#quenya name of the day

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Hc that Primitive Quendian (PQ) has a lot of gender neutral terms, and that things like “god” and “king” and “master” in PQ weren’t gendered words the way they are now, so both elleth and ellons would be refered to as “king”, “master”, etc, but as time went on and the language evolved to quenya and sindarin, those words did become gendered, so they were translated as male. The same thing happened with PQ words that mean “damsel” and “slut” and “queen”, which became words associated as female.

And long story short, a lot of stories that were created in PQ were translated to have male heros and female love interests, when in reality the heroes of an epic were pretty diverse across all genders.

In fact, there’s a story called “Swode i Dall” in PQ, which roughly translates to “the swordmaster and the damsel” which is a pretty basic heroic romance about the swordmaster, who always saved the damsel in distress, no matter how many times the damsel got themself into trouble, and it was assumed the swordmaster is an ellon and the damsel is and elleth bc of the respective words becoming more gendered. But in reality the swordmaster in the epic is an elleth, who was specifically based off of Miriel, and the damsel is an Ellon based off of Finwe, and these genders actually make more sense given the context of the story, but it never even crossed many elves’ mind that swordmaster and damsel weren’t gender indications as they were translating the story from PQ into Quenya and Sindarin. The story was actually created bc bby finwe had a massive crush on the strong Miriel and would not go to sleep without the story.

And long story short, there’s a story about Finwe and Miriel in PQ that Feanor has no idea about bc elves got the genders wrong when it was translated.

[g00seg1raffe]

And now, the thrilling sequel: Celebrían, Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen’s names!

I’m not touching their titles with a 6 foot pole. I'm sorry but this already took like 7 hours and I do actually have work I’m meant to be doing. It also makes my life easier that the kids do not need two separate identities from each side of the family since their parents are not mortal enemies who murder each other, which is half the amount of work for everyone. :)

*

Celebrían

Celebrían, Celeboriel a Galadrien, Hîril Imladris

Teleperína, Teleporniel ye Alatárien

Tyelperína, Telporniel Naltarienyë, Heri Arcimbele

Celebrían = Sindarin meaning silver queen, from celeb = silver and rían = queen/crowned lady.

Celeboriel = Sindarin meaning daughter of Celeborn, from Celeborn (minus -n for smoother pronunciation) and -iel = daughter of.

Galadrien = Sindarin meaning daughter of Galadriel, from Galadriel (minus -l for smoother pronunciation) and -ien = an alternative form of -iel meaning daughter of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Hîril Imaldris = Sindarin meaning lady of Rivendell, from hîril = lady, feminine equivalent to Elrond’s hîr, and Imladris = Rivendell.

Teleperína = Telerin meaning silver-crowned, from telpe = silver and rían = crowned. (Technically rían is Quenya but whatever, Tolkein loves his mutually-intelligible languages so I can do what I want.)

Teleporniel = Telerin meaning daughter of Telepornë (Celeborn’s Telerin name), from Telepornë and -iel = daughter of.

Alatárien = Telerin meaning daughter of Alatáriel (Galadriel’s Telerin name), from Alatáriel and -ien = an alternative form of -iel meaning daughter of.

Ye = Telerin meaning and, specifically for two items.

.

Tyelperína = Quenya meaning silver-crowned, from tyelpë = silver (the archaic inflection of the Teleri-influenced telpë, probably used exclusively by Fëanorians due to their little pet peeves about linguistic purity) and rína = crowned.

Telporniel = Quenya meaning daughter of Teleporno (Celeborn’s Quenya name), from Teleporno and -iel = daughter of.

Naltarien = Telerin meaning daughter of Naltariel (Galadriel’s Quenya name), from Naltariel and -ien = an alternative form of -iel meaning daughter of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

Indori Arcimbele = Quenya meaning lady of Rivendell, from indori = lady or mistress of a house, the likely feminine of Elrond’s indor, and Arcimbele = Rivendell.

.

Why no Telerin ‘Lady of Rivendell’? because I can’t figure out how to translate that, so I’m going to invent some reasons why she would never use Telerin enough to bother translating her titles.

Galadriel speaks both Quenya and Telerin - which are very similar and mutually intelligible but not actually the same - and was originally named in both, due to having a Noldorin father and a Telerin mother.

Crimes are committed and Quenya is banned. Telerin sounds close enough to Quenya that you’ll get arrested for speaking it, and people aren’t very sympathetic when she explains that it’s not actually Quenya but a different language that sounds exactly like Quenya that is also spoken in Valinor alongside Quenya, and in fact they share many words so it is really very, very close to Quenya - but I swear it isn’t actually Quenya. (It’s also close enough to set off Celeborn’s PTSD-induced anti-Noldor squick.) So, Galadriel attempts to distance herself as far away from Quenya and Telerin as possible while she remains in Middle-Earth.

In fact, there was a lot of soul-searching that took place before she decided to name her daughter in Telerin as well as Sindarin, and she never did name Celebrían in Quenya at all.

So Celebrían grew up speaking Sindarin exclusively, because while she does, intellectually, know how to speak Telerin because her mother sat her down and taught her, she has no real connection to the language. And, of course, Quenya is for war criminals…

…And apparently kind-hearted half-elven bad-boys with the most adorable dimples like Elrond, who is so whole-heartedly, incandescently in love with his House and his heritage that it’s contagious. So Celebrían drags out her never-used Telerin name and translates it into Quenya so that she can enjoy being Noldorin with her husband. It’s very sweet.

Of course, she does then decide she wants to connect with her Telerin heritage as well, but, well, there aren’t many Teleri in Middle Earth, so that has to wait until she sails to Valinor…

*

Elladan

Elladan, Elrondion a Celebríon

Laurefinwë Eldatan, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Elladan = Sindarin meaning Elf-Man, from eledh = Elf and adan = Man.

Elrondion = Sindarin meaning son of Elrond, from Elrond and -ion = son of.

Celebríon = Sindarin meaning son of Celebrían, from Celebrían (-an dropped for smoother pronunciation) and -ion = son of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Laurefinwë = Quenya meaning golden Finwë, from laurë = golden (of light, not the metal) and Finwë.

Eldatan = Quenya meaning Elf-Man, from elda = Elf and atan = Man.

No epessë = I couldn't think of a good one and neither could he. Suggestions welcome.

Elerondion = Quenya meaning son of Elerondo (Elrond’s Quenya name), from Elerondo and -ion = son of.

Tyelperínion = Quenya meaning son of Tyelperína (Celebrían’s Quenya name), from Tyeperína and -ion = son of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

.

Why Laurefinwë?

Glorfindel/Laurefindelë my beloved!

Maglor/Makalaurë my extremely problematic but still very beloved genocidal mass-murdering kidnapper-turned-father!

Celeborn, my dearly beloved father-in-law who takes every opportunity to insult my family and heritage, may I present your grandson, whose father-name, which follows the Fëanorian family tradition, is a tribute to the name of your realm (Lóþlaurien, from lós/lóþ = flower, laurë = golden and -ien = land) translated into the illegal language and accent of the famous war criminals who destroyed your old realm of Doriath! (Celebrían loves Elrond’s blatantly passive-agressive responses to people’s prejudice and is a terrible enabler.)

Note: a more sensible translation of Lothlórien would be Lóslórien = flower dreamland, but in the interests of pissing off the father-in-law some sacrifices must be made

*

Elrohir

Elrohir, Elrondion a Celebríon

Tyelpefinwë Eldaroquen, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Elrohir = Sindarin meaning Elf-knight, from eledh = elf and ro(c)hir = knight. Ro(c)hir is a combination of roch = horse and hîr = lord.

Elrondion = Sindarin meaning son of Elrond, from Elrond and -ion = son of.

Celebríon = Sindarin meaning son of Celebrían, from Celebrían (-an dropped for smoother pronunciation) and -ion = son of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Tyelpefinwë = Quenya meaning silver Finwë, from tyelpe = silver (archaic form of the later, Teleri-influenced telpe) and Finwë. 

Eldaroquen = Quenya meaning Elf-horseman, from Elda = elf and roquen = horseman. Roquen is a combination of rocco = horse and quen = person. (Hence, the Quenya is gender neutral, do with that what you will)

No epessë = I couldn't think of a good one and neither could he. Suggestions welcome.

Elerondion = Quenya meaning son of Elerondo (Elrond’s Quenya name), from Elerondo and -ion = son of.

Tyelperínion = Quenya meaning son of Tyelperína (Celebrían’s Quenya name), from Tyeperína and -ion = son of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

.

Why Tyelpëfinwë?

Celebrían/Telperína my beloved!

Celebrimbor/Tyelperinquar/Tyelpë my beloved, you deserved so much better than Þauron and even though we’re still dealing with the fallout of your arts and crafts project two ages later, we still think you were awesome!

Celeborn/Telporno my dearly, dearly beloved bastard of a father-in-law, meet your grandson, whose father-name, which follows the family tradition of the fuckers who destroyed your birth-city of Doriath, is a tribute to your own name, translated into the specific archaic accent that they used (tyelpë) due to being linguistic purists rather than the still-effectively-illegal-but-not-quite-as-bad Telerin inflection used in your own name (telepë) to distance yourself from the mass-murderers whose adopted son your daughter has married! (Celeborn almost disowns the brat on the spot.)

*

Arwen

Arwen, Elrenniel a Celebríel

Þerifinwë Arwen Undómiel, Elerondiel Tyelperínielyë

Arwen = Sindarin meaning noble maiden, from ara = noble and gwenn = maiden.

Elrenniel = Sindarin meaning daughter of Elrond, from Elrond (why it’s changed to Elrenn- I have no idea) and -iel = daughter of.

Celebríon = Sindarin meaning daugher of Celebrían, from Celebrían (-an dropped for smoother pronunciation) and -iel = daugher of.

A = Sindarin meaning and.

.

Þerifinwë = Quenya meaning broideress Finwë, from þerindë = broideress, Fëanorian þþþ inflection of serindë, and Finwë.

Arawendë = Quenya meaning noble maiden, from Ara- = noble and -wendë = maiden. Almost invariably shortened to Arwen, just as Finwë's youngest daughter Lalwendë went by Lalwen.

Undómiel = Quenya meaning Evenstar

Elerondiel = Quenya meaning daughter of Elerondo (Elrond’s Quenya name), from Elerondo and -iel = daughter of.

Tyelperíniel = Quenya meaning daughter of Tyelperína (Celebrían’s Quenya name), from Tyeperína and -iel = daughter of.

-Yë = Quenya suffix meaning and, used when combining two titles into one rather than in daily use.

.

Why Þerifinwë?

She sews. And embroiders. And weaves. And knits and crochets and makes lace and spins thread and that’s her craft/special interest, ok? She’s damn good at it. She makes Aragon’s standard for the Battle of the Black Gate, the final confrontation of Þauron in the War of the Ring, emblem of hope and faith in humanity, a bright dawn of the Age of Men - that shit is important.

