elrond nodded, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It would be an honor to have the High King’s daughter herself filling my cup.”

Isilmë laughed as she poured the wine, then set the pitcher down to meet his gaze. “Consider it an apology.”

“An apology?” Elrond asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned back feigning suspicion. “And who exactly is apologizing? Princess Isilmë or Rána?”

Isilmë pursed her lips and tilted her head as if considering the question carefully. “Hmm…That’s a good question.” she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Rána is far too stubborn to admit fault. So I suppose this is Isilmë’s heartfelt apology.”

Elrond chuckled, shaking his head. “Apology accepted, though I must admit I did rather enjoy Rána’s company. What a shame she missed this evening.”

“Well,” Isilmë replied, leaning in conspiratorially, “I hear Princess Isilmë isn’t so bad either. If you give her a chance.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “I will reserve judgment… for now.”

Her laugh rang out, bright and genuine. “Oh, you’re far more fun than Ada’s last herald.”

“I aim to please,” Elrond replied, raising his goblet in mock solemnity.

As the night went on, the number of guests dwindled until the gardens of Lindon became quiet, filled with the soft rustle of leaves, the faint song of crickets, and the gentle laughter of Elrond and Isilmë as they drank together at the high table.

Finding another full bottle from under the table, Isilmë pulled the cork with a flourish between her legs and poured it haphazardly into two cups. She handed one to Elrond before taking a long sip from her own.

“Now,” she began, settling back against her chair. “Since we’re practically strangers, I propose we play a little game to get to know each other better.”

Elrond hummed into his cup, intrigued. “A game?”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Two truths and a falsehood. I tell you three things about myself, and you guess which one is the lie. Then we switch. Simple enough?”

He chuckled, swirling the wine in his cup. “Very well. I will indulge you. Ladies first.”

Isilmë tapped her chin in thought playfully. “All right. Here we go. First: I once ran away to elope with a Sindar elf. Second: I’ve never lost a sparring match with my Ada. And third: I was banned from the library for accidentally knocking over a stack of priceless ancient scrolls.”

Elrond studied her carefully, his gaze thoughtful. “Hmm. The High King does seem to indulge you, so the second may be true. And you strike me as someone who would cause more than a little chaos in a library. So the falsehood must be the first—running away to elope with a Sindar elf.”

Isilmë laughed, a bright and melodious sound. “Wrong! That one’s true.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Truly?”

“Truly,” she replied, taking another sip of wine. “It was all very romantic. We planned to meet in the woods and escape to a quiet corner of Middle-earth where no one would find us. But, alas, my personal guard caught us before we even left the borders. My Ada was furious. It was-” Isilmë coughed, lowering the register of her voice to imitate the High King, “A near diplomatic incident.”

Elrond stared at her, half in disbelief. “And the falsehood?”

“I’ve definitely lost sparring matches with Ada,” she admitted with a shrug. “He’s annoyingly good, and never lets me win.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly into his cup.

“Your turn,” she said, leaning forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He considered for a moment before replying. “First: I once fell into the Sirion River while attempting to fish. Second: I have recited the wrong poem during an official ceremony. And third: I have never had wine this fine.”

Isilmë narrowed her eyes, studying him with a playful smile. “Hmm. The first one sounds plausible, the second sounds humiliating enough to be true, and the third... Well, you strike me as someone with exceptionally fine tastes in wine. So I’m guessing the third is your falsehood.”

Elrond shook his head, smiling. “Wrong. The falsehood is the second—I have never recited the wrong poem. I happen to have an excellent memory, particularly when it comes to poetry and tales.”

She laughed, raising her cup in salute. “Well played, Herald.”

As they continued their game, the bottles of wine multiplied then slowly emptied between them while they traded truths, falsehoods, and laughter under the stars.

“You’re not at all what I expected, Herald Elrond,” Isilmë said finally, her face flushed as she nudged his shoulder gently.

“I can definitely say the same for you Princess.” Elrond teased, nudging her back.

“Good luck tomorrow morning,” she said, before standing from her chair with a tiny wobble. “I know I’m going to need it.” she added with a dry chuckle.

“Goodnight Princess.” Elrond nodded his head respectfully, before standing as well and gripping the table tight as the garden began to spin.

****************************************************

The next morning, Elrond entered the High King’s study, hands clasped behind his back as he attempted to appear even remotely well. His head pounded like a drum as the golden light of the sun filtered through the high windows and directly into his eyes.

High King Gil-Galad was seated at his desk, quill poised over a parchment. But as Elrond arrived, he set the quill aside and gestured for him to step closer.

“Elrond,” the High King greeted warmly, his voice carrying the weight of both authority and welcome. “Please, sit.”

Elrond inclined his head respectfully and gladly took a chair opposite the desk, feeling both honored and slightly mortified by his current state in the presence of the High King.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Gil-Galad began, leaning back in his chair. “Your wisdom, diplomacy, and unwavering sense of duty have impressed me greatly. Choosing you as my Herald was an easy decision to make. But...”

Elrond’s brow furrowed slightly, the hesitation in the High King’s tone drawing his attention. “But, High King?”

Gil-Galad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. “I must come clean, I had an ulterior motive in selecting you for this position. Beyond your numerous qualifications, there is another matter I hope you might address on my behalf.”

Elrond straightened, his curiosity piqued. “I am honored by your confidence in me, whatever the task I will do my utmost to see it done.”

The High King’s eyes softened. “It concerns my daughter, Isilmë.”

Elrond nodded, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“She is...spirited,” Gil-Galad said, a faint, almost wistful smile playing at his lips. “Much like her mother was. I have indulged her impulsive nature for many years, for it reminds me so much of Rían. But her role in our court, and in our realm, cannot be ignored forever.”

Elrond listened intently, piecing together the weight behind the words.

“I believe,” Gil-Galad continued, “that you possess the perfect balance of wisdom and spirit to mentor her. To guide her into becoming the leader I know she can be.”

Elrond’s eyes widened slightly at the enormity of the task. “High King, I am humbled by your faith in me, but surely Princess Isilmë would be better served by someone older, more experienced-”

Gil-Galad shook his head. “It is precisely because you are young that you are better suited for this. You can offer her a perspective she may not easily dismiss. However,” his tone grew heavier, “as her father, I understand what I ask of you may be impossible...but as your High King I must ask it all the same.”

Elrond considered his words, the High King’s trust in him weighing on his shoulders. Finally, he gave a small, resolute nod. “If it is your will, High King, I will do my utmost to fulfill it.”

Gil-Galad’s expression lightened, gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you, Elrond. You may find her challenging at times, but I have no doubt she will surprise you.”

Elrond allowed himself a faint smile. “Of that I have no doubt.”

Gil-Galad chuckled softly, his gaze distant for a moment. Then, with a more serious tone, he said, “Do not hesitate to come to me if the task proves too great, your position here is secure, no matter the outcome.”

Elrond rose from his chair and bowed. “I will see it through, High King.”

“Thank you. Oh, and Elrond,” the High King's mouth curved into a subtle grin. “I shall have some thistle mint tea sent to your chambers.”

Elrond froze, his stomach turning, though from embarrassment or the wine he couldn't say.

“You are not the first Isilmë has drunk under the table, and may Elbereth aid me, you won't be the last…” Gil-Galad added with an exasperated sigh.

#original female character #elrond x oc #elrond peredhel/oc #gil-galad & oc #elrond peredhel #friends to lovers #fluff #shenanigans #the rings of power #slow burn #silmarillion #lotr #lord of the rings #trop fanfiction #rings of power fanfiction #rop fanfiction #an unstoppable force meets an immovable object romance

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