#the silmarillion fic

[autumnshighlady]

Am I Making You Feel Sick?

Celegorm x reader

summary: Celegorm has taken things too far, and you're both pushed to the breaking point and things get heated

warnings: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY ENDING FIC! celegorm is an asshole and reader matches his energy, borderline emotional abuse

fic based off of the song Strangers by Ethel Cain

word count: 2.8k

request: you are such an amazing author, i am in awe of your writing! if you are accepting silm requests, can i request a celegorm x reader? we all know that this lil meow meow can be very rude and cruel, even to people he loves, especially when he's stressed :((( what if reader is his wife and lately tielko has barely paid her any attention, causing them to argument :(( and in the middle of the argument celegorm being celegorm gets impulsive and throws his wedding ring towards reader :(((( today i woke up and chose angst

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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“Are you listening to a thing I’m saying?” You snapped at Celegorm, patience wearing thin. Your husband was pacing back and forth, his fists clenched and his blue eyes dark. His long, pale blonde hair was unkempt, hanging loosely around his face. Normally, your husband took care in his appearance, weaving and braiding intricate jewellery into his locks. When you had first met Celegorm all those centuries ago in Valinor, he was always dressed immaculately, a playful smirk on his face and a mischievous light in his eyes.

But there was no sign of the elf you married before you. There was no light or kindness in his face as he scowled at the marble floor, muttering to himself in Quenya and ignoring you. “I do not think Finrod will appreciate you wearing holes in his floors,” you added. “So stop pacing and talk to me.”

“We cannot stay here,” was all Celegorm said sharply for the tenth time that evening. “I will not be indebted to my pathetic cousin who is content to let a mortal man pursue that which belongs to my father.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Too naive you were to think that Celegorm and Curufin’s peace and gratitude to their cousin for sheltering them would last. You had lost count of how many times you had been relocated. Your husband was prideful, his refusal to accept help and be seen as weak becoming your downfall.

“And where do you propose we go, exactly?” All patience you had left was gone, and you crossed your arms and stood in Celegorm’s path, halting his incessant pacing. “Morgoth broke the siege, the Pass of Aglon has been taken, we have nowhere else to go. We have to stay in Nargothrond until we regain our strength. We suffered a heavy loss, my love–”

Celegorm’s eyes narrowed. “You have lost nothing,” he hissed. “It is I who have suffered. You weren’t on the damn battlefield.”

His words cut you like a knife. Normally you could handle your husband’s angry moods, fits of rage that would blow over as quickly as they came. But lately they have been more and more frequent, each one leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Centuries of war and an endless quest had slowly chipped away at your husband like stonemasons on mountain rock. He had become a shell of the person he was when you fell in love with him, one that was harder to forgive with each argument.

“How DARE you?” You snapped, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze with equal fire. “You think I have not suffered amidst this ceaseless fighting? You think the constant war, the waiting on the edge of battle and having to pack up and move every decade has not had an effect on me? I may not be on the battlefield, but a piece of me is with you every time you go out there in that armour to try and get back some jewels. All because of that stupid oath.” 

To your fury, Celegorm merely rolled his eyes, turning away and striding over to the table by the bed in the guest room you were currently residing in. He grabbed the pitcher of wine, pouring yet another full glass and speaking with his back to you. “I will not have you whining about what you signed up for by marrying me,” he said dryly, taking a large swig from his goblet.

You scoffed, blood boiling. “Only you would call basic communication ‘whining’. I signed up for a marriage to the elf I loved. The elf who spent his days hunting and riding through the forest, who braided my hair in the morning and kissed me goodnight–”

Angrily, Celegorm slammed the goblet down onto the table, splattering droplets of red wine on the wooden table. They dripped down onto the pristine marble floor like blood from a wound. You flinched, stepping back as your husband stormed over to you. There was a mix of hurt and rage on his face as he grabbed your jaw in his hands, cupping your face. The gesture was anything but tender - it was possessive and dominant in a way that scared you. “Are you saying you don’t love me anymore?” He asked, voice trembling slightly.

Tears filled your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I’m saying that the elf I married and the one before me are not one in the same, and I do not recognize the latter.”

“That wasn’t an answer.” Celegorm said more sternly. “Yet it told me everything I needed to know.”