Míriel Þerindë my beloved! Y’know, the one who kickstarted literally the entire history of Middle-Earth with her death? The favourite devotee of Vairë, Weaver of Time? The one who channelled her Sight through her craft and ended up making a tapestry predicting, with staggering accuracy, the downfall of her lineage throughout the First Age? The one whose devotion to her yet-unborn-family was so strong that she chose to fade into Mandos to become one of Vairë’s assistants - basically promoting herself to the role of a minor deity - so that she might just have the chance to redeem something, anything, for her children? The one who caused the rocks to clatter just so in the cave where Elrond and Elros hid, leading to Maglor finding and raising them, the greatest thing the House of Fëanor ever did and the sole exception to the Doom of the Noldor: to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well? Yeah, I think she’s a pretty cool person to be named after.

Seriously, Arwen had to choose the Gift of Men, because Mandos couldn’t handle three badass weavers who quietly hold absolute dominion over the fate of Eä.

Celeborn, my most beloved father-in-law, have yet another grandchild named after problematic members of the House of Fëanor! (Headcanon that the shared Finwëan love language is pissing eachother off.)

*

In conclusion:

Celebrían, Celeboriel a Galadrien, Hîril Imladris

Teleperína, Teleporniel ye Alatárien

Tyelperína, Telporniel Naltarienyë, Heri Arcimbele

Elladan, Elrondion a Celebríon

Laurefinwë Eldatan, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Elrohir, Elrondion a Celebríon

Tyelpefinwë Eldaroquen, Elerondion Tyelperínionyë

Arwen, Elrenniel a Celebríel

Þerifinwë Arwen Undómiel, Elerondiel Tyelperínielyë

I have no life

[sesamenom]

C&C vs PD: Tengwar Edition

[tragedykery]

I love going completely overboard with worldbuilding as soon as I get an idea for an au. will this be mentioned in the fic? probably not. am I doing it anyway? of course

[ieatwormsandtheytasteverygood]

Fuck yuo *introduces self(s) again* (and then updates it again. the silly ppl in my head decided to shift around a lil)

Apparently we go by Áesgirr here. so I'll be doing that too. We use he/him, hey/hem/here/heren/hem self, and 'e/'em/'er/'ers/'emself. We're a transgender genderqueer man, bisexual, and aromantic. Bodily 18, Irish & South African. We're physically disabled, have autism, ADHD, psychosis and a few special extras to make life interesting (read: painful). We plan on converting to Judaism when/if possible, but can't for at least a while yet.

We're pretty inactive just because we forget that tumblr exists. Repeatedly.

Our autism decided to make a special left swing right back to Jirt & the Silmarillion, but we've still quite some fondness for mediæval history, and naturally for philology & other linguistics.

Fluent in (Modern) English, Middle English, and Afrikaans (albeit getting out of practise). Vaguely conversational at German, Swedish and Zulu. Quite terrible at Irish, Welsh, Setswana and Middle Scots. And we can understand quite a bit of Modern Scots, (written) French, Dutch, Old English, Ecclesiastical Latin, and various related languages.

We're eternally trapped in the hellscape that is the Silmarillion fandom, but also Doctor Who & its associates, Star Trek, Our Flag Means Death, Shakespeare (we love the political plays), Good Omens, and probably some others. It's a thing.

We have so many pets and we love them to bits. <333

We also like art and writing, but unfortunately our art blog is completely separate to this (irl people know about our art blog), so no art here alas. We might post some of our calligraphy however! We love love love music, and we sing tenor, and play the violin and cello. Please send obscure folk music to us!!

The main lads (gender neutral) that're currently active are:

Ruthuifin/Rúthuifim - he/him, e/em. Aro neu, cassgender. Ñoldo (elf). Far too old and far too good at making terrible jokes. You don't want to know what e has to say about Eldarin marital law. It's terrifying. And he's probably actually tax-fraud-romantic for all he goes on about it /j

Orchalon - no pronouns (auxiliary he/him). Anattractional, cassgender/agender (masculine or neutral terms preferred). Cursed to be Ruthuifin's brother, and Malto's cousin. Vaguely elvish, vaguely draconic.

Malto/Cólðir/Cóleblein/Maltalain - he/him. Probably aspec? Also an elf. He's the reason why we spent R4000 on all 12 volumes of HoME. Don't ask about the vat of wine incident.

Roquén(/Rochir/Rochen/Rocen) - hen/han/tîn/tîn/anhen (auxiliary it/its). non-binary. quoisexual, aromantic (cupioromantic), toric/NBLM, oriented aroace. yet another elf. burdened by tîn relation to ruthuifin and malto (much more tolerant of orchalon, for Obvious Reasons). music enjoyer, persecutor, and the Only Sane One Left.

Minyafaramo - he/him. male, aroace. elf (are we even surprised at this point). related to the other elves (what a shocker). is plotting alongside malto, tatyo and nelyo (not that nelyo) to find a way for us to do horseback archery. he still hasnt forgiven nelyo for straining a muscle doing HEMA a few weeks ago. loves animals and music as well as hitting people and objects with swords and/or bows.

Tatyafaramo - he/him. male, anattractional. you can guess the species. yes, he chose to go by this name. loves archery, but also animals, music, and literature. i suspect he enjoys hitting people with swords, too.

Nelyafaramo - he/him. male, aroace. he likes HEMA (archery & mediæval swordplay. dont ask him to do fencing. he will hit you over the head with the hilt of his foil.), and wroth. he's the one who gets to have anger over our daddy issues instead of Melancholic Thoughts.

Caliwe - they/them. we tried to name them Caliweg, but apparently "i am not shiny-ful". orangegender, yellowgender, bluegender, purplegender, gemder. aromantic (etc.), but ma-æsthetic. aids and abets malto and ruthuifin. for all they're an elf, they act remarkably like a golden retriever /aff. big sociology & anthropology nerd.

Loup - it/its. unhuman. no opinion on gender or sexuality. friends(?) with nelyafaramo et al.

cat - it/its. name must be pronounced as /ˈʔːːːːːːː/ (NB: really focus on the not breathing!!). my gender is whatever pisses u off the most, and my sexuality is painful to look at. unfortunate "babysitter" of malto. i have also aided and abetted malto. i do not apologise.

Pádraig - he/him. The One True Pope. Pan-oriented aroace, cassgender (or something like that). Formerly human, now a horror beyond your comprehension. His hobbies are insomnia and hating the British.

Obligatory DNI list: pædos, animal abusers, people who post using entirely inaccessible fonts (think faux cyrillic kind of thing). If you're going to be a dick about our identity please just move on. We can & will block liberally, especially when it comes to sexybots. If you're not in fact a sexybot and we end up blocking you, send us an anonymous ask with your username & we shall unblock.

Have a great Tuesday, and may you never experience the horrors of Malto spouting cursed Silmarillion facts.

[queerofthedagger]

if i think too much about how elros chose quenya as the language for the royal names and records of númenor I'll need to disappear into the woods to scream for days. like. the implications and weight that carries just make me insane

[thyras]

→ the bearer of fruits

PAIRING ��� mairon | halbrand | annatar (sauron) x f!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 8.9k words

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - dark!reader, mentions of abuse (sauron kind of manhandles reader and threatens her, while she throws stuff at him), mentions of trauma, some fluff (if that can even be associated with him), manipulation, dark deeds, unprotected p in v, implied smut, handjob, pregnancy

SUMMARY → after your husband’s departure of Eregion, you are left hollowed and sorrowed. you find solace in your work and planting your seeds until an unexpected visitor shows up at the gates of Eregion.

AUTHORS NOTE → wow this took ages to finish, sorry about that. i've been so busy with school and mom life that i just was so drained of inspiration for this part. i wanted to touch more on reader and his background as it really defines how their relationship works. they are very hot and cold with each other, she may be really dark at times, even darker than him at times, but she is good at hiding it and even can suppress it. idk i hope you guys enjoy as well be reviving up in the next few parts. @sansaorgana you asked me to tag you, so here you are my friend ❤️

FIC MASTERLIST → NEXT PART

The fire crackled against its fuel as you flipped through a volume from the First Age. You had dove into anything that could take your mind off the sorrow you felt with his departure again. This time, you thought of starting to sow some seeds for your husband’s plan. For weeks, you had been coming after all the smiths had gone home, and you would be left in silence, hoping that one person would see you.

Which had not happened once.

Your hand fanned across the page. The silver band on your finger caught the light and shined its beautiful blue hue in the moonlight. A smile crept up on your face as you twisted it around your finger. The bluish inscription appeared in Sarati lettering, the ancient written form of your kin.

You rarely spoke Quenya anymore, but the inscription on the ring was something you always remembered.

Fairest of maidens, in the moonlight, you shall find me, for we are never truly parted.

You had been there in that elven forge of old when he crafted the ring. When you bound yourselves in mind, body, and soul. The Beauty of the Woodland was no more, for she had become his Wicked Beauty.

You snorted softly at the name. The Beauty of the Woodland. That’s all you had been to your kin, a goddess crafted by the Valar and sent to honor your family with your fair beauty. Your life before your husband had been nothing but pure subjection to fill that role and heal your kind.

For you were perceived to be an emissary of Valar in fair form.

But that was hardly true; you were just an elf gifted with refined beauty, which a woman of no consequence birthed. No fair powers filled you other than the gift to heal.

As you had done with him in those days.

The morning was bright, reflecting on the golden leaves down onto your glittering hair. You pushed some behind your ear as you bent down to gather some fungi to take back with you. You had ventured alone early in the morning, not a wise thing, but with years on you and a keen sense for danger, you always carried a blade concealed in your sleeve.

You started humming a sweet song while moving through the woods, peeling off fungi and picking medicinal weeds you could not grow. Your humming grew into a lovely, silvery song.

You hesitated a moment, though, when you reached for a mushroom nestled in a small patch by a tree. A certain iciness came over the forest, the gloominess of a rain cloud crawling over the once bright forest. You stood up and swallowed hard as the eeriness fell even more over the forest.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose suddenly as if you turned and looked behind you. Nothing. Your pulse raced. Your hand reached under the sleeve of your robe for the blade. Your eyes closed as you took a few shallowed breaths before a shadowy breath crossed your ears. Its disembodied voice caused you to shiver. You took a few breaths before opening your eyes and throwing the blade at a tree behind you.

You turned and saw nothing but the shining blade in the tree. As the sun was shining once again and the iciness over the forest lifted, you walked over and pulled your blade out before saying some Quenya words to the tree in sorrow for the damage.

You turned and went back to pick the mushrooms quickly. The darkness was gone, but you still felt its lingering touch on the shell of your ear—the caress almost as seductive as the taste of the finest wine or fruit. You licked your lips as a dark smile rose on your lips.

