#thank you duilin for this idea

[caliawen]

Haunted

Pairing = Glorfindel x Reader

Genre = Teen and up

General ratings = a twinge of angst, fluff, smut implied (?)

Content warnings = smut implied

Word count = 1,4k

Notes = ……hi 🫣 I haven’t posted in a month 🙃 Life has been really busy and I haven’t really had the time (nor the motivation, truthfully) to write. I had a more regular schedule before, but I think for now it will stay… ‘irregular’. I have no idea when or what I will post next. Hope you can understand!

Glorfindel was being haunted. Not by ghosts- no. By the memories of his past life. Of his mistakes. Of his friends. Of their deaths. Of his death. The searing pain of his scalp as he was tugged down and down and down by the Balrog. Of the heat he felt as he fought for his life, for the lives of Idril and Tuor and Eärendil and everyone. His mind replayed those moments over and over, never leaving him a second of peace.

The slight smile of Ecthelion, Rog’s boisterous laugh, Turgon’s exasperation with them, Elgalmoth’s mischievous eyes as he gossiped, Penlod’s hums as he pretended he was listening, Galdor’s excited chatter about the trees and plants he saw, Duilin’s whistles as he walked, Tuor’s love-struck expression as his eyes followed Idril and Maeglin’s shy smile when someone asked him about his work…

Oh, Maeglin… Glorfindel had hated him, for a time. Hated him for giving Gondolin away to Morgoth, giving away their lives.. But that time had passed. In the halls of Námo, Glorfindel had had plenty of time to think before he was reborn. And think he did : about how Maeglin had lost his mother and father. About how his only parental figure was Turgon, who was too busy to really spend time with his nephew. About how he mistook his love for Idril as romantic and not platonic, and how that strained his friendship with her and Tuor. About how rumors spread that Maeglin was a vile being. About how none of them did anything to defend him. About how lonely Maeglin must have been.. About what impossible horrors he felt at the hands of Morgoth and Sauron. About how they never saw how broken Maeglin had returned. About how he didn’t care if he died anymore.

Yes, Glorfindel had thought, Maeglin had done something wrong. And he forgave Maeglin for what he had done, because Maeglin had been a child. A child who needed to be guided and shown love, but no one had stepped up to take up the role.

He thought about you. About your smile, your eyes, your nose. About the way you moved, how you talked and your passions. And he ached. Because he didn’t know what happened to you. He didn’t know if you had died, if you had suffered or if you were still alive. If you had moved on from him.. And that haunted him. His every waking thought, his every dream and nightmare.

Sometimes, Glorfindel dreamed of you. He dreamed that you were laying in his bed, in Gondolin, smiling at him. That you carded your fingers through his hair and told him that you loved him. And when he woke up, his heart ached and he did not know whether to thank or curse Irmo.

Glorfindel had a mission. He was going back to Arda Marred. And he found himself dreading going back. Dreading seeing how everything had changed and how the language had evolved. Dreading how no one he knew would be there. How he would be alone. At least in Valinor, he saw his mother and father. He found himself crying when he realized he did not remember what being embraced by his parents felt like. They took care of him and he couldn’t be more grateful to have them.

When Glorfindel departed, he stood looking at Valinor until it had been long since out of view. He stood still, wondering if he was dreaming. He thought, how ironic, for he was going back. Not anyone else. Him. Laurëfindelë Glorfindel, an emissary of the Valar, granted powers nearly as strong as that of the Maiar. And he didn’t want to go back. Nienna wept for him, for his sacrifice, for his fear and for his love. He found himself appreciating her understanding. She visited him, before he departed. He listened to her words, without understanding : “Dear Child, your heart is being haunted. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and your heart is rendered blind by your pain. But your gut, your gut is still there and strong. Follow it, follow what it tells you. But do not silence your heart and mind for it, listen to them. Listen, but do not follow.”

~~~

When Glorfindel arrived in Middle Earth, he did not know where to begin. He was tired, but could not sleep. He thought about you. About your lips on his, about your laugh, about your hands in his, about the ring he had passed on your finger. He thought and thought and thought. And his heart ached. He walked on paths and in forests, stopping to wash himself in rivers. And he despaired.

It was later that he found Lindon. Days later. Or weeks, he did not know. He met Elrond, someone who would confuse and amuse him for the rest of their lives. Part man, part elf, part maia. He wore the insignias of Fingolfin and Fëanor with pride, daring anyone to confront him about it. He was a gentle soul with a heart of gold and the patience of the wise. He was as kind as summer and Glorfindel found himself basking in his presence, like a flower who had grown up in shadow feeling the sun on itself for the first time.

Círdan was surprisingly mischievous. Subtle jokes, sarcasm and deadpan looks were all things he threw at others, uncaring if they understood or not. He was calm, but could easily terrorize anyone with his anger, like the sea. Board games were his favorite and Glorfindel spent time playing with him, thinking of strategies to beat the older elf.

Gil-Galad was as confusing as he was funny. His father was unknown and he liked to joke around about it. Glorfindel spent time with him when they could, talking about everything and nothing. When Gil-Galad felt Glorfindel starting to lose himself in memories, he would randomly tell a stupid joke. They made Glorfindel laugh each time.

Celebrimbor had been a bit weary at first. Glorfindel almost laughed at the memory of a small Curufinwë Tyelpërinquar staring at him with the exact same look. It wasn’t long until they became great friends. Celebrimbor understood : he, too, was haunted by his past actions and words. Maybe for different reasons than Glorfindel, but the important thing was that he related to how Glorfindel felt. Having his feelings validated was something that alleviated the pain in Glorfindel’s heart.

