#silvan oc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marshmellin · 22 days ago

Text

Star and Stone, Ch. 9 | Wherever the Need is Greatest

The chamber fell into a tense silence, the implication hanging heavy in the air: if the armies had been defeated, then Gil-galad and Elrond were dead. Many elves were dead. Because the combined armies of the Eldar would. not. yield. They would not leave any field they engaged on alive unless they left victorious. And Sauron was not known for taking captives. On the rare occasions he did, he was not known for treating those captives— Oh, Finduilas— I would rather he died before— She slammed the lid shut on that thought swiftly, as one might angrily slam a door behind them as they sprinted through it.

-> COMPLETE! F FOR FIX IT: Explicit for rare smut (🔥) between consenting partners. All other content is Mature for language and canon-typical descriptions of angst/violence. Gil-galad x female OC Sindarin elf, Occurs between the Fall of Ost-in-Edhel in Eregion and the Battle of the Last Alliance. Contains references to other Tolkien lore and the Silmarillion with author notes for full explanations.

Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I try to be as canon-compliant as possible except for the whole 'keeping Gil-galad alive part.' No beta, we die like Mirdania.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

You are here -> Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

The midday sun filtered weakly through the thick clouds hanging over Lindon, casting a dim gray light across the courtyard where Elaniel stood, speaking with a group of stonemasons about the ongoing repairs to the northern barracks. Despite the chill in the air, her cloak lay folded over a bench, leaving her arms free to gesture as she pointed to various parts of the blueprint. The cold didn’t bother her, but the constant weight of this work did.

She had not sketched in months.

“Make sure the stone for the foundations is reinforced,” she said, turning to the foreman nearest her, Herwen, a Sindarin woman with many years of experience. “These barrack foundations are old...”

“Yes, Master Mason Elaniel,” Herwen replied. “I think we should consider connecting the barracks with one of the outer wall routes, as well. If orcs are close enough to breach the training grounds, we’re in a bad way”.

Another foreman spoke in agreement. “Additional egress points for the barracks might buy troops time to muster and protect the watchtower routes.”

She turned to pull more papers off the closest makeshift table. Halion was very good at documenting his resources. “How much additional hardwood–”

A guard sprinted into the worksite, and his armor clinked as he stopped before her. “Master Elaniel,” he said, his voice strained. “Urgent news from the watchtowers.”

Elaniel stiffened, her heart dropping into her stomach.

“There’s been an orc raid. The sentries report a small group slaughtered livestock and scattered the villagers in the outlying area near Harlond. They set fire to two of the grain stores before soldiers pursued them across the river.”

“The villagers,” she questioned shakily.

“No loss reported among the villagers, though a few soldiers were injured in the skirmish. One orc had a short bow. The watchtower held, but Commander Tirionien requests reinforcements immediately – she fears they have scattered to the forests. She can not confirm the full band was dispatched and would increase rounds.”

“The Commander will have whatever she needs. Call the council,” Elaniel said, dismissing the guard who bowed and ran out. Elaniel turned back to the masons, whose eyes betrayed one fact: every time these masons spoke of evacuations and orc attacks and egress points – it was theoretically.

Valar, may it remain that way for them.

“Master Herwen, speak to Chief Mason Halion for agreement regarding the hardwood and any other materials you need. If you both agree on a list of supplies, you will also have whatever you need. Connect the egress routes to the wall in two places each. Not symmetrically,” she added as an afterthought.

Without waiting for a reply, she strode away from the barracks and toward the council chamber.

–

The council was already bustling when Elaniel entered. Alenya stood near the map table, her red hair tied back into a practical braid, her expression sharp and focused. Lord Ristarion, clad in fine silks that seemed ill-suited for a meeting of such gravity, leaned casually against one of the marble columns, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression.

“Master Elaniel,” Alenya greeted, nodding briskly. “I’ve heard the report. The soldiers at the tower did well, but the villagers are shaken. I agree with Commander Tirionien’s request for reinforcements and I am willing to commit a section of Lidon’s guards to the watchtower with your leave. I do not believe Mithlond can spare the soldiers right now and would prefer to move from the better-defended cities.”

“Thank you, Commander Alenya, wise counsel. I agree. Everyone sit, sit,” she waved a hand absently. “What else, Alenya?”

The council members took their seats, and Alenya unfurled a map of the northern territories. “This is the area of the raid near the southernmost watchtower, just east of Harlond,” Alenya said, pointing to a cluster of symbols marking the tower and surrounding villages. “The orcs came from the hills to the northeast, slaughtered and stole a handful of livestock, and burned a grain store or two before retreating.”

Elaniel leaned forward, her grey eyes narrowed. “That’s a bold move for a raiding party this close to Lindon’s soldiers. Why?” “It is,” Alenya agreed. “But boldness isn't a strategy. They didn’t come with a plan to conquer; they came to scavenge, steal food, and light some fires. I wish this were not so, but had they wanted to harm the villagers, they would have succeeded. At least to an extent. Commander Tirionien and I agree this is a likely straggling band, unlikely to be under Sauron’s control but simply looking for, forgive me, fresh meat. Their actions do not demonstrate forethought.”