The darkness had touched you as a little girl; watching your father turn mad at your mother’s lovers, killing her in front of you, had changed you before you even were a teen. In later years, you plotted to kill the man for killing your mother.

Each day, you waited.

And watched.

Until you struck one night, holding a pillow over his face as you plunged his dagger into his heart. The pillow muffled his screams. You leaned in and spoke;

“For the Valar have forsaken you, Commander, and I am their justice.” You paused and took the pillow off so he could look into his daughter’s dark eyes. “See my face, and know it is I who have ended you.” The shocked look crossed his eyes before the light of the Valar left him.

You had been so dramatic in the following days, playing the part of a grief-stricken daughter. Only to hold back the triumph and satisfaction of ridding this world of the man who abused you and your mother enough to stray.

You returned to the road that would take you to your village. It would not take long to get back into the confines of those walls.

Your cage.

Your shackle.

It only brought more blackness to your heart lingering there. But you could hardly protect yourself on a long journey to find another set of kin. Your feet stopped as you felt a whisper of a breeze and turned to see a man walking, well limping, just ahead of you, hand covering his leg as the fabric of his pants was tainted with blood. His reddish hair glistened in the golden sun, much like a flame would as it would against its fuel. The strands were long and braided on the sides.

He stumbled, and you raced to grab his frame before he hit the ground. The weight of him caused you to collapse onto the dirt road. You looked down to see he was an elf, from what kin you did not know. His face was of the fairest beauty, someone to rival even your own. He smiled weakly.

“By the Valar,” he breathed hoarsely. “Have I reached Valinor?” You shook your head and told him your name and that you were a healer. He repeats your name back as if it was the sweetest of nectars. His hand reached up to touch your cheek, eyes fluttering as he swallowed hard.

You looked down at his leg and saw the deep puncture of something in his upper thigh. He had fashioned a tourniquet above the wound to stop the blooding, no doubt. His eyes looked up into yours, pleading almost.

"Boar," he breathed hoarsely again. You nod and smooth your hand across his clammy cheek in a comforting gesture.

"I'll get you well again; it's the least I can do." The man nodded, and you smiled before trying to help him get up. He tried greatly not to put all his weight on you as you walked, but it would only cause him even more great pain. So when you reached the outskirts of your village, you signaled for a couple of men to help you get him to your home.

Once the stranger was laid on the bed, you thanked the other men and began mending his wound. Throughout that time, you could not help but feel the warmth of his eyes on you, watching as you cleaned and worked tirelessly in your craft.

"You are so beautiful," he said through labored breaths, "like a star from the heavens." Your face warmed, and you finished bandaging his leg carefully. He reached up his shaky hand to push some of your hair behind your ear. The touch sent shivers down your spine and caused you to look over at him. You knew he was probably delirious from the blood loss and infection. He would not remember a thing when he woke up, but you prayed he would.

"Get some rest; I'll be here when you wake." You smiled, took his hand, and gave it a light kiss of reassurance. A smile touched his battered lips before his eyes closed. You laid his arm across his chest and rose out of your chair to start the clean-up.

Hours later, when he awoke again, you sat a bowl of stew next to him on the small table and a glass of wine. He sat up, took the bowl, and began eating eagerly as you moved back to the small kitchen.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head to you.

"You're welcome," you paused. "You should be well enough to travel by morrow's eve; your kin must be worried about you." Something in his eyes changed as he lowered the bowl to his lap. His eyes turned dark like yours had when you murdered your father. A touch of your darkness rose as his did.

"I have no kin," he said softly, his eyes still staring at the bowl in his hands. You nodded before turning back to the worktop, where you continued to mash your herbs.

Silence grew over you both until he spoke again moments later. "They perished in the war." You nod. Many of your kin had as well, but again, it was not even sorrowful to you. These people had stood by and let their commander abuse you and your mother.

"I'm sorry," you said with fake sorrowfulness. “To lose one's kin is a tragedy that most of us do not heal from.

"You speak as if you know of this," he said, reaching to grab the glass. You nodded in an ever-convincing gesture toward his question. If it was not for the darkness of the hour, you swore you saw a nebulous smile touch his lips.

"My father died in the war; his company was ambushed, and before the rest of the force could reach them, they all but perished." You lied while staring at him in those dark eyes as he watched you. Your secret still hidden.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, inclining his head toward you. But before he could continue, you spoke again.

"Don't be; he was an arrogant, abusive man." You flashed him a dark smile. He could not help but chuckle. "I was more sorrowful for the men under his leadership, and I thanked the Valar for freeing me of his abuse." You looked down at your stone, knowing you had already told him too much of your despise of this place and its memories. But it felt good to touch the darkness again, that part of you that you forced into submission to keep your facade of the virtuous, sweet, elven healer.

You heard him stand up and move over to you. His fingers cupped your chin and brought your face to meet his gaze in the dim light of the candles. His eyes were dark as night and full of desire, and you gave him an equally dark smile.

His grip tightened on your chin, and you let a sharp breath fall out as you closed your eyes. His hot breath crossed your face and sent shivers down your spine. Before his lips could meet yours, you pushed on his chest. Your hand was placed against his fluttering heart as his gaze watched you, waiting for you to make the next move.

"I hardly know you,” You said, giving him a playful look. “And it would look less than virtuous for you to be seen touching me." You continued, fingers gripped onto his shirt as you raised your brow to taunt him more. The darkness in his eyes seemed to come alight with an animalistic presence. A growl rumbled through his chest as you ran your fingers down his chest. “Now, you would not want to take a fair maiden’s virtue?” you said with a fake pout. The mischief in your gaze made a nebulous smile touch his face again. It sent your pulse racing as every inch of you heated up.

“Temptress,” he breathed. Releasing your chin and running his warm fingers down your neck. “For you have deceived an even greater deceiver.” In an instant, you had your fingers wrapped around his throat and backed up against the wall. A blade hovered above your fingers, cool Valinor silver pressed against his jaw. You felt the tension in his neck as he swallowed and lifted his chin to give you better access to the skin, his eyes closing as you leaned in slowly.

“You think you have deceived me?” You said, watching his eyes flicker open when a laugh of disbelief left your lips. “I knew you were watching me. The second I walked into those woods. I played the fair innocent maid, oh so sweet.” You tightened your grip as you leaned in to run your tongue against the skin of his jaw. His muscles tensed under your grasp again, your teeth grazing his chin. “I bet the singing got you real hard.” You tempted, his eyes closing again as his nostrils flared. “Hard enough to do my bidding and be rewarded with a taste?” Your lips ghosted over his. His hands kept perfectly still next to him, fists clenching as he struggled to stay calm against your grasp.

“Little one, you have no idea who you are bargaining with,” he growled.

“I have an idea,” You run the blade just underneath his jawline. A trickle of black blood fell to no surprise to you. You leaned in and lapped the sweet nectar, coating your lips as you took in some of his essence. It tasted godly, giving you a taste of his malice and power. You craved more and wished to allow this being to cover you in it so you could know what true power felt like, not the innocent power of one's flesh but the over someone's mind and soul—morphing them into what you wanted. “So what shall I call you, my lord? Or do you want me to scream out your true name as you have your way with this fair maiden?”

He reached up and pushed more of your hair out of your face. The touch was so gentle for a man who had murdered so many of your kin. You should have been scared of him, terrified even. But you knew you were just as black-hearted as he was, which probably drew him to you.

You were an expert manipulator and temptress.

A true dark widow leading any unsuspecting man to her web of deception. This time, though, you had caught the Great Deceiver in your web; he was yours now. Your two dark souls were finally connected, yearning for release and pleasure.

"Mairon,"

The clinging of a glass brought you out of your musings before looking over at the source of the sound. Celebrimbor strode up the staircase with a glass of wine for the both of you and a pile of parchment between his left arm. "May I join you?" he asked as a smile touched his lips.

You nodded and motioned to the chair. Finally, your plan bore fruit. He set a glass down in front of you. You reached and brought it to your lips, drinking the liquid as he moved to lay his papers out on the table across from you. Designs, no doubt, for more rings. You turned back to your reading, delicate fingers turning the large page as you read the old words.

"I see you have taken an interest in First Age magics." You look up at him as he took a drink. "It is a delightful read, even for someone who was there."

"I never experienced those magics, only the ones to destroy." You said truthfully, but you hid your dark smile at the mention of the shadowy being who had taught you many of those dark things.

“I forget myself. You lost all your kin to him.” You gave him a sorrowful look before turning back to reading. Celebrimbor raised a brow at you as your left hand moved across the page. His gaze fell when the moonlight from the window caught your ring, causing the inscription to reappear. He moved to pick up your hand as a missing piece of his puzzle had probably been solved, but before you registered what he was doing, he had the ring of your finger in haste.

Your body weakened with age, and signs started to appear on your once beautiful, serene face, showing how your choice to stay in Middle-Earth had affected you. The air in your lungs grew cold, and your mind became lonely as you could no longer feel his power and dark thread against you—the life force to your beauty and enhanced healing abilities.

Celebrimbor watched you shift and change, then glanced down at the ring. Even more surprise crossed his face as he stood and walked quickly to the window, hoping to see how it worked. But the inscription all but faded as it was not connected to your essence anymore. Your husband's blood had given you vibrant beauty for the rest of your days, but only if his gift was placed upon your finger.

The bond you shared and promised to keep had been laid into that ring, blood mixed with blood. His vow was recited and dropped into the molten Valinor silver ore as you recited yours. He forged it under the starry, moonlit night in love and promise for more. Thus, it created the final piece of your bond, gave you access to some of his abilities, and gave the beautiful silver its blue hue.

The Valar were displeased with his creation and choice to massacre your people, citing that if he genuinely were remorseful for his deeds, he would return to Valinor to pay for his crimes. At the same time, you paid for yours in loneliness and longing for the Undying Lands that you would never meet.

You both turned your backs and knew no road to redemption did not leave you separated from one another. So you both agreed to cleanse and heal this world in your image so that you may sit upon your thrones and finally have peace from the looming threat of the Valar’s wrath.

You were sure he had just felt the parting, and soon, his shadowy form would be upon you—or worse.

"How–ho–" he stuttered out as he tried to get the blue hue to show again. Your frail body stood and snatched the thin silver ring from his hand before slipping it back on, and you shifted back into your youthful, beautiful form again.

The air in your lungs returned, and you felt a tear fall from your eye. The comfort of his mind and soul returning, the pain of silence and separation becoming too much. You gave the little thread a soft tug to tell him it was alright and just part of your plan. "Teach me," His eyes were blown wide almost as he moved over to the table quickly almost knocking the wine glasses off. "Tell me everything or show me how you did it,"

"I did not do anything, Lord Celebrimbor," You said, covering your hand so he would not have another chance to snatch the ring off your hand. "It was a gift from my late husband to torture me," you said with slight anger; though this was about to be a clever story, your beloved was probably about to be very disappointed in you slandering his name.