~~~

Glorfindel walked around Lindon aimlessly and leisurely, taking his time to look around. You haunted him. Everything he saw reminded him of you. From pretty rocks you would have collected, passing by a stand selling your favorite fruit, to someone wearing clothes the exact color of your eyes. His mind played tricks on him, making him imagine hearing your laugh or seeing your beautiful hair swaying in the wind.

He stopped walking at a bookstore, a feeling bubbling up inside him. He looked at the door, curious. His gut screamed at him to enter that store, for some reason. His mind dismissed the feeling, but his heart held hope. They warred against each other. And then, Glorfindel was reminded of Nienna’s words to him. And he went inside the store.

Inside the store, which was cozy and homey, he felt pulled towards a particular bookshelf. His breath hitched as his mind reeled to a stop, his heart pumping wildly. There you stood, browsing the shelf while smiling. Feeling observed, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw Glorfindel, your husband, your soulmate, standing there. Glorfindel was frozen, his mind scrambling and heart singing with joy. You were the one to make the first move, throwing yourself in his arms, ecstatic. Glorfindel hugged you back, a sense of wholeness overtaking his mind and body as he kissed you long and passionately.

The two of you spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, crying and hugging. This long-awaited reunion was a balm on Glorfindel’s bruised and battered heart. That night, under the stars, in a magnificent glade full of flowers, you rekindled your fëas. Glorfindel made love to you slowly and passionately, kissing every piece of skin revealed as he undressed you, worshiping your body with his hands and mouth. That night, in your arms, Glorfindel had no nightmares. He woke up to your sweet voice and felt free. Free of the thing that haunted him. And he smiled.

End notes : Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments & likes are extremely appreciated 🫶

@theladyvanya

[ass-deep-in-demons]

I love Domhall Gleeson so much, you have no idea!!! 😱😍😭❤️ I was already super interested in your wonderfully conceived Derufin before, and now I'm even more determined to bring him into my AU with a significant role! With your permission, of course!

I know he's technically canon, but the character is one of those blank slates that makes him practically an OC (in my view, anyway). When you have the time, could you please give me an info dump of everything you've created for him, as much as you are comfortable sharing? If you don't mind! :)

And speaking of fancasting, is his father Duinhir played by Brendan Gleeson by any chance? 😂

PS. Have fun with BG3! I haven't played it myself, but my sister spent a solid amount of time being lost to that game too. So I understand the fixation. 😂

Thank you so much for sending this ask @sotwk! And thank you for your infinite patience, unfortunately my new job has been hectic so I've had to delay forming a replay, but HERE WE GO!

The second I read your idea about Brendan Gleeson being Duinhir it immediately became my canon also <3.

There are some things about the Derufin/Morwen/Boromir triangle that I've cut out from Under Our Darkening Skies.

"When Lady Morwen had first arrived in Minas Tirith, she had wasted no time to approach Boromir and subtly prodded him on his designs regarding marriage. He was, after all, the most sought after bachelor in Gondor. A bachelor still, in his late thirties, to his father’s eternal chagrin. In response, the Steward’s Heir equally gently had let slip that he had not been planning to take a wife, and she had quickly pranced off to the greener pastures that the City offered."

Because of Morwen initially setting her sights on Boromir (I mean duh), Derufin is still to this day reluctant to make his feelings for her known. He thinks Morwen still prefers Boromir. In reality Morwen's making a pass on Boromir back then had been dictated more by her youthful ambition than any real feelings for him or even any genuine regard. So, Derufin, grow a pair and just ask her out already!!!

Some more trivia:

Derufin's older brother Duilin is prone to brooding and melancholy while Derufin is the funny, carefree one.

Derufin's love for Lady Morwen is rivalled only by his love for his finely made and custom-decorated yew longbow - a gift from Lord Steward given for Derufin's knighting. He has, of course, named the bow after the Lady. Boromir groans loudly whenever he's reminded of it. Derufin is so so so cringe about his bow but also INSANELY good at archery.

Derufin is one of the few people who know about Boromir's fling with the Archivist. He found out accidentally (and has been wishing to erase the image from his brain ever since).

Derufin is actually not the only member of Boromir and Faramir's friend group from their youth. The "pack", aside from Boromir, Faramir, Derufin and Duilin, also included Hirluin the Fair (nicknamed Pretty Boy by Derufin). Faramir befriended Hirluin when he squired in under Hador, the Lord of Pinnath Gelin. Hirluin (who has as of 3018 TE succeeded his late father) is a ladies man and a party animal, so his friendship with Faramir is an unlikely one. However, their bond is strong because of the shared memories from their youth.