You shook your head, the grip your husband had on your jaw starting to ache. “Do not be like this. Do not make me your villain just because you want an enemy you can actually defeat and beat down.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you are losing this war, Tyelkormo. And you are taking it out on me and shutting me out because I am a reminder of all your mistakes. I am the face of your guilt and that is causing you to pull away from me because you cannot come to terms with everything you’ve done.” Your throat was thick with sadness, stomach churning at having finally uttered your darkest thoughts out loud. Never in any of your previous fights did you lay the truth so raw for your husband, ripping apart his delusions of grandeur and forcing him to face his reality.

Celegorm’s eyes darkened. “Everything I have done? It has all been for you, to end this quest so we can finally settle down and have a life together.”

You grabbed his wrists gently. “Do not lie to yourself, husband. You cling even now to thoughts of your own glory, and you are blinded by your own ambition.”

Celegorm growled and ripped your hands off of his wrists, releasing your jaw harshly and turning away. As you rubbed your jaw, the son of Fëanor continued his pacing angrily. “I swore an oath to my father–”

“As you did to me!” You yelled, voice echoing throughout the large chamber. Done you were with trying to reason with your husband. His anger and pain had festered like a wound for years, transforming and morphing into a dark and twisted creature that sought only the satisfaction of vengeance.

Celegorm matched your rage, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Why must you insist on my loyalty to one oath and my subversiveness to another?”

“Because one of those oaths is destroying you!” You crossed your arms in defiance.

“I cannot seem to figure out which one that is, as of late.”

You flinched as if Celegorm had struck you. The room felt still, as if any love between you two that was warming the space had been snuffed out. But your tears did not fall, to your surprise. Nor did you feel deeply wounded. You felt numb, as if those words he uttered had switched off all physical and emotional feelings. “If you feel our marriage is the oath that is ruining your life, then why are you still in it?” Was all you said, coldly.

Celegorm ran a hand through his ragged hair. “Why are you? If you feel shackled to this life then why stay with me?”

“Stop turning my questions around because you’re too much of a coward to answer them.”

He smouldered, that fiery rage inherited from his father blazing up within them. “I am no coward.”

“Yes, you are.” You let the words lash out of you, empathy gone. You wanted to hurt Celegorm, to make him feel a fraction of what you felt right now. “You are a coward who is too afraid of what others think. You are a coward who is too afraid to make the choice that you know deep down is right, a choice for which you refuse to make since it is easier to blame an oath you spoke in the fragility of youth all those centuries ago.”

Your husband angrily grabbed the table with the spilled wine, hurling it with all his might against the wall. The wood splintered and shattered with a loud crack, its broken pieces falling to the floor amidst the red liquid. “How dare you–” he began to yell but you cut him off angrily.

“Ah, yes, resorting to throwing things in a tantrum when I force you to see the truth,” you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “You really are your father’s son.”

Celegorm’s face went red, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “That is a compliment. My father was a great elf!”

“Your father was a fool,” you spat. “It was his arrogance, selfishness, and pride that got him killed, and I now see you will suffer the same fate.”

You did not stick around to hear your husband’s response as you brushed past him, slamming the door behind on your way out.

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

The evening air felt good on your skin, the gentle water lapping at your feet. You sat on a flat rock by the edge of one of the cave’s pools, soft lantern light giving the area a yellow glow. It had been hours since your fight with Celegorm, and you had not crossed paths. You knew your husband would not be the first to apologise, not after everything you said. You were well aware that your words were hurtful, yet no guilt burdened your shoulders. It felt oddly freeing to finally explode like that, to throw words in his face instead of just being on the receiving end. 

Undoubtedly, Celegorm was sulking. Your husband’s temper was something you were always well aware of, and usually you were shielded from it. And for the last few decades, you had tried to understand his pain, to look at things from his perspective to justify his anger.

Yet now, you could not even do that. Celegorm’s madness had gone beyond your reach, the weight of his oath and actions dragging him down under the surface. You were no longer sure if you wanted to drown with him. A hundred years ago, you’d have walked through Angband for your husband. But now, you were tired of fighting. Tired of going to bed knowing that since you’ve been with him throughout this whole ordeal, you served as a walking reminder of the life he could no longer have. 

Celegorm would not be satisfied as Finrod’s guest for long, especially after the King allowed the human Beren to seek out a Silmaril with his blessing. You used to be able to predict how far Celegorm would go to get what he wanted, but now you were not so sure. Would he truly usurp his cousin in a mad scramble to gain control? You did not know.

Familiar footsteps sounded behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know that Celegorm was standing behind you.

“Am I no good? He spoke quieter this time, sadness replacing the anger in his voice from earlier. “Am I simply not good enough for you anymore?”