Celebrimbor looked at you, confused. "His dying wish was to see me live an immortal life tied to this." You hold up the ring to him. "For being unfaithful to him. It is my shackle, my lord, and I doubt you wish to craft something as such." You look back down at your book, hiding the pain in your face as you tell such lies about your husband, but this was needed to keep Celebrimbor going. Keep him thinking about the other rings, sowing your husband’s dark web in even his absence.

"But you wear it proudly? And your reaction earlier tells me he means more to you." You cursed at your earlier slip in disguise, but no one had ever tried to take it off your finger. So it caught you off guard, and your mask had faded. You had not expected him to do that.

"I wear it because my immortality depends on it; my gift to heal depends on it. I wear it so I can live." You finally look up at him, and your eyes gaze into his. "Wouldn't you do the same, my lord?"

"But you have used your ring for good," You held back the snort at his comment. "Healed Eregion for centuries and been an utmost loyal friend to my family." All for your husband's benefit, he had an in and a watchful eye here. He had what he wanted, and you had a warm place to sleep while you waited for him.

"You flatter me, my lord," Your eyes turned back to the page as he touched your shoulder.

"I am sorry, my friend; I did not mean for my impoliteness. Forgive me." You placed a hand over his and smiled softly up at him, your charming, deceitful self on full display.

"It is quite alright." He released you before going back to his chair. He picked up a quill and began scratching out notes. You returned to your reading until a cool breeze entered the room from the window, causing your senses to heighten as you felt the shadows come to life. A small smile touched your lips, knowing he was about to play one of his little shadowy games. His ghostly hand wrapped around your throat, fingers trailing against your soft skin.

"Don't worry, there is an illusion over you," his voice said against your ear. "You will appear to be reading."

"And what do I owe the pleasure, husband?" You felt the pain on his form at how you did not hide your irritation, or it was coming from him for another reason. He was not allowing you to see where he was for whatever reason.

“Can a husband not check in on his wife?” You swatted his shadowy hand from touching you. The Black Speech curse that floated across sent a nebulous smile, touching your lips, knowing he was not in the mood to play games. But neither were you.

His hand moved back to your throat, hand tighter as his lips went to your ear. “You would do right to remember who—“

“I tire of these excuses, husband.” You closed your eyes, trying to keep yourself in complete control. “I also tire of these lies, " he growled.

“You are such a burdensome woman,” he said as his fingers grabbed your hair, yanking it back. You could see the dark embers of his eyes encased by his shadowy form. “Always speaking of things she knows nothing of.”

“But that’s why you love me,” You reach up to touch his shadowy face. “Without me, your immortality would have been oh so tiresome.” you teased. Your finger ran across where his cheekbone would have been. “But you’re right; I am only some innocent maiden who knows nothing of the plan she helped mold.” Another growl went through his shadowy lips, fingers tugging even more on your hair, pulling a whimper from your lips.

“We both know you are far from innocent, little one.” You had to laugh at that. “For you deceived the Great Deceiver at his own game,” you hum as his hand ran down your chest, ghosting over your breasts and down to your ripened core. You grabbed his wrist and held it up.

“It would do you good to remember that,” you growled. “It would also mind you well to tell me where you are.”

"Sowing seeds,” you rolled your eyes at his even more cryptic answer. "Just as you are, my little temptress," His shadowy lips wrapped around your ear. "Though I warn you if he touches you or your ring again, I will take pleasure in killing him right now.” You whimpered at the thought and bit down on your bottom lip as his hand met your skirt again.

“You spoil me, husband,” his dark chuckle filled your ear. “Do not forget that I can only stall for so long," you bit back at him. “He will keep hammering me about the ring,” he hummed in answer to your statement before the brushes of his tongue ran across the shell of your ear. Your walls and stomach fluttered in anticipation of your reunion once again. He was playing dirty, but whenever did he not?

"I'm aware," he whispered before nipping at your ear. A whimper left your lips in response. Through this whole interaction, you had not as much as glanced at Celebrimbor through the illusion until now.

He was working away, taking a sip of his wine occasionally. Utterly undisturbed by you and your husband’s interaction. “Only if he saw you right now,” your husband breathed against your shoulder. “In all your dark glory, wanton with desire for the very man they fear. Oh, the scandal it should cause.” He kissed your shoulder lightly before moving up your neck and back to your ear. “That innocent elven maiden disguise you have carefully constructed, completely broken against my cock.”

His lips nipped at the sensitive tip while his hand ran back to your stomach, cupping it softly.

"I will it," he breathed.

And like a gust of wind, he was gone. Illusion falling.

The lingering sadness mixed with his words caused another set of tears to fall onto your face.

He willed it.

Sunrises turned into sunsets, and each day felt like an eternity. Since his appearance that night, you had grown longingly for him even more, knowing he was still alive and well, to some extent. 

But you had waited centuries with even less uncertainty. It was always a game of patience.

Though you had grown tired of it now.

You tried your best to distract yourself with the mundane tasks of being a healer, such as setting broken bones and healing minor cuts. Sure, your assistants could do such things, but it helped busy your mind and distract you from the aching in your heart as you longed for his touch and his breath on your ear. 

It drove you mad when he tortured you in the night, shadows bringing you almost to the brink, only to leave you hanging like he wanted to build up the tension of your separation. You had many a thought to take your ring off so you could stop the torture, but you knew that was not the brightest idea. He would only make it worse for you after he arrived.

You bared it, though.

As you awoke this morning, something in the air told you today would be different. The air was crisper and tasted like the electricity of a storm rolling in. A smile touched your lips as you felt the lingering touch of his caress on your lips. You brought your thumb to meet your bottom lip as he had the night before, tracing across it in sweet memory. Your heart filled with what little warmth you had left in it, only reserved for the dark shadow that filled your dreams and drove you mad with his ghostly touches.

You threw the blankets off your body and got out of bed, feet walking across the stone floor toward your balcony doors, opening them to see the bright morning light into your chambers. Back when you had a semblance of pureness in your heart, you would have probably enjoyed this sight, the singing of the birds flying across the river to the sounds of the city waking up. 

But that had long left you.

You found solace in the dark, stormy days and long, cold winter nights. Something about them made you feel like he was there with you after settling into Eregion. The only warmth you sought was his embrace and the dark aura that always seemed to follow him, encasing you and bringing out the life in you. Never light, just life.

He completed you in so many ways, just as you completed him.

Your arms leaned against the railing as you took in a familiar scent, one you had not smelled in many centuries—blue daises. They used to grow around that first city you and your beloved made your home in. The name had long since been forgotten through the ages. But you could always remember that smell.

When you both tried to seek peace and redemption for your dark souls, you settled down into a slower way of life. One where you tried to suppress the darkness and power-hungry souls that lived in you both, hoping it would be enough, wishing that your deeds to help the people would wash your slates clean. When there was still a tiny part of you both that was still pure of heart.

As always, you had taken on a life as a healer, and your husband did what he did best.

Created.

He created beautiful things for you at that time—things you still had tucked away in the soft confines of your jewelry box, even if they did burn when they touched your cold, dark being now. But nothing surpassed the ring you wore on your finger even though it was both your undoing.

His fingers pushed your loose strands behind your ear as you sat on one of the many flower-covered hills surrounding the city that you both had made home. Your cheeks warmed against his gaze. It was not uncommon for you both to find solace away from the city limits, as you both kept to yourselves in hopes that your dark souls would find the space to heal.

“Tell me about your day,” you asked; a smile touched his lips as he looked down at your hand, reaching to take his. “I know he has you busy, as you are so gifted.” Your husband nodded and he began to tell you about his day. You hung on his every word and gesture, getting glimpses of what he would have probably been like before his corruption. The brightness in his eyes, playful and gentle touches that he would give you at times.

You had noticed that darkness falling away in his eyes the more he did good. 

The more he healed that dark part of him.

“I do have something for you,” he said, bringing you out of your musings. You raised your brow in suspicion. He moved to cup your chin, pulling your face to meet his briefly as his pillowy lips moved against yours. A giggle escaped your lips as he broke away and laid his forehead on yours. “I promised you that you would never want for anything; if you asked, it would be yours no matter the cost.” Your fingers moved to cup his face and nod.

“I remember,” He released you before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a beautiful piece of jewelry. Blue stones hung in a setting that looked reminiscent of the blue daisies that surrounded you and grew in front of your home, that you had tended so carefully to over the years. The stones shined in the sun's light and pulled you in more. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“Crafted for my beautiful wife,” you turned and lifted your hair so he could lay the necklace on you and clasp it closed. “Forged with silver from Valinor and blue gems of the mountain. All made for the beautiful woman meant to wear it.” He leaned in and kissed your neck as your fingers touched the stones, his fingers skating across your stomach and caressing the white silken fabric you wore. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed as his lips lapped at the skin of your neck and down to your shoulder. “Thank you,” He hummed against your soft skin and continued to nip and suck on the skin he exposed when his fingers pushed down the silken fabric that rested on your shoulders, exposing your skin to the warmth of the sun. “I want to remind you that children come up here, my love.” He did not reply with words but with a grip on your breast before pulling you into him. His other hand traveled down to your core, only to make a symphony leave your lips as he fucked you into a withering mess as he always did.

You both lay bare against the warmth of the swaying grasses and flowers, intertwined still as your post-coitus bliss still hung against you both. He slid one of the blue daisies behind your ear as you kissed him passionately, fingers moving up to cup his face as he wrapped his arms around you.

Hearts and souls as one, once again. Full and warm.

“I have been thinking,” he started as he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. The sun had become your greatest friend in your time here, you glowed again and seemed to fill with even more peace than he had ever seen in you.

“That is never a good thing with you,” he glowered down at you as you made the jab. “But go on,”

“I want to forge you a ring,” he breathed. “One that will bind us immortally.” You swallowed hard and moved to place your hand on his cheek, his head leaning into it as his lips kissed your wrist softly.

“We have been here before, love,” you started as he sighed. “Our hearts are still so black that even the slightest taste of power could set us off.” He continued to lay his head in your hand, only now his eyes were looking at yours.

“I know, and we have worked so hard in trying, but–” You cut him off with a passionate kiss. 

“No more talk of this,” you breathed against his lips. “We promised to leave it all behind. We have built our own little bits of peace here. They have not noticed or wish to not meddle in our progress.” They, being the Valar, which you both wished to please in this time, hoping they would renounce both your crimes and allow you to live in a world of bliss and longevity together.