I dread what will become of these babies during the Battle of Pelennor. Just know that I am out od my mind and I can promise nothing :D

[hobbitwrangler]

I got an Ask (wish I could credit them but it was anonymous) about which of my OCs or Name Only characters I’d most want to hang out with, and since you have a wonderful and complex collection of OCs and Name Only folks, I thought that would also be a fun question for you! Any idea which of your people would be your choice to hang with for a day?

*Using all my restraint not to put a thumb on the scales by pre-advocating for my personal favorites!*

Oh yeah, I saw that ask! It was great seeing your thoughts on your ocs/name only characters :)

This was really hard but for name-only characters, I'd have to pick the pair who have been dominating my fic-writing over the past few weeks: Ivriniel and Gamling. Ivriniel would be incredibly fun to hang out with - she'd be full of fun gossip and great advice and Gamling is based on one of my great-uncles anyway, so I know I'm going to have a great time hanging out with him. If I could get them to adopt me for the day, I'd be guaranteed free food, entertaining stories and maybe a tour of wherever we are (Minas Tirith, Edoras, Gamling's back yard, I'm not picky).

As for ocs, I'd have to pick Eirlys (Boromir's partner from this fic), Ejder (her step-brother, who I mentioned here) and Miryeman (her stepmother, who I have unfortunately not talked about much) because, much as I love writing their chaotic dynamics, their entire family would be exhausting to be around. These three are in general more measured than Duinhir, Derufin and Duilin, and they get on really well (once they work through all the stepfamily drama). Eirlys embodies the type of person that I want to grow up to be (independent, reliable, mature and positively contributing to those around her) and like you with Eadlin, I think there's a lot I could learn from her. Ejder is just lovely and deserves more love and downtime than he generally gets in his family. And Miryeman is both a hardass and also a big part of the reason Eirlys eventually turns out as well as she does.

Thank you for this opportunity to ramble about my ocs/name only guys, I'd love to hear what your picks would be!💚

[nandekano]

"I sense now it not our time. I do think, when our time comes, it will be warmer and far more glorious than freezing to death on the ice." He paused slightly, realizing he had said when and not if. He had never thought of himself possibly dying before that moment. Now he felt almost resigned to the idea it may came to pass at some point.

Still, never one to dwell on such things, he shook the idea away. No, he was not going to die. Nor was he going to let anyone else die on this journey. At least not if he could stop it.

He turned as Duilin offered the bit of waybread, his blue eyes gleaming at the offering. "That you should be saving waybread for a special occasion is sad testimony in itself." he teased softly before accepting a piece of it. "Thank you."

"I fear we will end before the Ice." They had seen the smoke, yes, and the flames, but even now it seemed like the snow and ice went on forever. As Nande warmed his hands, Duilin managed a grateful smile. "It is hard to have hope; I fear... we do not know what we will find when we reach other side. What if we have traded the Ice for greater peril?" He shook his head, "Ah, but you give me hope, my friend. If you can see an end, then so can I." #nandekano#😢😢😢#ic; duilin

"I have to have hope my old friend. I have to believe this torment will be over soon." After finishing getting the blood moving in Duilin's hands once more, Nande gently slipped his own gloves onto them.

Meeting Duilin's gaze seriously, he allowed the other elf a brief moment to see past the mask he wore for all to see. "If I don't keep my spirits up, if I fall into despair, I just feel like something bad will happen. I feel ... Angry more than anything."

He shrugged then, tucking his hands under his arms to keep them warm. "I can't explain it. Maybe anger is better than hope or despair. Anger seems to keep me moving forward. I will see our people brought to safety."

He sighed then, huddling in closer to Duilin's side to share their collected warmth. "That, or I will die trying to make it so."

@pxnxply

[sauronnaise]

Turtulmo

(Turtle + Ulmo)

I was bored and harrassed people on Discord for cursed ideas. @bird-with-glasses suggested to draw Turtle Ulmo with a toothed tongue, so here we are.

Colours are flashy on purpose because a moron dumped trash in the sea (i.e a silmaril) and Turtulmo accidentally swallowed it. The deep sea now has lighting 24/7, better than the Two Trees, let's bring back the Two Lamps era.

[jhelenivarsimae]

I was tagged by @yellow-feathered-faerie !!! Thanks hun! Now get ready for my chaotic response.

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to know better

Three Ships: Oh man, this is hard. Uhhhh... Galdor/Turgon, the entire queerplatonic fourway angst and sadness that is TMP, Glorthelion. (Bonus because only three ships is TOO LITTLE: Galdor/Nellas, Elenwë/Turgon, Silvergifting, Gil-Galad/Oropher, Duilin/Egalmoth, Anairë/Nolofinwë, Finrod/Amarie/Edrahil, etc. etc.) BUT ALSO, Miya/Alucard, Lux/Ezreal, Lesley/Gusion (ML and League Ships)

First Ever Ship: HMMMMMM... My answer is Harry/Hermione, but we all know the true answer should be Peter Pevensie/Reader 🤣

Last Song: Roar by Katty Perry. My sister is currently obsessed with this song and I have no choice but to listen to it too.