“Or,” Ristarion interjected smoothly, “it could mean something far graver. Perhaps…oh, it does pain me to speak of it, Master Elaniel. But perhaps our forces have been defeated, and this raid is the first sign of an insurgence? If our leaders have fallen, we must consider all possible drastic ends.”

The chamber fell into a tense silence, the implication hanging heavy in the air: if the armies had been defeated, then Gil-galad and Elrond were dead. Many elves were dead.

Because the combined armies of the Eldar would. not. yield. They would not leave any field they engaged on alive unless they left victorious. Sauron was not known for taking captives. On the rare occasions he did, he was not known for treating those captives—

Oh, Finduilas— I would rather he died before—

She slammed the lid shut on that thought swiftly, as one might angrily slam a door behind them as they sprinted through it.

Elaniel gazed across the council, all of whom seemed tense. Some of whom seemed to wonder if Ristarion’s concerns were right.

“No,” Elaniel said simply, her tone ice. ”Regarding the watchtower—“

“I commend your decisiveness, my lady,” Ristarion interjected again, his tone dripping with insincerity. “But I must press my recommendation that we consider what may be taking place on the battlefield.”

BattlefieldBATTLEfieldbattleFI—

She slammed the lid on that thought, too.

“Lord Ristarion, I can assure you and everyone in this council that your High King is alive.”

That hurt to say out loud. But our fëa are connected – he is alive. I can fee him.

“Perhaps, Master Elaniel. Though, if our king has fallen, I wonder about the best course of action—”

“Tínen!” She shot to her feet, rage flashing across her face. The room blotted out, her gaze pinned to Ristarion’s face.

One more word – one more sound – and she would claw the bastard’s heart out barehanded.

Insinuating Gil-galad was dead three times.

The force of holding back the scream, the bite of the words she desperately wanted to say, made her throat hurt. Elaniel stopped herself.

Be proud, Varda, Oh Lady of the Stars!

Because Elaniel stopped herself.

From adding: if my husband is dead then his council is disbanded. Flee or pick up a weapon and haul your ass to Amon Sûl to ask his body if he’d like to appoint you again.

I care not how you die, but you will not get blood on my floors while you do it, heconna.

Far too far. Indefensible. And she would not say “husband” or “dead” out loud right now.

Another lid slammed shut.

The lockbox in her heart was growing large, full of boxes of fear like nesting dolls as she kept.

slamming.

lids.

shut.

What does he get from this? He is trying to hurt me – push me. Push me to what? I have nothing to give him. He is here there is no–

Why is he here? He has his own halls where he is the leader of the fifteen-some elves in his backwater “realm” because relocating the fifty feet to the Greenwood was too much effort. Ah, a great loss for the Elvenking’s halls, I’m sure….

She furrowed her brow. Something in the back of her head told her she was skimming too fast, that she missed something.

Why didn’t Gil-galad remove Ristation after speaking with Oropher? Or before he left for Amon Sûl?

But especially after Oropher. Oropher was rightly angry and Gil-galad didn’t…Something clicked in her head. Did he…he made sure they were represented on the council.

He made sure that all elven realms were represented on the council.

Elaniel felt for the soft warmth of Gil-galad mind, shimmering at the edge of hers. She found the golden thread that connected him to her, the one wrapped tightly around her heart, still tugging between them. They were not yet able to hold a long conversation across distances. But their mental connection, the ósanwe, that began to tie them from the moment they met still bound them. She knew she could – at the very least – poke at him and he would feel her.

So she pushed her feelings toward that warm, solid gold thread. That shimmering curtain in her mind.

Oh, morconínya, you are in such trouble when you return to me.

She was positive her face looked as red as an apple as her focus snapped back to the present.

The room around was still frozen – as if her command for silence had locked the mouths of every being in the council. Many eyes stared at her – but Alenya’s grey eyes glittering like dark moonstones from the corner caught her attention most. Her red hair gleamed under the soft lights and so did the point of her spear. Because she was twisting the haft in her hand, moving it side to side. A fighter’s movements.

I’ve never asked her, but aren’t most redheads related to Fëanor?

Lid slam.

New tactic.

Elaniel kept her voice light and as, well, bright as she could. Merry. “I would not burden you any longer by summoning you to my council. I understand if you must see to your own realm, Lord Ristarion.”

Ristarion’s smile somehow grew more greasy, joy at this game on his face. Well, what he thought was a game. “You cannot dismiss me, Master Elaniel. I am an Elven lord appointed to this council by the High King.”

Mmm. And just where is High King Ereinion Gil-galad, Son of Orodreth, I wonder? Mm. Interesting, It seems he is not here. And I am.

Elaniel searched in her mind, this time for something Elrond would say – yes, Elrond, he is the most sensible option right now. She decided to wield a new weapon. It felt unsure in her grip, like holding the handle of a blade the wrong way, but…Elrond’s voice echoed in her head.

That’s not the only name I go by.