Though you felt that lingering wish for power and control deep inside him still. The lingering tendrils of Morgoth’s weavings were still embedded in him, fighting with the pureness that was trying to show itself again. “I know you wish to lavish me something so great, but it would be a creation built in the dark. The magic used would not be of light as we wish but of darkness.”

“Divine,” he breathed, leaning into you again. “Let’s try,”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood as that once eerie feeling resurfaced. Telling you the peace here would be limited once again.

Limited it was.

The darkness crept back in. 

Slowly at first, only with signs that were noticed by you. His mind elsewhere while yours tried to keep on moving forward. Late nights in the sitting room doing whatever had been consuming his mind, to the irritation he had about his work.

On one occasion, you walked down to see him muttering to himself and scratching away at something. You moved over to him and placed your hand on his shoulder causing him to jump as he had been so consumed by his task. Your eyes swept the page to see designs for a ring. Your ring.

“I thought we were behind this?” You said, trying to take the parchment from him, causing him to rip it from your hands, tearing the parchment in half. His eyes darkened as a growl rumbled in his chest.

“And I thought you trusted me?” You looked at him, bewildered by the boiling temper in his eyes. For the last few centuries, nothing but a lovelorn look had been in his eyes. 

“I do, but love, this ring does not prove my love and loyalty to you.” you breathed, holding up your half of the parchment. “It will only drive you down a path I cannot follow.”

“Cannot follow?” He yelled. You flinched and looked down at your feet, hoping not to upset him more. He moved over to you and wrapped his fingers around your throat. “You follow me; remember, I took you from that place and gave you the revenge that you sought. All because I love you.” Tears kissed your cheeks as he tightened his grip, dark eyes blazing.

“I love you too, but they will take you from me if we do this.” You cried. “A separation greater than any we have experienced before. Do you want that for me?” He sighed, loosening his grip on you, and ran his finger across your cheek.

“Then let me just make you this one ring so even if we are ever parted, you will still feel like I am there with you.”

That one choice, one singular choice, had changed your relationship forever. You agreed and he forged the bonding ring and the darkness now awoke in you again after centuries of it being only a quiet hum.

He grew obsessed and consumed by the desire to create more rings to bring order to this world. You watched as he drove himself mad with this all-but-consuming task.

Power over the flesh.

He kept saying. In those times he did not seek your comfort, grew cold and distant towards you. Each time you would walk to that hill and the flowers would wilt and die against your touch until there was none left. A personification of what was to come.

You stopped going until the darkness in your heart returned. Things began crumbling in your lives; he lost his temper more, filled people’s minds with his sickness, and fell so much further into his obsession.

The day everything changed, you watched as he stood in the doorway and told you he was going back to Fordowaith and taking up his place in Morgoth’s wake so he could finish his work. He asked you to come with him, take your place by his side, and be his queen, but you told him no. 

You told him that there was no path you would not follow him. Told him that you would continue the plan, but you would do it your way. A way that kept you together.

You left him standing there.

And went on your way.

You stood back up and turned back towards your chambers, the sun becoming too much for you as your mind dove even deeper into the maddening memories. It was too much at times, and you tried not to let it affect you, but it did.

It broke you to part yourself from him, but you knew somewhere in your heart he would find you again. And he had.

As you got ready for the day, your hands skated across the fabric over your stomach. The skin had yet to stretch, but you knew they were nestled deeply in your womb.

The greatest creation he had ever made.

You had known for a bit as the dizzy spells overcame you and heightened smells that sometimes nauseated you. Life grew a little brighter in his absence, but not enough to quench the need to feel him there beside you, sharing in this joy.

After your musings had ended, you got right to work and attend to your duties. You made your rounds and finished just before lunch. You started back to your home when you felt the lingering pull of that dark thread crawling up your spine. You turn and see guards walking up the road with a man on a horse.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you saw him. The coppery strands glistened in the sun as he continued towards the gatehouse. You moved out of the way and watched as his green eyes met yours, a smile touching his lips as your face warmth. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you bowed your head in response before he passed, and you were only left with the lingering warmth of his shadowy thread wrapping around yours.

You rushed back home, knowing he would probably visit after speaking with Celebrimbor.

But nothing came of it.

And the night rolled in with not much as a word. The claps of thunder and flickers of lightning filled your darkened chambers. With the rain spilling moments later.

And you could not help but add tears to the sound of the pattering rain.

Heart aching at his rejection, yet again.

Slap.

Your hand connected with his face, sending shivers down your spine as his elven head turned in response. Hand shooting to his face as you seethed with anger. Your pulse raced as he looked back up at you, eyes burning with a fire you had never seen in him before. You stare at him with your seething gaze. He was so stunned by your reaction that he moved up to you with a pace unmatched by any mortal being. His fingers gripped in your hair, yanking your head back. Those elven eyes seared into yours as he snarled at you.

You did not flinch or pull away from his grasp. The pain was only temporary, and the satisfaction of seeing the red mark coming up on the pale face caused a smile to touch your lips before you spoke.

"You dare not hurt me, husband," His hand gripped harder, pulling at your roots. You struggled not to whimper at the action like you always did. Your desire to not give into his temptation and prolong this argument until he was buried deep inside you and taking you like the feral animal he could be at times. Though this time, you knew he was deprived and wanting, so this would only make his restraint last so long before he gave in to his desire to control you.

"Do you want to test me?" He growled. "Because I have killed people for less."

"And I've killed people for the fun of it, my lord," your eyes burning now as his grip loosened just a tiny bit. A chuckle left his lips, knowing you were fully capable of wreaking havoc on entire cities and his heart. "You leave without a word and only appear in my chambers again when you see fit. In a whole new disguise, may I add." You spat out at him. "What web are sowing now?"

He released you and moved past you into your chambers, speaking words that were inaudible to you. "I am protecting you," he finally said.

"Protecting me?" you say in disbelief as you move over to your desk where your books and papers are. "That's all I get?"

"The less you know, the more believable you can be." You gripped a book. The anger in your bones at his lack of faith in you had you seething for an even grander fight. You wanted to slap, punch, or kill him for even believing you could not be believable at your own game. You had spent centuries here building relationships and trust that it was laughable for him even to consider himself of more importance than you at this moment.

Your hand gripped the thick leather volume harder before your anger boiled over, and you tossed it at him, but before it could hit him, he pushed it out of the way with his abilities.

"The more believable I can be?" You roared. You grabbed more and continued to throw it at him, anger surging even more. Your pent-up heartache at his mistrust poured into each onslaught. His eyes watched you as he moved out of the way of your blows, books, quills, and jewelry box hitting the wall behind him. The pain in your eyes did not affect his emotionless face in the slightest. "Are you doubting my skills?"

"Are you doubting my judgment?" He roared back at you. "Because as I see it, you questioning me tells me they have gotten into your head." You moved quickly and pushed him over onto your bed, using all the darkness in you to overpower him. He sat up, looking at you with disbelief at your action. You had never dared to touch him in anger in all the centuries. Sure, you had been close before, but this was different. He was questioning your loyalty to him. 

"How dare you question my loyalty," Tears touched your cheek. "How dare you threaten me and treat me like one of your little puppets when all I have ever been to you is faithful."

"That's not what you told Celebrimbor," he taunted, trying to sit up, but you moved to straddle his hips, holding him in place before wrapping your fingers around his neck.

"If you believe the words of a lie," You growled at him. "Then surely you've gone mad." You leaned down over him, the other hand pulling up the skirt of your nightgown over your hips while delicate fingers hungrily searched underneath his robes.

“This argument bor—” his train of thought stopped as your hand found what it was searching for. Your eyes watched as his closed against the grip of your hand. Fingers sliding up the length till your thumb traced against the tip, pulling a low hiss from his lips.

“This bores you?” You taunted, pumping lightly against the hardened flesh that filled your grip; his hips arched into your tugs as you rolled yours softly with your motions against him. You finally lean into his ear, motions growing. “If this bores you, then you have gone mad.” The tension lines in his neck tightened as you ran your teeth against them, nipping the pale skin as you went. You were in control for the moment, trying to get him to remember who he belonged to.

Your strokes grew in intensity as you could tell his peak was coming, his deprived state causing his body to fail him. “My sweet,” You breathed into his ear. “My oh so sweet Mairon, in all those centuries apart, you still believe you have control.”

His eyes opened, and he growled as he quickly had you on your back, his painfully hard cock at your entrance. His eyes burned into yours as he thrust into you quickly, pulling a moan from your lips as you closed your eyes. He leaned down to your ear. “Control is only an illusion, wife. I let you believe what you want, but you bow to me, no one else.” You whimpered against the sickly, sweet words. His thrusting grew in intensity as he took pleasure in the way you silenced the control over him, letting him take you as he saw fit.

You were a devious creature that was as slippery as a serpent. But he was only but a mirror of that. He never had to command your mind or inflict his magic on you. You surrendered so willingly, already kissed by the darkness ages before he crossed your path. Desire drove this relationship at times, a sickly sweet desire he had never fully understood until he felt those hips against his fingers, guiding you through the movements. It was maddening as the sounds of your climax repeated over and over throughout that tiny home in that long-forgotten elven city. The night you both had given your souls to each other.

After that, there was nothing he would do for you. He would murder whole cities and move the oceans just to please you. He only wanted to give you everything you desired—jewels, clothes, even a child.

The thrill of the chase, of the fight for dominance, never bored him. Even if he told you otherwise, these ‘arguments’ were sometimes needed to remind you who pulled the strings to your heart and who pulled his. The anger and heartache only fueled your desire to seek control and dominance over him, trying to hold him close to you as if he would sleep away into the abyss again.

You had left before.

And it broke him.

You sought the rational solution to lie in wait. Let them come to you. Build relationships, reputations, and trust in those you wish to subjugate.

Greed had chased you away. He paid dearly for that and spent centuries as a pile of omniscient form of liquid goo. As he regained his mind, he thought of you and how he wanted to find and surrender himself to you—telling you how you had been right. He would never doubt you again.

But you had taken your ring off.

You took the one connecting piece off, and you were nothing more than a distant memory in his mind. He had no idea where you were or if you had perished. He sometimes cursed himself for using the ring to bind your bond. But he never thought you would unbind yourself to him.

So when your mind disappeared again, it weakened his weakened state even more. He needed to feel you, and it angered him that you would even think that was a smart idea, but he had asked for trust in those first years.

And trust was a two-way street.

Your whimpered pleas for more brought him out of his thoughts. He looked down at you, all unmade under his fingertips. Hair tousled and lips swollen from biting down on them. You looked so beautiful and ethereal as he drove you mad with lust. Your fingers clawed against the linen of your bed, silver band shining in the moonlight as he tore you down with his thrust. Only to remake you once again.