Last Film: Oof this is hard. I think the last film I watched was Sing, once again, I have a bb sister.

Currently Reading: The Wizard of the Earthsea by Ursula Leguin! But I'll be picking up the DA books soon, largely because I am sad about Anders.

Currently Watching: My entire life burning away into ashes of misery. Jk. I'm watching Attack on Titan 🤣

Currently Consuming: CANDIED COCONUT STRIPS! Like guys my mum makes amazing dulce. It's so good and soft and ughhhhhhhh 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Currently Craving: Sleep...and all the sleep...

I have no idea who to tag so if you wanna do this, go for it! You have my express permission to go wild. :D

[griffinsandpeacocks]

GET UP & WRITE! Section 1: “I love you, but I don’t even think I know who you really are.”

“The lunar fall festival is coming swiftly. I would like you to play as the Lunar Queen.” Elrond says looking at Erestor who promptly snaps his quill and destroys the parchment he’d been working on in the resulting splatter of black ink. He sets the now destroyed work and quill aside wipes clean his hand on the rag near by for it and calmly looks up at his old friend and now his trusted Lord.

“Excuse me?” Erestor asks calmly certain he’d misheard as his views of the festivals were clear. He would over see them to be sure they were set up properly and all was in order but he would only stay at them so long as he was required. Which was thankfully a small window of time. 

“I want you to be the Lunar Queen.” Elrond says and Erestor can feel the tick in his brow. He sighs and rubs at his forehead.

“Elrond... You know full well I don’t like being at the center of attention.” Erestor says strained.

“I know. However, I long to hear you sing again, it’s been dark as of late and I feel we should remind everyone here that every last one of us is capable of many things a scribe might know how to play an instrument or perhaps a warrior is a talented poet, the dower chief Councilor is in fact a song bird.” Elrond explains and Erestor sighs and nods. It was a good reason he supposed but to have come now of all times right after Glorfindel had returned to Arda, to serve Elrond and his line. 

“Alright.” He sighs and Elrond beams.

“Good! I’ll tell Linder he’s in charge this year.” Also you’ll manage your parts correct?” Elrond asks and the dark haired elf nods and watches Elrond smile and skip off. He groans and throws the destroyed work in his trash before standing and stalking off to gather what he’ll need. Better it be handled now so he can focus as much as possible on his work leading up to the dammed event. Glorfindel is sheepishly talking with the seamstress when he arrives.

“Elrond cast you as the Sun King?” He asks and Glorfindel jumps and looks at the dark cloud of an elf and nods. Erestor growls and looks at the seamstress.

“I’ll be playing the Lunar Queen have you two settled on designs yet? I’ll help if not. I need this all sorted so I can go back to work.” She pursed her lips.

“Elrond’s doing his thing again?” She asks and Erestor nods and she winced.

“Well so far we know he’ll need blues as not only will they compliment Lord Glorfindel well, they’ll match the sky. Other than that we haven’t discussed quite yet.” She says and Erestor nods. He looks at the other then the seamstress and they go into a flurry of chatter as Erestor helps her design the outfit and soon the design is drawn up, with bits in put from Glorfindel here and there. 

“Now you’ll just need the glittering jewelry to go with it. There’s a few props stored away you can look through or we can find something unique, I’ll show you if you don’t know where those are but first I’ll need to create my costume.” He is agitated still and Glorfindel nods gesturing him to continue as he moves back and gives a nervous grin.

“I’ll help if you’d like, but this is not my strong suit.” Glorfindel says and Erestor gives him a flat look his silver eyes cuttingly cold.

“I would have never guessed.” The darkling says and looks at the seamstress.

“We’ll need dark colors, highlighted with pale silver possibly weave gems in to make stars and their patterns over the outer robes... Hmm... Or I can do that with my hair... I know of a pretty little circlet that should work well enough... It’s been used before but it should serve well. Can you do an outfit based around it? I can either fetch it or draw it for you?” Erestor says and She describes it Erestor smiles and nods.

“Aye that one.” He says and She smiles and sketches a few ideas and shows him and he picks them apart combining them into one out fit she sketches out again and he nods. He leads Glorfindel to the closet that holds all the supplies for those playing the parts for festivals and finds his circlet and smiles at it, swirls reminiscent of water cupping a crescent moon a small gem drop dangling down  imbued to glow like a little star. Glorfindel is looking through the ones made of gold and sighs. He can’t think of any of these with the elegant outfit they had made for him.

“None of these seem to do the costume you helped design justice...” Glorfindel sighs and Erestor looks over.

“They’re rather tacky. I can admit. I can see if any smith has the availability to make something that won’t be as bad.” He offers and Glorfindel smiles.

“It be best someone else... Everyone seems to throw other important matters to the fire when they see me... Why I’ve no clue... I did what any warrior would have to protect his people... Duilin died on his wall with his men to try and stem the tide betrayed like so many... Yet somehow I’m special?” Glorfindel asks sneering and Erestor shrugs.