You closed your eyes and sighed, refusing to turn and face him. “It is not a question of being good enough for me, my love,” you said gently. “It is a question of being good enough for yourself, of being the male I know you can be. Your endless pursuit of the Silmarils has been at the detriment of me, your brothers, your soldiers, everyone. Yet you keep pushing as if we do not matter.”

“You don’t understand,” he continued, his voice echoing up the chamber of Nargothrond’s caves. “I have to do this. It matters more than anything.”

“More than me?”

A cruel laugh sounded from behind you. “Ah, so we come to it long last.”

You frowned, pulling your feet out of the water and standing up to face your husband. There was no sorrow in his eyes, his mood changing like a storm amidst the flowery spring fields. “What does that mean?” You asked through narrowed eyes.

“It means I always knew that one day you’d ask me to choose between you and the Silmarils,” he said heartlessly, his voice callous and devoid of love. “I’m surprised it took you this long, in perfect honesty.”

Anger churned in your gut. “You have forced my hand into doing so!” You snapped, voice rising. “Am I supposed to live forever in your shadow as a slave to your mindless choices? To never prioritise my own happiness or seek a life outside of war and quests?”

Celegorm gritted his teeth. “Again, you knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“But did you know how far it would go? How many losses you would suffer, how many battles you’d lose and how many fortresses would be taken? If you had, would you have married me?”

“I love you!” Celegorm insisted, his blue eyes wide and wild. “I have always loved you and wanted you by my side. It matters not what we face as long as we are together.”

“Do you not hear your own words?” You were yelling once again. “The horrors we have faced have been partially your own doing, you fool! We have been made refugees Eru knows how many times already, been rationing food and living in fear all because of a war you did not start but have certainly helped uphold with vigour!”

“Keep your voice down, many listening ears are turning our way.” Celegorm hissed, glancing around and the shadows of elves scurrying past you in the distance, no doubt wanting to get away from the yelling.

“Good, let them hear us,” you said sternly. “Now they’ll see you exactly as you are.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “And what is it, exactly, that I am, dear wife? A kinslayer? Murderer? Thief? I am many things but a liar is not one of them. I’ve always shown you exactly as I am, and you have accepted me until now. What has suddenly changed that entices you to hold this against me now?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “Because you have not seen the error of your ways and refuse to change! I had hoped that as time went on you would mend that broken part of yourself and start choosing the path out of this darkness, but lately you have been rejecting that choice at every turn.”

“Everything I have done has been for a reason! There has been no error of my ways, nor do I need to change! I am simply doing what I swore to do and should not be punished for ensuring I see it through! You have not seen what I have seen, and yet you judge me for my actions. You have not been my wife as of late but a burden I must carry around, one that I can never make happy.” Celegorm’s rage was almost animalistic, like a wounded lion lashing out with anger. “If I’m such a horrible male, then go find someone better.”

With his final words, he yanked off the sapphire wedding ring from his finger, throwing it into the pool. You exhaled in shock, something inside of you breaking as the small but steady stream swept the ring away, carrying it into the deep crevices of the rock never to be seen again.

With a deep sadness, you looked into his eyes. The anger had subsided, and they were now wide as if for the first time in the entire argument, he couldn’t believe his actions. It was like a candle inside of you had been snuffed out - no longer was a scrap of the elf you fell in love with residing within the one before you. The Celegorm you loved was truly gone, replaced by a dark, angry shell of who he once was.

“You’re pathetic,” was all you whispered in disgust as the shock on his face changed into desperation.

“Shit, wait,” Celegorm pleaded, grabbing your hand and trying to hold it within his own large ones. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yes, you did mean it.” You ripped your hand out of his grip before turning to leave. After a few steps, you paused, as if some final hope within you wanted him to follow.

But he didn’t.

You sighed, turning to face your lover for the last time. “Consider yourself freed from the burden of our marriage,” you said coldly. “I hope you get those Silmarils you seek so desperately, and when you finally hold them all you can think of is what it cost you. And as the blood on your hands from the kin you have slain stains their precious light, and all that you hold dear is gone and turned to ash, I pray that you think back on our courtship. I hope the image of me haunts your every waking moment; and not even Lórien himself can banish the ghost of my memory, even as it walks amidst your dreams. I hope the mere thought of me makes you feel sick until the end of time itself.”

[onthesandsofdreams]

Ever Love [2/?]

Fandom: The Silmarillion Pairing: Celebrimbor x Reader Prompt: #28 from @fictober-event

On AO3

"'Just say what you want to say Tyelpe', what kind of advise is that?" Celebrimbor grumbled to himself as he went over paperwork in his desk.