It was not long before you both reached your respective highs. Climax found you both as calls of your names filled the stone walls, echoing into your hearts. His lips moved with yours as you gripped your fingers in his blonde hair. Delicate fingers took their time to ruin the perfectness of the strands. A memory finds you, causing a giggle to leave your lips. The last time he appeared like this was when he first saw you. Though his hair was much different back then, you felt slight sorrow at the choice of blonde hair.

“Red suits you more,” you breathed against his lips. “This,” your fingers moved over the shell of his ears, running up to the pointed tips, causing him to hum at the stimulating touch. “Is how I remember you each and every time I close my eyes,”

He chuckled. “I can change it,” you shake your head.

“No, my sweet Mairon,” you grabbed his face. “I am selfish and wish to be the only one to gaze upon that form.” He hummed and kissed your lips again briefly. Eyes locked as you both sunk into your post-coitus bliss. When the thought crosses your mind. A smile rose on your lips again. “Lord of Gifts,” you breathed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I have a gift for you.” You took his lip between yours and sucked down on it.

“What kind of gift would be greater than gazing upon my wife?” Your face warmed before you ran your fingers across his cheekbones. You felt the tickle of uncertainty touch your heart. It was still so early, and you could be wrong in your assessment. But deep in your heart, you knew that you both had created something in the light of that morning when he had willed it.

“The gift of creation,” A darkness flashed across his eyes as you spoke. That earlier worry filled his cold heart. “The fruits of our union.”

“Divine,” he breathed, but you cut him off.

“You are not happy?” He sighed and ran his fingers through your hair. He smoothed out the strands as he tried to find the words to tell you how he felt. In truth, he did not know how he felt. All kinds of emotions crossed his mind until he spoke again.

“It will grow on me; I’m concerned.” You nod, and a weak smile fills your lips before moving to sit up. Fingers running through your hair as you struggle with what to say to him. This was not the reaction you had expected at all. In your belief, you thought he had wanted this as much as you did. His change of heart was sincere, but that was not the case.

“You willed it,” You whimpered. He caught your chin, bringing your gaze to his. His gaze was as soft as he could ever get it to be. Tears brimming in your eyes as you both searched for the right words. He knew you were hurt, and you could sense the fear of the unknown on his dark thread.

“Like any father, I’m surprised and shocked that it happened so quickly,” he finally said. You stifled a loud laugh of amazement at his statement, knowing it was probably not the best right now. But to know he was surprised was shocking; you did not even know he could be that.

“I did not know the Dark Lord could be stunned for words.” A thin smile touched his lips, fingers pushing your hair behind your ear.

“There is a first for everything,”

[erendur]

I'm strongly convinced that the reason Maglor took so long to complete the Noldolante (he wrote it "ere he was lost", which to me suggests it wasn't done straight after Alqualondë or even soon after reaching Beleriand, but was the work of many years, maybe even written in his last years before the 4th Kinslaying, as a "where did it all go wrong" retrospective kind of work after everything had been lost) was because he wrote it on "down" days, when he was feeling depressed and hopeless, but these were, before the 3rd kinslaying, interspersed with "up" days, during which he would, instead, gleefully write incredibly mean songs directed at the people who had annoyed him.

And I mean INCREDIBLY mean songs, as in everybody would have expected Fëanor's son, haughty and fell and gifted with words, to write mean things, but they would have been SO mean that somehow every single one of them managed to seem unbelievably mean - and clever of course.

Obviously a lot of them would have been directed at his brothers. Yes, even Maedhros, because when you are a grown-up Elf who has been regent for years and also is the lord of the Gap there are only so many times you can listen to your big brother instructing you about the proper way to train a horse or the correct way to handle underlings or the frequency at which you should practice with your sword, really, before snapping and smiling and say "Yes, of course Nelyo" before darting to your room and write a mean song about your brother's braids that will somehow ("somehow") have done the rounds of Beleriand in a matter of weeks.

Nobody called Celegorm "the fair", before his failed attempt at wooing a Sinda princess. Yet somehow ("somehow"), that's the name under which he is remembered in (*checks notes*)..."songs". If not for songs, nobody would have remembered that Thingol was decidedly much, much better looking AFTER having met Melian than before. Who would have remembered "Beren's Leap" (ie, the fact that the guy - *checks notes* - jumped far), if not for a particularly catchy song that described with great gusto how Beren unhorsed and throttled Prince Curufinwë before stealing his knife ?

Fingolfin tried to explain for years to all that would listen that he actually "gave as much as he got" and had some burning one-liners directed at his brother during the famous sword incident. Alas, none are recorded in the songs describing the incident that have passed down to posterity. Finrod was not the only Elf lord to have a hard time leaving his jewellery behind, but is, somehow ("somehow"), the only one to be recorded hauling his treasure over the Ice.

In spite of valiant attempts coming year after year from Lothlórien trying to explain that "Felagund" was an praiseful nickname given to King Finrod by his Dwarven friends and meaning "Hewer of caves", "the wise" haven't been able to completely dismiss the idea that it actually meant "badger" and found its origin in a song that had circulated in Beleriand circa YS 54.

You wondered why Eöl had such a beef with the Noldor ? One song too many. He tried to leave Doriath and live alone with his MUTE people in the depth of the forest but, somehow, ("somehow"), some of the catchy mean tunes directed at him always seemed to be able to make their way to him, carried by the wind through the dense dark foliage of Nan Elmoth.

How do people know what went on between Turgon and Ulmo, you say ? Well, funny you ask, most of what we know comes from a couple of songs that heavily seem to imply that King Turgon was a bit...simple, to put it much more mildly than the songs do.

Yes, all of the songs were pointedly written in Quenya. Yes, in spite of the fact that the Sindar did not learn Quenya, there somehow still managed to be some available translation of every single one of them, to be sung along with the very catchy tunes. Yes, they were so catchy that they were sung all over the place. Some even whisper that Lúthien might have been singing something something Caranthir sucks when Beren saw her for the first time. And something something the Valar suck when putting Morgoth to sleep. What she sang to Namó nobody can say, but if she is famous for her voice, she isn't for her song-writing abilities. Enough said.

The only reason Celeborn has a clean record (ie : almost doesn't exist) in the records of the First Age is because the one condition Galadriel selflessly put to giving her consent for her daughter to marry Elrond was that he would personally undertake to track down and destroy every single copy of the mean songs written about her husband because they made him cry (given that most of them were kept at Imladris, that was promptly done). The only remaining unflattering depictions of him are kept in the halls of King Thranduil in Mirkwood, but they are of a much inferior quality and "the wise" are inclined to think that they were not, in fact, penned by the famous Maglor. Who their real author might be remains a mystery.

[doodle-pops]

T’was The Night of Autumn

Celebrimbor x modern!reader

A/N: I realised that I don’t post many Celebrimbor content and that needs to change. So, here’s something to enjoy your cozy autumn.

Warnings: none, all fluff

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: As autumn finally rolled in, you decided to teach Tyelpë a tradition from your modern world, one that involves pumpkins and crafting.

The autumn season had arrived in Eregion, and with it came a crispness in the air that whispered of change. The leaves on the trees had turned rich shades of gold and orange, carpeting the streets with their vibrant hues. The scent of the season, a mix of damp earth and woodsmoke, hung in the air, reminding you of home. It was the kind of day that made you miss the simple pleasures of your world—hot drinks, the sound of crunching leaves underfoot, and, of course, pumpkin carving. Despite being in Middle-earth, so far removed from the modern world you had come from, there was something about autumn that felt familiar—comforting, even.

Today, Celebrimbor had a rare moment of respite from his duties, and you had been thinking about how to make the most of it, wanting to share something from your world with him. After all, autumn wasn’t just about the changing of the leaves. It was about warmth, cosiness, and most of all, traditions. And there was one tradition in particular you were eager to introduce him to.

“Tyelpë,” you called softly, using his Quenya name. He glanced up from his book, his sharp, grey eyes softening when they met yours.

“Yes?” he responded, removing his focus from the book he was invested in.

“I think you’ve spent enough time reading and cooped up in the library for today,” you said, stepping into the room and crossing over to him. “It’s autumn, after all. There’s something I want to show you.”

His brow arched in curiosity. “What is it?”

Smiling, you took his hand and led him out of the library, into the courtyard. “Just trust me,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s a tradition from my world. Something we do every year during this season.”

Curiosity piqued—Celebrimbor followed you out to the courtyard where two large, round pumpkins sat waiting. You had found it in the market earlier that day, marvelling at how similar it was to the ones from home. And now, as the golden light of the late afternoon bathed the scene in warmth, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“What is that?” Celebrimbor asked, eyeing the pumpkin with a mix of amusement and confusion.

“It’s a pumpkin,” you replied, grinning up at him.

Sighing with a bit of sass, he rolled his eyes nonchalantly. “I know that it’s a pumpkin. But what I meant was the purpose of it.”

“Pumpkin carving!” you cheered.

“Pumpkin carving?” Celebrimbor’s voice was rich with curiosity and a hint of amusement, as he approached to two, medium-sized orange fruit sitting on the table.

“Yes!” you replied, turning to face him with your excitement growing by the second. “It’s something we do back in my world during this season. It’s part of a tradition called Halloween. We carve faces into pumpkins, light them up with candles, and make all sorts of fun autumn-themed treats. I thought it might be fun to try it together.”

Leaning closer to inspect the pumpkins while you spoke, he smiled from the sheer enthusiasm you expressed for the love of this festive seasonal tradition. “I’ve heard you mention this Halloween before,” he said thoughtfully. “A festival for warding off spirits and celebrating the harvest, correct?”

You nodded, grinning. “Exactly. But it’s also about having fun. You get to be creative, and it’s a great way to embrace the season.”

“It sounds…whimsical. Very different from the customs of our people,” he murmured under low. “But if it involves creativity, I imagine it’s not too different from sculpting or forging. But I must warn you, if this pumpkin carving involves skill, you might be at a disadvantage.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, laughing. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad. Besides, you’re the one who's never carved a pumpkin before. I might surprise you.”

Throwing an almost invisible competitive smirk at you, he chuckled. “We’ll see about that. But first, would you might showing me how it is performed?”

You handed him one of the knives, explaining how to cut the top off the pumpkin and scoop out the insides while he watched you closely as you demonstrated, his eyes intent on the task at hand. Once you were finished, he took his knife, his movements precise and steady as he made the first cut into his much larger and clearly better suited pumpkin, for carving.

“I have to admit,” he said, as he carefully removed the top of the pumpkin, “I’ve never worked with a medium like this before.”

You grinned as you passed him a spoon to scoop out the guts and seeds. “It’s a bit different from metal and stone, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Quite different. Though I can’t say this is how I imagined spending my day—it’s strangely satisfying.” He took the spoon from you, his lips quirking with amusement as he began to dig into the pumpkin. His movements were careful and precise—of course, they were, he was Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor. His entire life had been spent mastering delicate and intricate work. And yet, the sight of him here, elbow-deep in pumpkin guts, was oddly endearing.