She kept the largest smile on her face she could muster -– though she knew if he tested her much longer, the muscles in her cheeks would wear out. “And as I so often find myself, I am in awe of my husband’s wisdom.” – Ereinion. I am not – “As High Queen, I join all of Lindon in honoring your dedication in preparing us for this long and perilous war. We would not keep you from your home any longer. Return in good health, my lord. Anar caluva tielyanna.”

The sun shall shine upon your path — may it take you far the fuck away from me.

Ristarion didn’t move, but his chin jutted in defiance. “I see no need to leave.”

No, Elrond would not say that. She mentally discarded another option. Nor would he say that. In fact, I would be shocked if he knew that word. Well. Perhaps in a medical context…

Another breath. “So you say, Lord Ristarion. Yet…” she frowned. “I feel compelled to note that the longer you remain in Lindon, the more you risk no longer having a realm to return to.”

Elaniel let that linger for a moment. Just a pause. Just so he caught the undertone.

She couldn’t take his realm — wouldn’t, the paperwork and politicking alone just to be in a forsaken trade triangle between Oropher and Amdír in the middle of nowhere? There is a reason I do not live among my kin in the Sindarin realms, thank you.

And regardless, the title of High Anything of the Anything did not give her the right to take a realm. Nothing did.

But.

She anticipated Ristarion was not confident in that fact.

And his eyes betrayed that she was right.

Elaniel pressed on, her tone one of a concerned friend. “As you say, the orc menace looms and requires bold action. I can think of none bolder, and I fear for the safety of your people, Lord Ristarion. Your place is with them. I cannot in good conscience keep you here, parted from them.”

The silence was thick. Elaniel continued to use the time productively, sending wave after wave after wave of sullen sass towards the thread that bound her to Gil-galad.

Your ability to sway me with your handsome face and puppy dog eyes doesn’t work when you’re so far away from me. Never should have agreed to be regent of anything. I do not want to be the regent of a vegetable garden right now, much less this realm.

Oooooh, morconinya, you are going to get it when you come home to me. I swear…

The edges of his mind shimmered back against hers, a playful tug from that golden thread wound around her heart. He seemed amused. She thought she heard the ghost of a chuckle.

He did not…

She frowned into the ongoing silence, her eyes meeting no one, and her hand rested on the hilt of her sword – casually, she thought. Truly. In retrospect, her arm was tired and the hilt was there and attached to her belt. Ruling seemed to involve a lot of standing in one spot. She was not a woman who often stood still.

With an odd smile, Ristarion mimicked the motion, still silent as well, his eyes challenging hers.

She barely noticed. For this fight, she would stay silent until the remaking of the world but she would not repeat herself. In the meantime: Another thing, Erienion—

The thought was interrupted as Elaniel heard three soft clanks in unison behind her. Swords thumbed out of their scabbards, ready to be drawn quickly. Not drawn. But not not drawn.

The guards.

She felt herself freeze in concern, eyes flying wide in shock, and she did not care that Ristarion saw it. He had also thumbed his sword from its scabbard – first or in response to the guards, she couldn’t tell.

Elaniel turned her head over her shoulder, her neck stiff and her face perfectly smooth except for her frown, and gave the three guards flanking the room behind her an exaggerated shake of her head, her eyes wide. She dropped her hand from the hilt of her sword and held her hand out, palm down.

No.

The guards did not move at all in response to her gesture or the look on her face, and their thumbs stayed on their blades. In fact, the tall one in the middle met her eyes with the cold, uninterested gaze of a man who would save her life with or without her approval because that was his job, damn it to hell, and Valar help her if she got in his way while he did his job.

Elaniel sighed and felt the headache settling behind her eyes. She turned to look at Ristarion and flashed a large smile yet again. She’d rather break the silence than have any of those swords drawn.

“When do you depart from Lindon, my Lord? Perhaps we have time to raise a glass in thanks before you take your leave. Or must you…depart swiftly?”

Ristarion bowed low, though the gesture was more mocking than respectful, and moved his hand from the hilt of his sword. He spun on his heel and left without another word.

And then, the soft shink of swords being sheathed.

Thank the Valar.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply through her nose. Once. Twice.

Finally, she looked around the room. The room seemed to have taken a similar deep and shaky breath. But the tension was still thick.

Alenya met her eyes and nodded. Halion continued to be obnoxiously gleeful at any time Ristarion was put in his place and had snorted twice.

Halion, rein it in until the bar tonight. Laugh in your cups, not in council.

Elaniel composed her face quickly, though she knew it was still red. “I wish to be very plain that the guards do not unsheathe their swords to all who disagree with me.”

Laughter flitted through the room, easing the tension. Elaniel exhaled slowly, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She dropped that — still awkward to wield — weapon of her title and became Elaniel once more. A woman who had smoothed over a thousand hot-headed fights between masons and builders on worksites. Much more transparent.

“I believe Lord Ristarion’s….departure was not a shock to any of us, and so I hesitate to spend our time together discussing it. I am available after the council is dismissed and will hear all anyone wishes to share. But before then,” she turned to Alenya. “Are there any other thoughts to share regarding this recommendation regarding increased soldier complements?”