"How can I tell Y/n that I am mad about them? How could I properly express my affection and devotion to them? I could do piece of work they asked of me, I would give them my very soul and yet… words are not enough. I am not my uncle Maglor, who could have them swooning in no time with truth spoken. I am no bard to properly express my love.

"I wish I could have some of the courage that my grandfather had, to simply stand in front of them and tell them what lies in my heart. Alas, I did not inherited that fire. If only I could borrow it, only just so I could tell Y/n that I love them."

A cough made his head snap upwards, only to find you standing there at the door, a tray of food in your hands. He felt his eyes widen, how much had you heard?! He cleared his throat, hoping that his voice did not quiver when he spoke. "Yes, Y/n?"

You walked in, set the tray in the small table he kept in his office. And then, you walked towards him, beamed and said, "I love you too, Tyelpe."

He felt his heart fit to burst.

[urwendii]

rating: E

wordcount: 3,794

Summary:

Kneeling on the ground he slammed his fist down, feeling shame and anger alike mixing with the pain. Eönwë had spent the last thousands of years in the comfortable ignorance of Aman, whilst knowing full well there would come a day when the Last Battle would arise - and what had he done in order to prepare for it? Longing for every sunrise and sunset, wishing but never acting - pacing like a fool? Dark thoughts kept colliding within his mind, blinding him to all else except despair. 

it's finally here! & please mind the tags for this chapter.

[dynamicdiplomacy]

New Fic Alert!

The Mirth and Melancholy

Fandom: Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion

Characters: Elrond, Celebrían, Glorfindel, Ecthelion of the Fountain, Turgon, Melian, Thingol, Maiar

Relationships: Elrond/Celebrían, Glorfindel/Ecthelion of the Fountain

Summary: They've sailed out of the harbour, they're on their way. So why does it feel like there is more than just an ocean in the way of peace. Why does it feel like there's a whole lifetime?

Elrond, Glorfindel, and Ecthelion have left Middle Earth for the glorious homecoming they have been promised in Aman. But the path is never easy, not when there's a ghost involved.

The Sequel to The Tragic and Peculiar

Tags: Ghosts, Ghosts in Aman, Hurt/Comfort, Sign Language, Mute Character, BAMF Elrond, Friendship, Whump, Fourth Age, Angst with a Happy Ending, Can't spell Hurt/Comfort without 'ouch', Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Fall of Gondolin

This fic is fully completed and will be updated weekly.

Available on AO3:

[searchingforserendipity25]

finarfin, snow and trust (if you want!)

Thanks so much @that-angry-noldo! This was the prompt I didn't know I needed on the bus ride home.

-

Taniquetil froze the blood before it fell. 

Arafinwë considered the cut. A cold indifference filled him. He had thought it would be wrath, the course his heart would take for life at the sight of such a thing - it had been, once. But the heights of Valinor purified much. 

“Art wounded, King,” said the Emissary. Great diplomat that he was, wise beyond the wisdom of Eldalië, he knew well when it was right to state the obvious. 

“Tis nothing,” said Arafinwë. Hurt was no stranger to him. He had done himself worse injury, training in the long halls where he was king, down in fair and fretful Tírion. “Again.”

Eonwë's wings rustled. The false stillness of the sparring ring shuddered against itself. Outside its limits the snow danced madly, watching anxiously, eager. The wind howled, a single tuneful treble of a song. Manwë's wind, that saw all and in all sought harmony. 

Such was his alarm, that some snowdrift broke through. Arafinwë shivered; the cold but more than the pain, made him weak at the knees and tender about the teeth.

“Thou art hurt,” said Eonwë, the very voice of the wind, mighty enough to make itself gentle. “Allow it not to be so.”

 Arafinwë had bent his body and shaped his spirit to a goal so similar to the Valar's devotion to light, it was almost divine. The task he had chosen - demanded, in truth - took much from him, but nothing could be given if he was not willing to bleed for.

One had to be willing, and demanding, and true, if there was steel to be had in the name of trust, sentinels in the breezes that came bearing tiding from the East, a wise and beloved Emissary to be given to warwork for the use of the Children. Arafinwë's body was the least of the resources he meant to command, once the time came. He demanded much of it. 

 The snow fell upon the redness, gentle as a kiss.

Already the trust was true: it netted skin and tendon, fastened his wound nearly unblemished. Arafinwë had known it would be so.