“They are young, you are a reborn legend. Your sacrifice is not diminished by you’re return nor was it any less than what the others who died gave. You were merely returned to serve Turgon’s line.” Erestor states and the golden elda smiles at him.

“Thank you for the normalcy. it is rare and I hate it that so few can behave as you have.” Glorfindel says and Erestor scoffs.

“An elf’s measure is in their heart I know nothing of yours save tales. Words are cheap actions are not. Prove to me you are those legends and perhaps I may change, other wise you’re a clueless new comer like most fools that come to Imladris.” Erestor states and Glorfindel grins sheepishly as they leave. The smiths happened to be free at least the one Erestor goes to he mostly deals in elf stones but he does make trinkets and looks at the drawing Erestor does of Glorfindel’s costume and agrees to help make a sun styled trinket smiling as he sees the one Erestor’s chosen.

“I’ve an idea for it.” He says and retreats to his workshop and Erestor nods at Glorfindel.

“Have fun with your work. I’ve gotten my costume handled at this point. I’ll talk with Lindir about some minor details for my part and I’ll be done.” He states. Glorfindel thanks him and they part ways. It’s several days till the festival and Erestor is prepared and already done with the fan fare everyone whispering who’s who and no one knows. Except they’re all fully aware Glorfindel is to play the Sun King. Erestor goes and picks up his costume and smiles at it. The robes are trimmed in silver with glittering beads sown on like little stars and the dark almost black blue shimmers faintly showing like moonlight over water. 

He thanks her and takes the pale silver under robes and shirt and the leggings and retreats to his rooms with his costume and tries it all on. He looks like a night related queen or lord of some sort. His hair he pulls back braiding in little beads and smiles a bit snickering as now he sees why Elrond had wanted him to play in this years festival. He had flair for things when called for. Lindir peeks in and whistles and asks him a last few questions as he get’s last minute details in order. 

Erestor goes and waits for the festival to start and has small finger tip claw like silver embellishments he’ll use to pluck the harp he’ll be playing. Glorfindel is hiding elsewhere and Soon the hall fills up and Erestor waits until the silver lights are raised and he steps out and walks to the harp set on the stage and silence falls over the hall. He sits and plucks out a tune as he starts to sing.

“Fear not this night, you will not go astray...” Erestor sings and the bards scattered in shadows play along and he sings softly on voice steadily raising as the song grows and he looks up as he fades and the lights fade as stronger light fills the room and Glorfindel steps onto stage and Erestor can admit a king he looks like his own circlet  the golden one lookes like curling vines and flowers bloom across it to cup a sun that glows with an elf stone. The blue and gold robes are magnificent and regal on the warrior.

“I hear a voice so sweet on too few occasions...” He says it’s his opening line and Erestor folds his hands in his lap and watches him calmly.

“I have sang many times, ray of Arnor. You are astray from her to dally here in twilight.” Erestor responds.

“Too long I ignored the songs I have heard and asked leave to seek out the source for I’ve never heard a fairer voice.” Glorfindel answers and Erestor then stands and walks closer.

“Fair words from a fair face.” Erestor answers back and walks around the warrior appraising and smiling secretive as the elda blushed and looks down before looking up.

“I love you, but I don’t even think I know who you really are.” The golden one says and the silver one laughs and twirls his robes flaring as he offers a hand.

“Then learn, and decide then if it my voice or me you are infatuated with.” He says and Glorfindel reaches out and takes his hand and they turn to the audience and bow. 

The festivities now underway they mingle and talk and Elrond congratulates them both on a masterful performance. The party went on and Erestor found a corner to hide in glowering at those who came to gossip until they left he’s holding a half full glass and sighs as he takes another sip of the dark red wine.

“Can I hide with you here? I have more fans then before and I want to strangle Elrond for it.” Glorfindel asks and Erestor nods to the wall he’s leaning on.

“Think we can hide his body without anyone finding out?” Erestor asks and Glorfindel chuckles.

“Probably not.” He says and Erestor groans and let’s his head thunk back against the wall.

“You... Forgive me if I offend I really don’t mean to... You remind me a lot of Ecthelion.” Glorfindel says and Erestor glanced to the blond and looks down.

“He was my brother. I worked within the castle as a scribe and recorded the histories. So I was largely in the shadows. No one noticed me much, I liked it that way. So I’m not offended. I’m glad to hear I look like him.” Erestor says and Glorfindel goes pale.

“So you...” He fades off and Erestor looks over and smiles softly and places a hand on the elda’s shoulder.

“I know how often you screwed up while training, yes, and don’t, painful memories serve no one when they fester. I blame no one but those who allowed the city to be destroyed. You fought to defend it and died. Even if he didn’t come back, I’m glad his dear friend did. It is nice to get to know you as he often talked about you.” Erestor says and the elda nods and shivers slightly. Erestor frowns and leads them to the gardens and away from everyone to a small terrace that looked over the valley and was well lit by the moon.

“You’ve nothing to fear here Lord Glorfindel. Elrond holds this valley’s safety above even his own heath at times. He would let us know should anything foul come this way.” Erestor says and the golden elf nods taking a deep breath. He stops shivering and Erestor stares out over the silver falls and he sits on the banister and begins to sing softly again. Glorfindel listens with a soft smile as the night slowly fades to dawn.