Alenya’s eyes glittered again. Her tone transformed from her best friend, ready to throw fists for her, into one of a warrior with decades of experience advising a fellow leader.

“I have several recommendations. I am eager to hear your feedback, as are the other city commanders. If you look here, High Queen…”

When Alenya said it, the title didn’t sound so strange.

Elaniel smiled at that. And then she felt Gil-galad tugging on that thread in her chest in response. It wasn’t clear words, but she understood it nonetheless.

I told you you’d grow to like that title.

The day was peaceful. The weather, beautiful. Elaniel sat at a table under the shade of a broad aspen in the courtyard, the sunlight playing through its golden leaves as she and Alenya went over the reallocation of guards. It was mundane work, a task meant for quiet days.

“Move them to the southern watchpost,” Alenya suggested, tapping a finger on the map spread before them as she popped an almond into her mouth. Her red hair glinted in the sunlight as she leaned forward, her expression unusually focused. “They’ve been underused there for three weeks. They need to move their limbs. And we’ll need more presence near the harbor and Círdan.”

Elaniel muttered under her breath. “We’ll need at least three clear pathways to the Grey Havens. Four would be better, but that’s optimistic given the state of the southern crossings.”

Across the table, Alenya popped another almond into her mouth, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Optimistic?” she teased. “That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard you describe complete bullshit. Mithlond is barely large enough for four pathways, much less evacuation routes.”

Elaniel shot her friend a look, her lips twitching upward despite herself. “Careful, Alenya. Sarcasm is my domain, and I won’t tolerate competition.”

“Oh, forgive me, O my High Queen regent, Lady of Lindon, Defender of —” Alenya said. beginning a mock half-bow.

Elaniel slapped the table softly, a smile on her face. “Ah-ah!”

Alenya gave one more impish bow before her expression turned serious as her eyes returned to the map. “Well, if you have four paths, that means you have four rendezvous points. How many ships does Círdan have?”

“Not enough.”

Before Alenya could respond, all tranquility in the courtyard shattered. Their heads shot up in near-unison.

The clatter of hooves echoed sharply against the stone, followed by the creak of wagon wheels and the hurried shouts of riders. A group of ten, maybe twelve. Elaniel stood, her chest tightening as her gaze locked on a group of riders charging into the courtyard.

At the head of the group was Elrond, his dark hair falling into his eyes as though he had not had a haircut in months. His armor glinted dully in the sunlight, covered in dirt and grime.

His expression was sharp and commanding, his usual warmth buried under urgency, urgency, urgency. Behind him, a cart rumbled, its wheels rattling over the cobblestones. Alenya was already halfway to the cart, her grey eyes wide. “What in—”

“Elrond!” Elaniel called out, pointedly not moving to the cart. She did not know what was in that cart.

The Valar themselves could not make her move toward that cart until she knew what – who – was in it.

“Fetch healers,” Elrond shouted towards the group of guards in the courtyard. Elrond had not dismounted yet, and he cantered his horse around the circle back to Elaniel.

He reined in his horse to turn toward her, his face grim. “Arminas,” he said quickly, his voice tight but clear, his chin jutting up to point at the cart. “He was wounded and the poison...it's not known to us. We stabilized him and I have done what I can, but he requires immediate help. More skilled care than I can provide.”

The unspoken fear: Elrond had quite a bit of skill when it came to healing. Few outstripped him.

At his words, Alenya froze, her breath catching audibly. Her normally sharp demeanor softened and for a moment, it looked as though she would give in to the fear Elaniel knew she felt. But Alenya didn’t. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, though her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“Now,” Elrond barked out again, impatient as the guards seemed to be waiting for some other order. Two sprang into action, climbing onto the wagon and gently lifting Arminas. His dark skin was grey-blue, his breathing shallow, and his chest was tightly wrapped in bloodied bandages. Elaniel’s stomach clenched at the sight.

“Carefully,” she urged, her voice softer than Elrond’s, though no less commanding. The guards obeyed, their movements efficient but careful not to jostle him as they carried Arminas toward the healing house directly adjacent to the courtyard. Alenya lingered near the cart, torn between following and staying.

“Alenya,” Elaniel said, her tone gentle but firm. She dipped her head to catch Alenya’s grey eyes. Alenya hesitated, her lips parting as though to protest, but the fear in her eyes had won. “Alenya.” Her mouth had closed again, but it seemed as though Alenya was looking through Elaniel to nothing. Elaniel had seen that look before. On the faces of elves who fled Eregion alone when they should have had a partner next to them —

“Soldier! MOVE it!” Elaniel snapped harshly and loudly in a tone that did not belong to her.

Alenya shook to near-attention, the words jolting her back to her training days without sleep, as Elaniel had hoped it would. Whatever dark corner she had gone to, she was now back from it. Alenya nodded stiffly, eyes focusing before she followed the guards down to the healers. She didn’t look back at Elaniel.