It did not take long. He held out his hand and flexed his palms. Only a glimmer of frost remained to show the injury, and a sinking chill in his marrow up to the elbow. 

Arafinwë raised the spear again, weighted the perfection of its balance in his palm. He could bear to be gracious, had staked continents on his games of trust and gratitude. It was difficult to account for the high wind in the heights; his cheeks prickled with a warmth both unbidden and unwanted.

When he raised his head Eonwë was watching him, as always he did: even and patient, absorbed in the watching as if it were almost a pleasure. His eyes, that saw into spirit as if through a thin mist, were gentle indeed; and Arafinwë knew, then, that the trust was well-warranted, that Eonwë never would  mention the king’s tears, which were not due to the rending of the flesh. 

One trust begot the other. Such was politics, and the opening of the heart. Arafinwë was king; he had not the right to make a fine distinction.

 “That is better. Again,” he repeated, the thing that was not wrath howling beneath his every courtesy; and Eonwë raised his blade, obeying.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

The Night before Christmas

@lycheesodas, as promised, here is my take on your blorbos...

-> Link to the art (go like and reblog please)-> Also, commissions are open, so please consider commissioning this amazing artist!

I hope you'll like this <3

Words: 2k

Characters: Beleg x Mablung (Modern!AU)

Warnings: None, just fluff

Mablung rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he tightened the last knot of the gold ribbon around the deceivingly small box; the sweater Beleg had gotten him was slightly scratchy and altogether too warm, making him sweat even more as he stood fidgeting by the kitchen counter, eyeing his present critically.

He did not doubt for a single second that his boyfriend would tear the paper off unceremoniously anyway, but Mablung had an orderly mind and – when it came to something so monumentally important – he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

With a satisfied nod, he picked the discreet parcel up at the very moment a loud bang in the hallway informed him of the arrival of his beloved in the flat. Mablung had been relieved when Beleg had decided to spend the afternoon prior to their little intimate celebration at his unofficial second job, babysitting Túrin the Terror, for it had given Mablung the time to tidy up their flat and wrap his gift with the slow, meticulous care he liked to apply to things that mattered to him.

A sharp tug at the back of his sweatshirt reminded him belatedly of just how fast and noiselessly Beleg could move when he had a mind to; Mablung perforce spun around, smoothly hiding the box behind his broad back. He was taller than Beleg and so he almost collided with the hand his beaming boyfriend was holding over them; as he let his eyes drift upwards, he glimpsed the mistletoe Beleg was brandishing as if it was a rare treasure.

“You’ll have to kiss me,” the silver-haired imp crooned, “it’s the law.”

“It is a tradition,” Mablung replied sternly, “which is quite different from an actual decree.”

They had been dating for too long for Beleg to miss the playful sparkle in his eyes though and so he was not surprised to see that rosy, overactive mouth purse in expectation of the demanded kiss.

“Come on,” Beleg whined, letting his dense lashes flutter seductively as he stepped even closer to his partner. “You cannot wear those work pants at home and expect me to forego your sweet kisses. You evil siren!”

Uttering a choked chuckle, Mablung allowed himself to tear his gaze from the puny bough of waxy greenery; he was never entirely sure where Beleg got those ideas from, but he couldn’t deny that it filled his chest with welcome warmth whenever his boyfriend accused him of looking especially good on purpose.

In his own humble opinion, Mablung merely looked like himself and the fact that this was enough to make Beleg go cross-eyed with admiration at times was one of the countless reasons he held on to a little box so tightly that the edges cut into his fingers now.

As he waited for Mablung to finish his thought, a nervous expression flitted over Beleg’s face as his eyes went to the old cabinet sitting in the corner of the room. “It’s for good luck,” he explained softly, “and I need all the luck I can get tonight!”

Just as Mablung was finally about to give in to Beleg’s irresistible pleas though, he felt a nimble, swift hand shoot around his body.

“What do we have here?”

“No,” Mablung cried out, “it’s not yet gift-giving time! You really need to work on your patience! We had agreed on midnight, and I’d hold you to that!”

“Spoilsport!” Beleg cried out dramatically, thankful for the distraction; unfortunately, he was only too acutely aware of Mablung’s iron will when it came to these things; a covenant had been arranged and Mablung would not budge unless he absolutely had to. “Aren’t you at all curious about what I’ve gotten you?”

“Trickery?” Mablung asked with an amused smirk as all but saw the joyous energy radiate from Beleg in shivering waves of excited impatience; evidently, he was himself very much looking forward to seeing Mablung open the gift he had gotten for him. “I cannot wait to find out, my sweet love.”