As he worked, you scooped out the seeds and pulp from inside your pumpkin, explaining how in your world, people often roasted the seeds as a snack. And Celebrimbor seemed fascinated by the simplicity of it all, so different from the more elaborate customs of Middle-earth.

“And now, here is where the true fun begins.” You were bouncing on your toes as you passed him a smaller carving knife. “Time for us to start carving the faces. You can make it as simple or as detailed as you like.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A face, you say? I think I can manage that.”

You handed him a smaller knife and explained how to cut out a simple face—triangular eyes, a jagged smile. You decided to keep it straightforward for now, not wanting to overwhelm him. But as you suspected, Celebrimbor was a natural. You watched in awe as his skilled hands moved swiftly, the knife gliding through the pumpkin with ease. Despite his initial unfamiliarity with the task, his natural talent shone through. Within minutes, he had carved an intricate, detailed face into the pumpkin, far more elaborate than anything you had ever managed.

“Well,” you said, standing back to admire his work, “I think it’s safe to say that you’ve won this round, which is unfair.”

He looked up at you, a teasing smile playing on his lips, one that was rarely seen at all—symbolising his comfort and enjoyment. “Won? Was this a competition?”

Nudging him playfully, you laughed. “Everything’s a competition with you, Tyelpë. But yes, I admit defeat. Your pumpkin is perfect.”

He tilted his head, studying the pumpkin with a critical eye. “I wouldn’t say perfect. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Perfectionist,” you muttered under your breath, earning another soft chuckle from him.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, handing you the knife with a flourish. “Let’s see what you can do.”

As you took the knife, not missing an opportunity to roll your eyes good-naturedly, you warned him. “Alright, but don’t laugh. I’m not a master craftsman like you.” As you began carving, Celebrimbor watched you with quiet amusement. Every so often, he would offer a word of advice or point out a better way to approach the task, but for the most part, he let you work in peace. When you finished, your pumpkin was far simpler than his—a goofy, crooked smile and triangle eyes that reminded you of the ones you used to carve as a child.

“Well?” you asked, stepping back to examine your handiwork. “What do you think?”

“Um…” his voice trailed off as he angled his head differently to capture the image of the face you carved, not wanting to leave you under the impression that it could do with a few touch ups…and more—typical artesian behaviour. “Do you…I can help in some areas…”

Your brown immediately shut up to defeat your artistic work. “Oh, what now? Is it not as artistic as yours even though you offered advice?”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s um…artistic indeed, but just need a bit of…enhancement,” he sheepishly said with his hands up in defence.

“Ha, ha,” you dryly laughed and morphed your face to match the one on your pumpkin. “You can fix it, but just this once.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon carving, laughing, and teasing each other about your respective pumpkins. Celebrimbor’s, of course, ended up looking like a work of art, while yours was more endearing in its imperfection. Still, you didn’t mind. The real joy came from sharing the experience with him—watching his face light up with each new detail, hearing the soft chuckles that escaped him when he struggled with a particularly tricky cut. It felt nice to see him stress-free since your arrival at Eregion. All your memories of him hunched over the anvil or some blueprint faded into mist upon his carefree laughter and smile.

You know such a simple act could appear that beautiful, nor did you understand why people labelled him as tempestuous and dangerous. He was quite the opposite.

As the sun began to set and the courtyard grew darker, you lit candles and placed them inside the pumpkins. The warm glow filled the small area, casting flickering shadows across the table, displaying your handiwork.

“I have to say,” Celebrimbor mused, “this Halloween tradition is rather pleasant. I can see why you enjoy it.”

You smiled, leaning into him as he bumped his arm into your shoulder. “It’s one of my favourites. And now you’ve got a pretty good handle on it, too.”

Turning to him with your heart swelling with emotion. “It means a lot to me, too,” you said softly. “Being here in Middle-earth, so far from everything I knew…it’s hard sometimes. But sharing things like this, it makes me feel like I’ve brought a little piece of home with me.”

Celebrimbor’s expression softened, his silver-grey eyes full of understanding. “I will always strive to make you feel at home here, no matter the distance between this world and yours.”

“Thank you, Tyelpë,” you whispered.

As the two of you stood there for a long moment, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over the room, you relaxed with the slight chill of the autumn breeze. You knew he wasn’t a person of many words, even though you had wiggled your way unexpectedly into his life, bringing minor changes, you understood through the silence that he reciprocated your thanks.

“Now,” Celebrimbor said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “you mentioned something about autumn-themed foods. I believe you owe me a taste of these seasonal treats from your world, and I hope they also involve drinks.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got just a few things in mind. But you might have to help me make it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “If it’s anything like the pumpkin carving, I think you’ll find I’m quite capable.”

“Confident, are we?” you teased, heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if that holds up when we start baking and brewing.”

Masterlist

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[tobylix-blog]

Beautiful — Elrond x Reader

Content & Warnings: drabble

Word count: 0.5k

Summary: Eavesdropping during the council of Elrond does not go unnoticed

A/N: nothing much, just me sublimating my crush on Elrond in writing

You press into the cold marble of a column, holding in breath every time another voice sounds. Lord Elrond of Rivendell has summoned a council to discuss the matter of the Ring. You weren't invited. So naturally you should eavesdrop, right?

It's difficult to keep a good eye on everyone while hiding behind the pillar, but your spot is perfect for observing Elrond himself. How he greets the guests, how he smooths out his garb after sitting down, how his circlet glimmers in the sunlight. Merry, Pippin and Sam have a better view on the others, but you can't complain.

It might be due to the fact that you've never seen elves before, but the elven lord caught your eye from the first day. You couldn't place what it was. Maybe, his wise words or long luscious hair, or his bright eyes, or calm demeanor, or his tall built, finer than those of human scholars. The best you could say was that everything felt right about him. And now here you are, watching him hold the secret council.

Elrond is no king, but he feels like one. Regal are his posture and manners as he brings forth the matter. Although, you know that learning more about the Ring problem was the primary reason for sneaking around Rivendell like thieves, you can't help but gape at the lord of this place. Imladris — that's what they call it in their tongue — you remind yourself. They're so different, that elvish folk, speaking another language, living as long as the sky stays blue, not eating meat. They're indeed different. Some even say weird, but you prefer unusual, peculiar or even otherworldly.

After all, those who say that elves are weirdos have probably never met them. Because how else would they still be able to call them all these unpleasant names, when elves are such perfect creatures, eye pleasing, strong and smart beyond measure. All this characteristics merge into one word that rolls off your tongue without notice.

"Beautiful."

You say it in Quenya out of habit. Nobody around you ever understood your mumbling when it was in Quenya, an old language, practically a dead one. So you soon got used to voicing the nagging thoughts in it, knowing full well no one would pay it any attention.

Well, until those bright eyes of the elven lord turned to you at the sound of it. And a few more heads turned your way as well. You couldn't see them all from your place behind the pillar, but the shuffling was enough to give away the common motion.

They heard you. And they understood it perfectly well. Damn elvish ears.

Under no less perceptive elvish eyes your skin heats up with the speed of tobacco in the pipe. Before you manage to retreat behind the column, your face is bright crimson against the white marble.

When you finally hide away from the glances, Elrond's voice reaches you, "Perhaps, I ought to decide the fate of the trespasser before returning their compliment."

[runawaymun]

a last minute little doodle for Day One of @tolkienocweek for the prompt "Family Members".

I'm both a Curufin and a Celebrimbor stan, and I also have a magnetic attachment to forgotten mothers & wives in both fiction and history, so it's really no surprise that I have been Thinking lately about what Celebrimbor's mother must have been like! Celebrimbor turned out so well despite the uh, you know, *gestures vaguely at the entire Silmarillion* -- so I have to put that down to both Curufin and his wife's parenting. I feel like they must have had a really good relationship and must have been super good parents. I imagine her to be pretty level headed and grounded -- sweet but firm. Celebrimbor gets his hair from his mom & from Míriel. I know this isn't really the traditional fanon interpretation of him, but I love the idea that he doesn't really look much like Fëanor at all and there may have been a bit of compensation in the patronym curufinwë (it just makes his choice to go by Telperinquar that much jucier imo...)

I'm not completely set on his mother's name yet, but I've been fiddling around with Telperindil (silver lily) -- to go along with Telperinquar. I'm certainly no expert on naming characters in Quenya though so I'm not sure I've gotten that right!

In any case, I love her, I would die for her. She's awesome. I'm pretty certain she chose to stay behind instead of exile, and was there to greet Celebrimbor the second he was re-embodied from the halls.

[morganas-pendragons]

The Prophecy | Celebrimbor

Guys. The brainrot is all consuming. Send help.

I was listening to the Tortured Poets Department the other day and felt like this really fits with what I’ve written for him so far. I know I’m writing this plot out of order, but it will eventually all make sense. I am still training at work, and while that constitutes nothing for me, it means I have too much time on my hands.

This will fit into the 3 part fic called Where Are You? that will cover 2x06-2x08. I haven't rewatched 2x08 yet, but that's coming. I have so many ideas for you guys that I may just start rapid fire releasing the drabbles first.

next fic is for High King Gil-Galad

Secondly, this concept is turning into an OC fic. It will be on Ao3 by the end of this year!

Tag: @pentaghasm @celebrimbormylove @thesolarangel @wild-typo-turtle @ladyoflindon @sandwichmustbetasty

Song inspiration: The Prophecy - Taylor Swift

Prompt: You ruminate on what little you remember in your purpose of being in Eregion while Celebrimbor sleeps at your side. The Valar may grant mercy on occasion, but you wonder if this ends in doom for you both.

***

Things are beginning to come back in pieces. You aren’t exactly sure why. There are flashes of gentle eyes and gray hair. Whispered words in Quenya as you perfect your natural healing ability. Your name, the real one given to you, but you don’t remember by who. Not yet.

You prefer the name given to you by Celebrimbor.

Said elf lays beneath your palm, breathing steady even as he sleeps. You had been the one to seek him out for comfort this time. It was a rare night of him succumbing to sleep early, and so you had sought him out in desperation, aching for the comfort of Celebrimbor’s embrace to shelter you from your memories.

You’d forgotten until you’d fallen into his bed how far away he was. It didn’t matter that you could feel his heartbeat, or touch his skin. He was worlds away from you.

And all because of Annatar.

Now you lay here, head pillowed against his chest, fingers tracing shapes against his abdomen, too distracted by your racing thoughts to sleep. Annatar’s constant demands and high expectations in the crafting of the Rings had put you both on edge. Celebrimbor had been elusive as well. So much of his time was spent locked away in The Forge, just out of reach.

He’d never deny you. Not even with the distance between you both.

No one but you could feel the dark magic in that room. The shadows that shrouded the elf you love, even now, so suffocating that it remains difficult to breathe.