[sunflowersupremes]

The Dark King of Gondolin: Chapter 1

Maeglin was triumphant. He got everything he wanted.

Except for Idril.

Characters: Maeglin, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Galdor, Enerdhil, Pengolodh

Tags & Triggers: Dark AU, Abuse, Torture

Read on AO3

The halls of the palace crawled with orcs. Maeglin needed them to keep the elves that had survived the sack and siege in line, but that didn’t make it any easier to look at them, even for him.

But even with the orcs, he couldn’t keep the city under control.

Maeglin scowled, then called their commander forward. “Bring me the surviving lords.”

During the siege the forces of Morgoth had been given specific instructions: they weren’t to kill the lords of the city if they could avoid it.

Glorfindel, Galdor, and Ecthelion had all survived and been captured. Egalmoth had been seen fleeing with Tuor and Idril and since most of the House of the Heavenly Arch had escaped, Maeglin hadn’t seen a reason to install a new leader. Rog had initially survived as well, but he’d managed to break out of his prison and Maeglin had killed him, replacing him with Enerdhil as the leader of the House of the Hammer.

Duilin had been as he’d fired arrows from the city walls, so Maeglin had captured his son, Tuilindo, instead, letting him be in charge of the house of the Swallow.

Penlod had fallen, trampled into dust in an alley, so the Houses of Snow and Pillar went to Pengolodh.

Salgant was noticeably absent, but Maeglin had killed the minstrel himself after his forces had rebelled and had the remainder of his house executed by the orcs.

Then, he’d had the remainder of the Lords brought to the Palace. The Tower of Turgon had fallen, but the Palace had remained more or less intact, and Maeglin had taken it over. He could have made the House of the Mole into the palace, but that would mean letting more people into his house than he was fully comfortable with.

Better to keep them away from his halls.

The Lords were clearly still exhausted, many leaning on one another for support, it had been a few days since the battle, but it was clear they hadn't rested. A few still seemed to be wearing their armor and most of them were stained by blood and dirt. The only thing missing was their weapons, which Maeglin had ordered taken from them as soon as he'd won.

Maeglin leaned back in the throne, surveying the room with dark eyes. “As Turgon’s heir, I am now the King.”

It wasn’t a terribly eloquent thing to say, but it got his point across. He hammered it home by adding, “That means that you do whatever I tell you, even if I order you to kill one of your own.”

He motioned to Rog and Turgon’s heads, mounted on stakes along the wall. “Unless you’d like to join your friends.” Turgon’s head was still slightly squished from where they’d dug it out from the rubble, but it got the point across.

“Perhaps we would.” Galdor stepped forward, shaking off Glorfindel’s hand when the Golden Lord attempted to stop him.

Maeglin waved to one of the orcs. “Cut out his tongue.”

“Lord Maeglin,” Glorfindel said quickly. “He may find it difficult to carry out your orders if he lacks a tongue.”

Maeglin held up his hand to slow the orc as he mulled over Glorfindel’s words. He wasn’t willing to admit that the elf had a point, but since he did have a point, he needed to do something.

“Take him to the Square of the King and give him forty lashes. Then leave him tied to a post until I order him released.” Then, just to prove that he wasn’t easily manipulated. “Take Glorfindel with you. He should have ten lashes for speaking out of turn.”

Orcs grabbed both of the Lords he’d indicated, pulling them toward the door with more force than was necessary. “Give the rest of them five,” Maeglin called. “Just because I’m bored.”

He imagined them protesting or perhaps begging for mercy, but instead they walked outside obediently, following the orcs without a word.

Maeglin lounged on the throne, watching them go, telling himself that he was imagining the disappointed look from Turgon’s head.

Unable to sit by himself, with only a few heads to keep himself company, Maeglin strode out to the balcony, leaning on the rail and watching as the orcs striped the lords of their armor, throwing it into a pile on the ground.

A few of the remaining citizens were watching, too afraid to flee as they were pulled forward, one by one, and beaten.

A few of them screamed.

A few seemed to cry.

But not a single one begged.

Even Galdor remained stoic as blood poured down his back. He had to be helped away from the post when his beating was done.

Maeglin growled and stormed down from the balcony, into the Square. He stopped in front of the line of lords, where they were sitting, leaning on one another for support. Almost at random, he chose one, pointing to Ecthelion and saying, “Come here.”

Glorfindel looked as though he was going to argue again, but Ecthelion brushed him off, stepping up to Maeglin and bowing, only a slight tremor giving away the pain he was in.

“What does my King desire?”

Maeglin hadn’t made up his mind as to what he wanted. All he knew was that he was livid his captives had refused to give him the show he’d wanted. He turned back to the orc that had delivered their beating. “Lash him.”

The creature tilted its head, giving Maeglin a curious look. “‘Ow many?”

“Until I tell you to stop!”

Ecthelion stepped to the post without another word, offering his hands to the orc and letting it tie him in place. The orc took it’s place behind him, whip in hand, without another word.