Elaniel would guess Alenya still had not seen her and would not realize Elaniel had spoken to her. At least she was headed toward healers…

Elaniel turned back to Elrond, gesturing for him to dismount as she grabbed at the bridle for him. “You need food and rest surely?” Her eyes flicked over his armor. “And a bath.”

That last part was not a question.

Elrond swung down from his horse with practiced ease. He offered a small, sensible laugh, though his face remained serious. “Food, yes. Rest and bath must wait, I’m afraid. I need to speak with you urgently, High Queen.”

Fear gripped her and the blood drained from her face. “Is Gil-”

He cut her off with a slash of his hand. “Gil-galad is fine.”

The tightness in Elaniel’s chest loosened at his words, though the sight of Elrond’s weary face still sent off frantic alarm bells in her mind.

Also, Elrond, please start with that.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly. “So what do you need?”

Elrond’s expression softened for the briefest of moments. “I’d prefer to speak privately,” he said, his tone quieter now.

If he doesn’t feel he can say it in the courtyard…

Together, they left the bustling courtyard behind, the noise fading as they stepped into the cool, quiet halls of Lindon’s inner chambers. The study awaited, but Elaniel’s thoughts lingered on Arminas – he had looked so fragile as the guards lifted him. Nothing like the strong soldier she had seen fight with such fluid movements.

Elaniel ushered Elrond toward the study and he followed her, his presence so much different in these halls now than before. His armor was streaked with dirt. His winged shoulder guards caught the sunlight through the window and gleamed faintly despite the grime – she knew Gil-galad had them forged as a gift when Elrond became his Herald. Gil-galad had whispered to her that he hoped the intricately-carved feathers would remind Elrond of his mother, to keep her memory with him any time he had to dress for war. To remind him that her wings might protect him again.

Elrond’s face was drawn, his hair disheveled, but his stride was steady as he entered the room. “High Queen Elaniel,” he said, inclining his head in respect. His voice carried the formal cadence he so often used, though the weariness beneath it was unmistakable. “Forgive my appearance,” he added, as if she had somehow spoken to him and walked him from the courtyard to the study with her eyes closed.

Elaniel shushed him, motioning for him to sit at the table near the window. “I would rather hear your news now than wait.”

Before he could answer, she smoothly opened the door and peeked her head out, asking the guard to quickly bring warm food. Within moments, she was carrying back a tray laden with fresh bread, cheese, and a hearty stew. Elrond hesitated, but Elaniel raised an eyebrow and pushed the tray closer.

“Perhaps after we–”

“Elrond. Your High Queen has a question for you. Have you had anything more than lembas to eat in the past, mmm, three days?”

He made a half-hearted shrugging gesture. “High Que–”

“How about the last six days?”

That was how far a ride to Amon Sûl should take. Elrond peeked up through his lashes, a faint blush on his cheeks – a little brother properly chastised – as she dipped her head to meet his eyes.

“So eat the damn stew, Elrond.”

He chuckled softly, his gratitude clear as he pulled the tray closer and began to eat. Though he was clearly trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, hunger overcame him, and he tore into the bread and stew with haste.

“Forgive my table manners,” he said between bites, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I fear they’ve grown less refined since I left.”

“They’re still better than Halion’s and he hasn’t gone anywhere,” Elaniel replied with a gentle smile, earning a half-laugh from Elrond. “So, we’ve established that Arminas is….” she hesitated. “Arminas is wounded and you brought him here to heal. But that alone is not enough for you to come this far. What brings you to Lindon?”

Elrond swallowed a mouthful of stew and set the spoon down, his demeanor shifting to one of purpose. “Resources, High Queen. Gil-galad and Elendil will not march on Barad dûr until the weather improves, and more warriors from Men and the dwarven kingdoms are joining us regularly. I can live on lembas for six days – the mortal armies can not, and our supplies are dwindling faster than we anticipated. Lindon’s granaries hold enough for the winter and more, and I acknowledge it would be a risk to move those stores to our supply lines. Still, I must ask it of you.”

Elaniel leaned back in her chair. “Two granaries were burned in Harlond about two weeks ago. I’m unsure how stable Lindon’s stores are.”

“I understand,” Elrond said plainly. “And I know you likely lean toward caution, and rightly so. I would counsel the same. But this may be the risk worth taking. Armies march on their stomachs – the consequences of losing soldiers for the siege will be far graver than a lean winter here in Lindon.”

Elaniel’s gaze flicked to the map on the wall over Elrond’s head, her mind racing through the logistic issues. Moving grain sounded simple but… “And what of Greenwood?” she asked. “Last I heard, Oropher’s people were dealing with orc activity and their storehouses are being burned, too?”

Elrond nodded, his face darkening. “Their situation is worsening. Oropher has requested a small contingent of additional guards to help secure his borders – I had intended to speak to Alenya on this point. His people are losing what little food they have to these attacks. If nothing changes...I fear they will not be able to stay with the Alliance.”

Elaniel exhaled slowly, her fingers drumming against the table. She had to ask. “If we send the supplies to Amon Sûl and grain and guards to Greenwood, what will that leave Lindon with?”