“Evidently, you can,” Beleg muttered but, upon seeing the nervous glint in Mablung’s eyes, he guffawed loudly and pushed himself up on his toes to capture the twitching mouth in a warm kiss. “Good to be home, I’ve missed you.”

Mablung’s heart did a quick somersault; no matter how often Beleg spoke such spontaneous words of love and devotion as if doing so was the easiest and most natural thing in the world, his much more reserved boyfriend never was quite used to the rush of happiness and helpless affection surging through him.

He should have been warier of the entrapment of Beleg’s charm though for, when that wily seducer made another dash for the parcel, Mablung only managed to salvage his jealously guarded surprise by throwing his arm up and holding it out of Beleg’s reach.

“You’re being puerile,” he chided nervously; he had spent so much time planning the minutiae of the scene that his thoughts had petrified around that crystalline moment of bliss, and he found that he was terrified that it would be ruined by unpredicted chaos or inadvertent mischief.

Complaining under his breath, Beleg tugged and prodded until they fell onto the thankfully nearby couch in a heap of limbs and a cloud of pealing laughter.

“You love me though,” Beleg grinned up at him, almost going cross-eyed with trying to never let the package out of his sight.

“That I do!” A slew of passionate, loving kisses followed which did nothing to take Beleg’s sharp mind off the mystery at hand; as much as he enjoyed lazing around in Mablung’s arms, he could neither deny nor shake the quiet hum of excitement that little box had set off in his breast.

“It’s almost midnight, Mablung, my sweet, steadfast, serene love. Take pity on my poor, impatient heart and let me see!”

Shaking his head, Mablung set his precious gift on top of an oaken armoire and returned to the kitchen to check on the food he had set into the oven to warm up; he had paid a hefty fee for their favourite restaurant to deliver a dish Beleg adored.

As he pulled a sinfully expensive bottle of wine – a courtesy from Melian – out of the fridge, Mablung also allowed himself a moment to rest his forehead against the cool wood of the kitchen cupboards to gather his thoughts.

His breath was gusting out in short, shallow puffs that had nothing to do with the brief tussle in the living room; he was both heartened and thrown off balance by the boundless enthusiasm of his boyfriend.

They were doing so well and, as a cautious man, Mablung was afraid to disturb that fragile balance by the monumental decision he had taken. He did not doubt that Beleg loved him, but did he love him enough?

Beleg loved the sun and the open forest in summer, but he could just as happily watch the snowflakes dance on the icy wind for hours; it was nearly impossible to dampen his zeal and hunger for life and all it had to offer.

How could Mablung dare try to bind one such as him to his own tedious, painfully monotonous existence?

He was about to call the whole thing off when Beleg appeared in the doorframe, sporting a crooked grin and cradling an evidently injured arm.

“What?” Mablung cried out in dismay but stopped his advance when Beleg proudly brandished the box.

“Is this what I suspect?” Beleg asked breathlessly, his keen glance sweeping over the flushed face of the one he loved most and the absurd wine he was holding as if to strangle the cold glass bottle.

“Yes,” Mablung sighed and dropped to one knee.

“Don’t! These are your best trousers!” Beleg cried out in shock; his mind was spinning wildly, unable to fully comprehend the picture before him. There he was – serious, sturdy, solitary Mablung – kneeling on the cold kitchen floor in his grotesquely festive sweater and his star-spangled socks, and his eyes were alight with a thousand doubts and hopes that shimmered like a meteorite shower on the rippling background of his deep, undying love.

“Wine,” Beleg croaked and sniffed, “and you’ve gotten my favourite dish as well. Will you be lenient and show me grace? You may keep the box until midnight but, I beg you, let me have the actual gift.”

Mablung frowned slightly, tilting his head back to drink in the vision of Beleg, triumphant and yet solemnly subdued all of a sudden.

“Give me the words that – I have no doubt – you have prepared for this moment. I think I’ll die of asphyxiation if you don’t speak soon!”

Taking the box from Beleg and handing him the bottle of wine so he could apply its soothing, smooth coolness onto the growing bruise creeping up his arm, Mablung took a deep breath.

“I have ever been told that I am rather dull,” he then started, “but you seem to be endlessly amused and delighted by me. For all the flaws I cannot deny and all the faults I am blissfully oblivious of yet, I can vaunt that I am loyal to a fault and…I love you more than you’ll ever even know.

Your world is movement and colour, but mine is made up of duty and honour…and you. Mostly you. You are more than my light, more than mere happiness in a wonderful body, more than a burst of life in the drab grey of the monotony of existence. You are home. Will you marry me?”