“Please,” You whisper. No one may be listening. You have no idea. You would beg whatever entity did listen for this. “Please do not let this end in doom.”

With the trajectory of what was occurring, you had been trying to fight the impending sense of doom lingering in your heart for weeks. The nagging feeling in the back of your head that you are to be preparing for a funeral for you or Celebrimbor by the conclusion.

Or both of you.

You shiver at the thought and bury your face in Celebrimbor’s shoulder. His arm tightens around you instinctively, like the elf you’ve fallen in love with still resides deep within the recesses of the mind he’s been made prisoner in.

Please, I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

“He’s so good,” You whisper. “Everything he does is from the goodness of his heart. A kind heart.” You hold your breath as your tears collide with Celebrimbor’s skin, causing him to shift beneath you and press his face into your hair with a quiet grumble. You don’t dare speak again until you’re sure he’s asleep. “All of Celebrimbor’s intentions have been pure. He wants to do right by his people and rectify the sins and shortcomings of the House of Fëanor. This should not end in ruin. Not his.”

Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company

Let it once be me

You wish you could pull him out. Use your magic to break through the darkness that has settled upon this city, settled upon him, and force your way through the walls Annatar has erected to keep him complacent. It is Celebrimbor’s own chains that keep him prisoner.

Chains built by pride and ambition.

No. If anything, Celebrimbor will have to awaken from the depths of this illusion when the stakes are too high and he has something to lose.

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo the prophecy??

You run your free hand to rest your fingertips against his temple, smiling against the curve of his cheek as Celebrimbor begins to stir beneath you. Heavy lidded eyes flutter open to meet your own. In those few moments of silence, you can see him.

“Why-“ Celebrimbor starts, cut off by a yawn as he buries his face in your neck and rolls to slot a leg between yours. The action has you blushing as you raise your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. The action usually puts him right back to sleep. “It isn’t even dawn yet, love. Why are you awake?”

You contemplate an answer for several seconds. Part of you wants to tell him, to confide in him about that underlying fear of ruin, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’ll say if you directly mention Annatar.

You don’t even know if you could trust in him not repeating what you’ve said to Annatar.

So you instead allow him to place a lingering kiss at the corner of your jaw, humming softly as his fingers soothe your body's aches by massaging at your hip.

You’re so tired.

“Too much to ruminate on. My mind will not let me rest.” You reply. Celebrimbor frowns, the furrow in his brow deepening as concern flashes behind his eyes. “I will be fine. You sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

Celebrimbor does not complain. He can't. Too many times have you been the one to hold him, to shelter him from the storm of his own mind as he wakes briefly enough to seek you out. Too many times have you been the one to leave food at his table, to bring him tea, to offer him your company when his solitude becomes too great to bear.

Too many times have you fallen back asleep while Celebrimbor wept in the silence.

You hear Celebrimbor whisper his, "I love you." before settling again, this time with his hand pressed against your stomach and his hair tickling your nose. The sheer vulnerability of being so willing to sleep in a position like this when you've been apart for weeks has tears burning the back of your eyes.

Who do I have to speak to To change the prophecy?

You hold him there on the precipice of sleep and allow, for just this moment, your fear to breach the surface.

"Please," You whisper. "Please, just this once, grant us mercy."

***

And far above the reaches of Middle Earth, she heard you.

The Lady of Mercy and Grief did not ignore the suffering of those who dared to reach for her.

[ladyoflindon]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elrond was back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[liveinfarbe]

Adar and Galadriel reminiscing about their Beleriand days …

Are they talking about the same event here?

Adar’s talking most likely about the river Sirion one of the rivers that crossed Doriath, the kingdom where Celeborn was Sindarin royalty and met Galadriel.

Then we had Adar putting out her burning arrow quite sensually purring “A star shines upon our meeting Lady Galadriel” in Quenya, calling her by the name Altáriel that Celeborn gave her and that she loved so much she kept it. Seldom if never used by someone.

Also Celeborn canonically fought in Eregion against Sauron. Celeborn isn’t in the show yet, but Adar is and he’s going to fight with Galadriel in Eregion. Wild.

[thesummerestsolstice]

In my post about the strange residents of Rivendell, I mentioned a Feanorian die-hard and an old bodyguard of Thingol. I recently hit a thousand reblogs– which is amazing! So in honor of that, I'm writing their stories out. This is part one, I'll get the rest out over the next couple days.

The Feanorian Die-hard: Hrivossa

Maedhros' right hand at Himring, a dedicated captain with an axe and a burning hatred of Morgoth

Laiquendi former thrall, captured during the First Battle of Beleriand; when the Laiquendi king Denethor was killed

Was refused entry to Doriath after escaping from Angband– at this point, most escaped prisoners were thought to be sleeper agents sent to get information for Morgoth

Wandered for the next few years, mostly alone, occasionally finding Elvish towns that feared her because of the marks of Morgoth's torture and thought her one of his puppets

Ended up stumbling across one of Maedhros's orc hunting parties in the Early First Age, and jumped at the chance to actually fight Morgoth

Maedhros was also one of the only lords willing to help former thralls at that point; he gaze Hrivossa a new home and purpose, fighting alongside him against their shared tormentor

It's not hard to understand why she became so loyal to the Feanorian cause

This is also when she took the Quenya name Hrivossa, "winter wall," because she was as frigid and unbreakable as Himring's walls

(her original Nandor name is mostly for her close friends)

Between Denethor's death and hiding in Doriath with Melian instead of doing anything about Morgoth, Hrivossa absolutely hates Thingol

She's generally a cold person around strangers, but she warms up around her friends, and her wits and tongue are as sharp as her sword

Part of the general morbid humor culture that built up in First Age Himring

She does not have a soft spot for the Sindar claiming that the Silmaril belongs to them now

She does have a noticeable soft spot for small half-elves who keep pestering her for stories about what life was like in Beleriand before the sun and moon

She fought with Maedhros until the bloody, bitter end, being forcefully brought into the custody of Valinor's forces late in the War of Wrath

She was the leader of the Feanorian faction who chose not to submit to the Valar's judgement, or to willingly go to Aman to do penance

They generally made themselves trouble while in custody

To avoid any more ugly conflict, Elrond eventually took responsibility for this faction, becoming their lord (though Elrond did NOT become Lord of the House of Feanor) and promising to keep them from committing any more violent acts

Hrivossa and the others, all of whom had lived in Amon Ereb and helped raised Elrond, found this agreeable

All of these elves are still very much see Elrond as their Lords' child, who must be protected at all costs, so there's that

And that is the story of how Elrond became responsible for the remaining Feanorians, but only the really fucked up ones

Seriously, they don't do any other murders, but they do cause all sorts of other trouble

Also, how Elrond inherited one (1) extremely determined bodyguard

[snailpaste]

"Astarion" Name Meaning in Elvish (Quenya)

The meaning of "Astarion" in Elvish according to Tolkein's Quenya. See bottom for Notes. Top lists potential components, bottom provides interpretations/meanings.

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Components:

1. Astar: Noun meaning “Faith”, “Loyalty”. (Roots: as’tāră > astor [astāra] > [astār])

2. -ion: Masculine patronymic suffix meaning “son of"

Examples of this can be seen in the names: “Aldarion”, a compound of “aldar” (trees) + “ion” (son of) meaning Son of [the] Trees; “Anárion”, a compound of “Anar” (sun) + “ion” (son of), meaning Son of the Sun; and “Aranwion”, a compound of “Aranwe” (Quenya male name) + “ion”, meaning Son of Aranwe.

3. -tar-: Affix denoting nobility or highness eg: King/Queen/Prince/High/Lord (basically any noble/royal title can be inserted, pick what you fancy as its largely subjective).

Examples of this can be seen in the Quenya names: “Annatar”, a compound of “anna” (gift) + “tar”, meaning “Lord of Gifts”; “Sorontar”, compound “soron” (eagle) + “tar”, meaning “King of Eagles”; “Tarmenel”, a compound of “tar” and “Menel” (Heavens) meaning  “High Heaven”.

4. Ar: Noun meaning "day”, “sunlight" (abbr. of árë).

Seen in the Quenya name “Arien” (of which Arion is the exact masculine translation) compound of “árë” (sunlight) and the feminine patronymic suffix “-ien”, meaning “Maiden of the Sun”, “Day-bearer”, “Sun-maiden”.

5. Ar-: Prefix denoting nobility or highness eg: King, Lord, Master, Queen, High, Great, Royal, Noble (again, basically any noble/royal title can be inserted).

6. Asto: Noun meaning “dust” (pl. Aist).

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Interpretations/Meanings:

1. Astar + -ion

Astar+ion

Son of Astar. Son of Loyalty/Faith. Loyal/Faithful Son.

2. Asto + ar + -ion

Ast[o]+ar+ion

“ar” as a noun

Son of [the] Dust and Day/Sun. Day/Sun Son of Dust. Bearer of Day/Sun & Dust. Son of Astoaron. Son of the man of Dust & Sun. 

3. Asto + ar- + -ion

Ast[o]+ar+ion

“ar-” as a prefix to “-ion”

Royal/High/Noble Son of Dust. Prince of Dust.

4. Astar + ar + -ion

Ast[ar]+ar+ion

“ar” as a noun

Son of [a] Faithful/Loyal Day/Sun. Faithful/Loyal Son of [the] Day/Sun/Warmth. Son of Faithful/Loyal Warmth [of the sun]. Son of Astaron.

5. Astar + ar- + -ion

Ast[ar]+ar+ion

“ar-” as a prefix to “-ion”

Royal/High/Noble Son of Loyalty/Faith. Loyal/Faithful Noble/High Son. Son/Prince of Faith/Loyalty.

6. Asto + -tar + -ion

Ast[o]+[t]ar+ion

“tar” as a suffix to “Asto”

Son of High/Noble/Royal Dust. Son of the King of Dust.

7. Asto + tar- + -ion

Ast[o]+[t]ar+ion

“tar” as a prefix to “-ion”

Royal/High/Noble Son of Dust. Prince of Dust.

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NOTES:

Regarding above names using “ar-” prefix: The use of “ar-” in this context could potentially be incorrect, resulting in a different meaning. Take “Pelargir”, a sindarin word meaning "Garth of (the) Royal Ships", for example; Pelargir is composed of either the “pel-” (encircle, go around), or “pêl” (fenced field), and the prefix “ar-” (noble/royal) and “cîr” (ships). If I interpreted the names with the “ar-” prefix in the same manner as “Pelargir”, they would end up meaning “light/heat/warmth/sun/dust of a noble son/boy”. With that being said “Arion” does mean High/Noble/Royal son, and follows the grammatical rules, so I would say it’s polysemous.

“Arion” is a poetic version of “Prince” (son of royalty, royal son)