But it wasn’t Ecthelion he watched. It was Glorfindel.

The Golden lord seemed frozen, watching with horror as he close friend was tortured. He winced with each strike of the whip, and grew paler the longer it lasted.

But when he stood, Maeglin knew something had happened. Glorfindel seemed to plan to run to Ecthelion, but Tuilindo stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.

Maeglin glanced over his shoulder. The Lord of the Fountain had gone limp, the shackles on his wrists were the only thing holding him upright. “Glorfindel, see if he’s alive.”

Glorfindel rushed forward, placing a hand on Ecthelion’s throat to check his pulse. “He lives.”

“Pity.”

Glorfindel ran his hand through Ecthelion’s dark hair, and Maeglin could already tell he’d won. As if on cue, Glorfindel asked, “Might I take him to a healer?”

“Beg me.”

One of the other lords gasped. Maeglin didn’t care enough to see which one. Glorfindel barely seemed to think before moving forward, kneeling on the ground in front of Maeglin and murmuring, “Please my lord, allow me to help him.”

“No.”

Glorfindel’s head shot up, his eyes widening. “Please! Lord Maeglin-”

Someone called for Glorfindel to be quiet, but Maeglin kept his eyes firmly on the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. “King. I am your King, and you will refer to me as such.”

“King Maeglin,” he said, clasping his hands together tightly. “He needs a healer or-”

“Or he will die a horrific death,” Maeglin finished, almost gleeful at the horrified expression on Glorfindel’s face.

“Please-”

“One week.” Maeglin turned on his heel. “No, three days. You may have three days to heal him. Bring him to me at the end of it.”

Glorfindel sobbed in thanks as he rushed to grab his friend. Maeglin didn’t look back, striding into the Palace with a grin on his face.

Perhaps he hadn’t gotten Idril, but at least he could finally show his uncle’s precious friends exactly what he thought of them.

The only OC in this is Tuilindo (Quenya for “Spring Singer” which refers to the Swallow birds). The rest are canon characters.

I got the idea for this when I was writing After the Fall.

The Current Lords are: Glorfindel - Golden Flower Galdor - Tree Ecthelion - Fountain Tuilindo - Swallow Enerdhil - Hammer Pengolodh - Snow and Pillar Maeglin - Mole and King

The houses of Harp and Heavenly Arch no longer exist.

[theemightypen]

do you think you could include Eomer and Aragorn with 37? :)

37) “Welcome to fatherhood.” 

What was supposed to be a simple, pleasant, diplomatic visit from Aragorn goes sideways rather quickly. They had scarcely been able to welcome him to Meduseld with bread and salt before Lothiriel had given a quiet gasp, hand flying to her rounded stomach.

The midwives had predicted the child wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks, and that alone has Eomer nearly in a panic, despite Duilin’s assurances that it was perfectly normal, that there was minimal risk to either Lothiriel or the babe.

“Children rarely arrive when we plan for them to,” Aragorn offers, as if that’s in any way helpful. Eomer cannot get the image of Lothiriel–smiling one minute, then nearly white with shock in the next–out of his head, and his friend’s flippant comment only serves to set him more on edge.

Aragorn must read some of the irritation on his face, for he winces, reaching out to clap a hand to Eomer’s shoulder. “I am sorry, brother. I forget you’ve not seen as many births as I have.”

The only births Eomer’s ever witnessed have been of the equine variety, a fact he suspects Aragorn knows. “I think that might be an understatement, Aragorn.”

The older man grins. “It’s just as well that your Master Healer turned down my offer for assistance. I do not know who looked more aghast at the idea: him or your lovely wife.”

That makes Eomer chuckle, despite the lingering panic that’s taken residence behind his breastbone. “They would not even allow me into the room.”

“Neither would Arwen, when Caewen was born,” Aragorn admits. “I suspect both our wives know how little help we would be at the sight of them in pain.”

Eomer’s mirth vanishes. He knows, logically, that childbirth is something that women have lived through for ages over, that there is no better healer in all of the Mark than Duilin, that Lothiriel comes from a large family with no discernable history of having trouble in the childbed…but still, the sense of helplessness makes his heart race. Bema, how can he not help her? How can he sit, useless and idle, while his queen, his wife, suffers to bring their child into the world?

He flinches at the sudden pressure of Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder again. “Come. I will do for you what Legolas and Gimli did for me when I was in your position.”

“Surely you would need another person in order to debate whose song about trees is best?” Eomer suggests.

Aragorn snorts. “I have something else in mind.”

Something else ends up being food, a large mug of ale, and the latest news from the Hobbits.

“Pippin’s courtship of Diamond of Long Cleeve is apparently going well,” Aragorn says. “Well, well-enough, given that she has only dumped a bucket of water over his head twice in the past month, as opposed to the usual six times.”

Eomer rolls his eyes. “Only Pippin would consider that ‘going well’.”

“He’s prone to optimism, yes,” Aragorn agrees. “Though I do feel as though I owe him and Merry my thanks.”

Arching an eyebrow, Eomer asks, “Meaning?”