He did not undo the ribbon or present Beleg with the discreet band of white gold and frozen starlight yet, he simply sat – motionless – like willing prey or a holy offering sacrificed to some obscure deity.

“Oh, you silly, old fool,” Beleg laughed, launching himself at Mablung and toppling both of them over. “How ceremonial you sound for a question that easy!”

“Mind the wine,” Mablung admonished instinctively as he tightened his arms around Beleg’s body protectively.

“Forget the wine,” Beleg jeered. “Yes, yes, of course. A thousand times yes. If anyone is home – constant, reliable, an ever-fixed star to guide my steps – it is certainly you, my darling.”

Tenderly, he threaded his finger into Mablung’s silken hair to pull him into a soft, melting kiss into which he willed all the bundled, focused, concentrated love he usually dispersed so haphazardly.

Somewhere outside, a church bell chimed.

“Can I see the ring before we eat?”

“Before dinner?” Mablung asked, pretending to be shocked by this set of priorities.

“I’d choose you over food anytime,” Beleg whispered insistently, “over sleep, over comfort, over safety. You know that, right? You are the most important element in my life and, without you, nothing else means anything anymore anyway!”

Relieved beyond what words could express, Mablung handed the small box back and – scrambling to his feet elegantly – half-turned to the oven to retrieve their dinner.

The smile breaking on his face like the light of day at midnight was fast and blinding though as he heard Beleg breathe in sharply before cheering loudly, screaming – at the top of his lungs – that the ring was perfect and that he undoubtedly was the happiest bugger alive.

It was not what Mablung had predicted but – after all these years – he was hardly surprised by that and the way Beleg managed to turn his most assiduous of plans into miracles, full of earnest beauty and astonishing revelations, was another one of the truly endless reasons for this chaotic midnight proposal.

A second later, Beleg jumped onto his back to hug him with his whole body, peppering haphazard kisses onto every patch of bare skin he could reach. “You’ll never believe what I’ve gotten you!” he cried and laughed until Mablung could feel cool tears of endless mirth fall onto his neck.

“I,” he declared in accents of mock arrogance, “can wait until after dinner.”

“Ha!” Beleg exclaimed, tightening his hold. “We shall see about that.”

So, this goes to show that I am a glutton for Modern!AUs...You see I've had a lot of fun with this <3

Thank you for being such an amazing artist and enabler! I love you lots!

[stompandhollar]

The Past Comes Back With The Light In the Morning ✧ؘ༄ؘ ˑꔫ༻✧

A/N: Here’s a sample from a fic I’m working on, that explores the dynamic between Maedhros, Maglor, Elros, and Elrond. It will span multiple chapters, and cover the end of the first age into the second.

Pairings, Themes: Will include a little bit of past Russingon, obvi, and lots of queer interpretations of the text. Enjoy :) <3 ( TW- descriptions of the deaths of Eluréd and Elurín.)

Characters: Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond, Elros

Word Count: 1,000

CHAPTER ONE

Maedhros was a sight to behold. Towering in stature and red of hair, his form was worldly and beautiful. Called Maitimo for his broad build, he stood out among his six brothers. The eldest son of Fëanor’s deep copper hair swept to his ribs, and coupled with his narrow, straight nose and low brow, he did not fashion himself as approachable. Where his right hand had once been, there was a scarred and maimed limb.

He hadn’t wanted to storm the city. Or, perhaps he had. Either way, semantics aside he had certainly awoken that morning with no desire to cut through his own brethren by the tenfold. But bound to their oaths, he and his brothers swept the woods surrounding Sirion for their young cousins. Hounds tracked their sent, and horses galloped after them in pursuit of whatever trail they may have found. With a heaviness, they trampled the forest floor, the swords they carried already dirtied with fresh blood, brandished in wait for their next meal.

“Maitimo,” called Maglor, dismounting with a crunch of his boots against dry leaves. “They’d have gone home to their mother as soon as they heard the warning bells. If we return to the city–”

“Or to the shore. The sea guard may be carrying them to their father as we speak.”

Maglor nodded, raising a hand to their men. “Divide yourselves. Go to the sea, and go to the keep.” His raven hair hung loose, not braided back in intricate patterns like his brother’s. The horsemen followed his instructions as soon as the commands left his lips, and within a moment, the two were left alone under the trees. Quiet crept in slowly.

Maglor sheathed his blade. “Thank Eru. With all their clamour the twins would have heard us from ten miles away.”