“Enough,” Elrond replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I wish I had a more clean answer, High Queen, but…”

Elaniel sighed. The path forward was already clear. No one was going to starve when she had full storehouses. “And we’re positive the palantirí can’t, I don’t know, make crops grow in winter? We’ve checked? I truly would hate to have navigated all the Eldar in Middle Earth through this stress because we did not check, Elrond.”

An undignified snort at that. “No. Oropher would have stolen all seven if he could.” Elrond’s eyes softened and he muttered, almost to himself: “To feed his people, yes, I think he would.”

Elaniel bit her lip at that. And all the more honor to him for it.

“Lindon and Greenwood will feast or famine together. You have grain and guards for Oropher and additional grain for Amon Sûl. We’ll need to discuss the numbers specifically within the council. I do not know our grain store numbers offhand, nor how many I can commit.”

I do and I can, but I’d like someone else to confirm it.

“Of course,” Elrond said, inclining his head. “Thank you, High Queen.”

Elaniel smiled softly. This young elf had carved out a special place in her heart over the decades. “After you eat, and for the love of the Valar sleep, we will discuss it in council. Tomorrow.”

Elrond’s lips parted but Elaniel cocked an eyebrow at him. He copied the motion, though weariness was etched on his face. “I find I can attend council now, High Queen.”

“I never doubted that, Lord Elrond. However, I find my council is not in session now,” she replied smoothly, picking a piece of lint off her sleeve.

Elrond’s mouth snapped shut. He was the one who had taught her that move.

Her eyes softened and she stood, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “I would tell you I am the most impatient person you will meet in your long life, and yet, you have already met Gil-galad.” She paused as Elrond took a deep breath. “And even Gil-galad knows I can not move full granaries across regions overnight. Starting now does not move this faster. Bathe. Sleep. We will finalize at first light and you have whatever you need, Elrond, I promise you that. We will do this together. After you rest.”

Elrond stood as well, his movements slower than usual as fatigue weighed on him. “Yes, H–”

“Elaniel,” she interrupted firmly. “You’re flaking dried orc blood on my carpet, Elrond. In the study of the man you pushed to pursue and marry me. You will not renege on the first-name basis of our relationship, just because of a career change; I won’t allow it.”

He chuckled sleepily, his eyelids heavy. The stew and bread was clearly sinking into his brain, and he was inching closer to sleep with each breath. “Perhaps I’ll have a counterargument in the morning, Elaniel.”

“Well, you let me know what you decide, Lord of Imladris,” she muttered, guiding Elrond to the door. She handed him over to the guards, who took him to the guest wing and an open bed. He was so tired he looked drunk as he walked away. Now that the rush of urgent energy had left him and he had been fed, his legs moved as though they were leaden.

Elaniel smiled with affection and warmth. She’d bet quite a bit of money that those guards were going to have to carry him before he reached that cot.

The letters she had written to Gil-galad over the past weeks had been filled with reports, updates, and assurances, reports on Arminas’ health – he was going to recover, and Alenya asked him to be betrothed, so Gil-galad owed her a small wager. He lost the bet, since he thought Arminas would break first. She also knew Gil-galad would argue that the outcome of the bet was null because Arminas was unconscious the first time Alenya asked, but it was worth a shot.

Tonight, as she picked up a quill and a fresh piece of parchment, something different tugged at her. She wanted to make Gil-galad smile. She wanted him to remember something…warm. Like her memories of him.

Her fingers tightened around the quill as she began to write, the familiar scratch of ink on parchment breaking the silence. The words came slowly at first, then flowed more easily. She began teasing him as if he were sitting next to her, trying to focus on his own work, while she played one of her absolute favorite games: (lovingly) bother the leader.

High Ereinion King Galad-gil of the Noldor, Flame of Hair and Eye, Scion of Kings, Wielder of Aeglos, Defender of Eregion, Bearer of Vilya, Ellon who blatantly cheats at card games:

Hail, O High King of the Noldor! Hail, O Tar-Eldalié! O Hail and likely sleet and rain by mid-Coirë season, if the weather keeps up.

All is well in Lindon. I write to reassure you that your people thrive. As for matters of council, you will be pleased to learn I dismissed Ristarion permanently per our last...”conversation.” The council stood with me. Your guards offered to assassinate him and I’d say it was a joke but I can not be sure it was.

Perhaps you could arrange a gift for me next summer solstice, morconínya? Perhaps not laughing in amusement in the back of my mind as I discover how frustrating your job is? I have never been overfond of jewelry and it would save you the time finding a dwarven smith to craft me something better.

Consider it, at least. I’m certainly considering what my life would be like if I had married a smith or a sculptor.

May it take many moon cycles for your companions to learn how often you cheat at cards by hiding extra nótyalië in your voluminous sleeves. Perhaps the tighter fit of the armor keeps you honest, yet I doubt it and do not have much hope anything will stop you from cheating at cards in Middle Earth or in Arda. Mm. Maybe Fëanor can give you run for it when we fail for Valinor,

From your loving High Queen, ostensibly by marriage and not a Queen regnant and not planning to be one for one second longer. So please return. Immediately. This crown digs into my head.