“If not for their antics during our quest, I doubt I would be half as good at managing Caewen’s mischief,” Aragorn says. “So says Arwen, anyways.”

Eomer grins. He has only met Aragorn and Arwen’s daughter briefly, but there was no denying that the three-year old has an almost uncanny knack for appearing in places she shouldn’t be. He’d nearly choked when her little dark head had appeared from beneath the table in Gondor’s councilroom during his last visit; neither Aragorn nor Faramir had so much as blinked, indicating this was clearly a common occurrence.

Aragorn truly does have a way with Caewen–an easy confidence, a gentleness, that Eomer envies. He has spent time with his friend’s children, yes, but the last time Eomer has spent an extended amount of time with a newborn, it was Eowyn. His memories of that are hazy at best, and heavily feature either his mother or father’s hands helping him hold her in his lap.

Bema, how he wishes his father were here. Eomund, gone more years now than the ones he lived, with his back-cracking hugs, his booming laugh. Eomer knows he is not as light-hearted as his father had been, nor as reckless. There is still so much he would have liked to ask him: about marriage, life, fatherhood.

Lothiriel will make a wonderful mother. He has seen her with children numerous times–her nephew and niece, Eowyn and Faramir’s son, even Caewen herself. Her hands are gentle with them, and the way she speaks to them is never anything less than sincere and interested. But himself, as a father….he can hardly picture it. What can he offer a child? Protection, certainly, love, of course…but that gentleness feels beyond him. He has been a warrior all his life, a leader of men, and yet the thought of a tiny babe unnerves him in a way nothing has before.

“Every father alive has thought those same thoughts before their first child,” Aragorn says, startling Eomer out of his melancholy thoughts.

Frowning at having been so obvious, he asks, “Did you miraculously acquire Lady Galadriel’s mind-reading skills?”

Aragorn smiles, unfazed. “I believe I made a similar face before Caewen was born. Hence Gimli and Legolas’s attempts to distract me.” He pauses for a moment before reaching over to grip Eomer’s hand. “You are not wrong to be afraid, brother. Though my councilors would no doubt disagree with me, there is no greater role than being a parent. Not even the role of king. And it is doubly as terrifying. But also doubly as sweet. You and Lothiriel will be fine, and this babe will be luckier than any I can think of, save one.”

“You know, it’s impolite to brag about your own parenting skills to your friend who is clearly nervous about his own,” Eomer quips back, mood already lightened.

Aragorn shrugs. “It must still be the Ranger in me. A King would never say such a thing.”

Snorting, Eomer raises his mug in his friend’s direction. “My thanks to Gondor, regardless, for once again coming to Rohan’s rescue.”

“I only hope Rohan will return the favor, someday,” Aragorn answers. “Particularly when it comes time to vet Caewen’s suitors.”

That sets him laughing, earlier fears lessened. Had Aragorn not been a warrior as well? And yet fatherhood has come to him with ease. Perhaps it will not be so daunting, after all.

Hours later, Eomer all but shoots to his feet when the door to his solar opens, revealing a weary-but-smiling Wilfled. “Congratulations, Eomer. You have a daughter.”

A daughter. Oh, Bema–a little Lothiriel, with her mother’s bright eyes and dark hair–”And Lothiriel?” He blurts, gripped with a sudden terror that she is gone, the best part of his life, his wife, his queen, his love–

“Fine,” Wilfled answers, squeezing his hand as Aragorn claps a hand to his shoulder. “The midwives are cleaning her up.”

“Cleaning–” He starts to say, anxiety making his thoughts hard to follow–

Wilfled’s expression is wry. “Surely you would not begrudge the mother of your child a small bit of vanity, Eomer? No woman emerges from the childbed looking or smelling like a bed of flowers.”

Reassured, he still makes his way to the door. Before he can reach it, it’s opening again, revealing Duilin, with something–no, someone–cradled in his arms.

“Impatient as ever,” the older man grumbles. “Though I cannot blame you for wanting to meet this little one as quickly as possible.”

Eomer’s hands shake as he reaches for her–his daughter–and she feels so impossibly small when Duilin slides her into his arms, pushing gently at him until she’s settled comfortably. She is a tiny, wrinkled thing, red-faced and with a dusting of hair on her head.

He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Eomer isn’t aware that he’s crying until Duilin sniffles himself, and Aragorn’s hand alights on its now familiar place on his shoulder.

“Welcome to fatherhood,” his friend says, and Eomer can only laugh.

(He supposes his reaction isn’t out of the ordinary, given that Lothiriel bursts into tears as well the minute he appears in the doorway with their daughter in his arms.

It takes them a minute to get settled, but eventually, they maneuver the babe into Lothiriel’s arms, and Lothiriel into his.

“I suppose Aragorn will never want to come back to Edoras for a visit, if this is how he’s welcomed,” she teases, voice tired but warm with amusement.

“On the contrary,” he answers, pressing a kiss to her temple, “how many kings can say a princess was so eager to meet them they insisted on being born early?”

Lothiriel laughs softly, careful not to disturb the babe.

Eomer’s earlier worries seem leagues away, with his family in his arms.)