Faithfully yours & etc,

Elaniel

— And you know very well that is by far not the whole of what I plan to write to you today, órenya

With the above official report out of the way and not much else to say, I’ll instead tell you how much I think of you. How often. Warm memories. And there is much I wish to remind you of tonight. Of how much I love you. And miss you.

Just this morning I was thinking of the balcony off the west tower at the palace. Have you forgotten? I know you are incapable of forgetting, but let us pretend for a moment you have. I will remind you. You blatantly lied to me claimed the stars had never been brighter that night and we should watch together.

And just like the first time and hundreds of times after, you pulled me close, wrapping me in your warmth in those heavy layers of damn velvet that I both love and hate. We stayed there for hours, the wind tangling your hair as we stared at the stars. Your hair always smells like rosemary and cedar. And I must confess, morconinya, that while I have always enjoyed watching the stars... I love the light in your eyes when you watch the sky more than any starlight I have ever seen.

Now I feel the memory of those nights spent together whenever I step onto our balcony. I take your cloak with me, the brown one with gold leaves?, because it’s the warmest. And because it still smells of you.

Oh, and, now I wish to remind you of a much different type of warmth. Do you remember that time about a year ago when we were in the wine cellar? I walked by today and saw the scratch in the door. Someone has painted over it, but I can still see where it was. It was the night after the long council meeting about the cost of hardwood for carts, the one where you barely hid your boredom.

You insisted we should personally fetch the ‘finest bottle of wine to celebrate never talking about hardwood again,’ and you kicked at the cellar door to get it open because we had already had wine to celebrate your ridiculous hardwood decree and we were not very skilled at working doorknobs by that point. But when we finally opened this “glorious First Age Bottle,” you took one sip and declared it tasted like moss.

And then you told me to try it to confirm. What was I to do with that – just confirm it was disgusting? Then you said honey mead was always better anyway.

But you kissed me, and you tasted like raspberries and faintly like that terrible wine and I do not think we left that cellar for at least three hours.

When I remember that night, when I think about you and that floor and all that damn velvet and your hands. Ereinion, your hands…

Other times, I let myself revisit that one night we spent in your council hall. You remember the night I speak of. I convinced you to stay seated on your throne in the dead of night? I’m bold in many ways but I won’t commit that night to writing. But. I know you remember. And I’d like you to remember it again tonight for me.

I miss you. In every way. I feel a hollowed out place in my heart where you belong. Come back to me. - E “

Elaniel sat back in her chair, the glow of the hearth casting soft shadows across the room. The study felt emptier without him, too large. Too empty despite being so full of books and maps and scrolls and a thousand things that reminded her of him.

At last, with a sigh, she rose from the chair and placed the letter in a small tube, sealed with Gil-galad’s signet ring that she wore on a chain around her neck, to be handed to the courier in the morning.

At least the Enemy will have a hearty laugh at my expense if they intercept it.

Lingering for a moment, she stared at the door as if she could will him to walk through it. She scrunched her face, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment and counted to five — something she had not done since she was a youngling — making a wish that he would magically appear.

But when she opened her eyes, the room remained still, and the night stretched on.

And Gil-galad was still gone.

She returned to the bedchamber and climbed beneath the soft linen sheets. The scent of cedar and rosemary lingered faintly on the pillow he used, though she feared it might be her imagination clinging to the memory of him.

The bed was large and cool. It felt wrong. Especially tonight. Now that Gil-galad had left her and would be gone for so long, she could not remember why they had not simply shared a bed — shared a life, a soul— every day from the very day they met. The wasted time gnawed at her. Sleep came to her slowly, but when it did, it was as though the Valar had granted her a gift:

Her dreams were beautiful…

A gift.

Just this once.

—

The first thing Elaniel noticed was the feeling of soft grass beneath her feet. She opened her eyes to find herself standing in a meadow under a sky awash with stars. Moonglow all around her. Unnaturally beautiful.

The heavens stretched endlessly, as if Varda had added more light tonight. The constellations seemed brighter than she had ever seen against the dark velvet of the sky.

This is a dream.

“Elaniel.”

Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice. She turned, and there he was – Gil-galad, dressed in a simple blue tunic and – even in dreams, Ereinion? – a dark velvet cape that rippled gently in the breeze. His hair was half back, braided as he always wore it while…well, while he was gone.

“You’re here,” she whispered dumbly – he knew he was here, Elaniel. “How?”

“I am,” he replied, stepping closer, pulling her to his chest. “And I do not know, but I treasure it regardless.” Gil-galad tilted her head up and kissed her deeply – slowly – like a man who had all night. “I am happy to be so close to you. I’ve sensed you’ve been quite frustrated, lately, ilmarënín,” he murmured after a moment, resting his chin atop her head.

“Ah, so you do hear me when I yell at you? I will be sure to take advantage of that.”

His chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “I should not have admitted it. I heard nothing." A pause, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I never feel joy when I sense you at the edges of my mind, whether you’re yelling at me or dreaming of carving a child's toy.” His voice was low, soft — bittersweet. “I never search for you in my dreams,” he ended, draping his cloak over her shoulders around them both.

She couldn’t help but smile at the familiar gesture. “Especially romantic now that you’ve become a husband, I see.”

“Selfish,” he corrected solemnly. “You are warmer this way,” he said with a smile in his voice, his breath tickling her ear.

She replied in singsong: “That’s not what I mea—ant,” earning another low laugh.

Long moments passed in comfortable silence, the two of them simply being together beneath the vast canopy of stars – as they always had. “I miss you, too,” Elaniel finally whispered in reply to his unspoken statement. He gently squeezed his arms around her.

They stood there, wrapped in yards of velvet. Yes, over time I have become a changed woman, the velvet has had its perks. His arms wrapped securely around her, holding her close, as if he feared she might disappear. She feared it too.

Her head leaned back against his shoulder. “Which one is Anarríma, again? I can never find it.”

She already knew. He knew she knew. She’d known her whole life. Just as she had known where Wilwarin was all those years ago.

Gil-galad smiled down at her, brown eyes crinkling as she snuggled against him. “If you follow this star here, you see? Over, to the left….”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed in reply, her eyes fluttering closed.

—

Elaniel woke with the first rays of dawn spilling across the bed, clutching his pillow in her arms. At first, she thought it would hurt as she woke without him – she was wary, ready to slam down another lid in her mind – but her heart felt lighter than it had in months. She felt warm. The bed next to her felt warm. She inhaled deeply, taking her first real deep breath in months. He was safe. She could feel him. She saw him.

The stars would shine again tonight, and she would watch them.

And she knew he would do the same.

////

Author’s note:

At some point, you grey-rock a narcissist. Get it, girl! Queen regnant, indeed. As it is, this is where we truly say goodbye to him. He is, in fact, fucking back off to Gladden Fields or wherever. Namarië, heconna, na-mar-i-ë, baybay.

I imagine Ristarion’s realm being, quite literally, not on the map. Potentially between Lórian (Amdír’s house) and Greenwood/Mirkwood (Home of Oropher, Thranduil’s daddy and the elf who, in my head, must be the genetic cause of all that flair and raw, weird, captivating sexual energy. Maybe it's just the Lee Pace of it all, idk, I'm here for it). I mentally put Ristarion near Gladden Fields because eff that place and eff him too. He would be technically closer to Imladris/Rivendell than the Silvan/Sindar realms, and he would make a trade triangle from Elvenking’s Halls to Lórien with Amdír. It *also* puts him in a precarious place politically if any of those leaders or the Dwarves of Moria get twitchy for a new outpost at the connection to a main river to keep their soldiers, you know, nearby, just in case….

If I went back to re-shape earlier chapters (and I may yet, once I’m done!) I would pepper in a little more information on Ristarion’s motivations and political positioning *within* the context of the three main players here, instead of focusing only on him as wheedling *among* the three with no clear motivator -- the map makes it a little easier to see how he is literally *caught* between Elrond, Arondír and Oropher, not to mention Moria, and that it may make a less skilled leader want to default to stirring the pot to make sure no one focuses on how easy it would be to take his realm. However, the way I change POV for each chapter makes this harder. A scene between Elrond and Gil-galad to puzzle out his motivations would be helpful-- even if Ereinion, the handsome bastard, still keeps the man on his council. True “author notes" for me to take away!

I use http://lotrproject.com/ maps to try to keep my what’s and where’s all aligned. I am sure I have failed in aesthetically pleasing ways -- the estimate for how long it would take Elrond to get from Amon Sûl to Lindon is absolutely made up, in part because Lindon is a region and not a city. The TROP hasn't shown us this (I think likely due to a simple IP rights issue), but Eregion is a region and the city we actually see destroyed is Ost-in-Edhil, as I call it in other chapters. But we do not know which city in Lindon Gil-galad ruled from, tbh, so I have three issues here: 1) I suck at maps 2) I don't know how long it takes to move an inch on the map. 2) I can't figure out where I am moving people to and from on the map because Gil-galad was an elven-king of whom the harpers sadly did not write down the name of his damn city despite being declared the High King of the Elves of the West.

As you can imagine, this is all very stressful.

I also have tried to make my troop movements and watchtower locations make sense but maps are hard, and while Tolkien was a good map writer he was an English major. I was an English major. (“That’s right. An English major. I spent $120,000 for someone to tell me to go read Jane Austen, and then I didn’t….to accept a degree in a language I. already. spoke.”)

Very sad. Anyway.

Anarríma is another constellation mentioned in Tolkien’s lore, though we are unsure which of our constellations – if any – it represents.

The dream sequence is the ósanwe connection between them growing. And you know what? I truly do think a little sprinkle of love from Varda because our main characters are making explicitly self-sacrificial and transparent choices. She’s a romantic, too.