“Five miles.” Maedhros trilled with a smirk. “They are only half-elven, onóro melda.”

Maglor crouched low to the ground, laying the back of his hand flush against the dirt. Memories plagued him, dancing through his amber eyes like shadows flickering through a fire. Years before, caked in muck and stinking of decay, two small bodies had lain limp beneath an oak tree. Their bloated faces etched themselves in Maglor’s mind; their own microbes having eaten through their intestines and worked their way to the surface.

“Funny.” Maglor mused.

“What’s funny?”

“I believe we’ve done this before.”

Maedhros bristled. “Eluréd and Elurín were long dead before we even started searching for them.”

“Two sets of dead twins in the woods,” Maglor hummed to himself, crafting a gruesome tune as he walked along. “Both never to reach adulthood—”

“And to think I believed leaving your gondolin at home would prevent your morbid little melodies.”

“How do you want to pass the time? The forest is deep and the day is almost over. We’ll be searching all night,” Maglor pushed a collection of leaves out of his way, impaling one with his sword. “Besides. You aren’t exactly entertaining company.”

A sound.

A crunch of leaves. Maedhros put up a hand, and Maglor fell instantly silent.

The brothers exchanged a look, and sheathed their weapons. Narrowing in on a corner tucked beneath the green, there was a hint of a tunic peaking out into view. Maedhros lowered his hand, and both elves crouched low.

✧༺ꔫˑ༄ؘ ✧ ༄ؘ ˑꔫ༻✧ ✧༺ꔫˑ༄ؘ ✧ ༄ؘ ˑꔫ༻✧

In the distance, in the brush, Elros gripped his twin brother’s hand tightly. He knew the armor of the elves who crouched in front of them, obscured partially by branches and leaves. The Fëanorian star was unmistakable– he had seen it all his life. Crossed out in history books, etched into old stonework, welded onto abandoned armor. It was an ever-present and abhored symbol in Sirion, and he had spent many an afternoon asking his septa questions about it’s origins. She was an elder woman with a fiery spirit, and in many un-lady-like words, she told him of the Oath of Feanor and of the brothers that took it up.

He knew that Maedhros was cruel, tempered, and unyielding. A kinslayer twice over, maimed from a punishment he should have never escaped. That the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, both melded together into a singular, undeterred obsession with recovering his father’s Silmarillian jewls. Maedhros was otherworldly– unlike even the great Elven Lords that Elros had grown up knowing. His septa had told him that the gods had marked him far apart from other elven kin. That he had escaped death too narrowly, too quietly, and was rebirthed as one who has passed through death into ecstasy. As one that returns different from realms of the dead. Of Maedhros, he knew only what she told him, and she had told him every gory detail.

By all accounts, the boy reasoned, this was the end.

“Have you killed our mother?” He spoke out plainly– boldly, for a boy only six years grown. The men crouching outside the bushes caught his eye through the shrubbery.

“She lept from her balcony. Drowned.” The shorter, darker haired one said. Elros felt Elrond’s grip tighten on his fingers.

“Ah. I see.” He answered, pushing his chin out, voice breaking only slightly at the news. “Then, I suppose you’ll want to kill us, too.”

“One would suppose that, wouldn’t they?”

Elros stepped from the brush, tugging his brother behind him. “Make it quick, then.” He shut his eyes, and puffed his chest, readying himself for the blow. Elrond, quieter than his counterpart, kept his eyes open.

The schuth! of metal easily sheathing itself into the soft earth cut the silence. The sound inclined Elros to open his eyes again; eyes that widened in shock to see the hilt of Maedehros’ sword an inch from his own nose, blade half submerged in the forest floor. Behind him, Maglor had done the same.

Elros knew only what his septa had told him, and she had not told him that “Fëanorian” had once been, in days of old, synonymous with “honor”.

Maglor’s hand was extended. “Come. I’ll help you onto the horse.”

[niennawept]

hit me with your untitled document!

👀 👀 👀

It is the very beginning of an Eol/Aredhel poetic, gothic romance with Hades/Persephone vibes (but like actual mythology, so dark)? Just kind of a mood board made out of words at the moment. No title because ??? what to call this thing.

Thanks for asking!

[blueflipflops]

Have you ever read a really good fic then looked up the author's other works and lo and behold a treasure trove of fics that are exactly your kind of shit? Because god that is what euphoria feels like. I love you random fic writers i unexpectedly find

[fawningbruises]

To see their light, reflected in your eyes.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Broke: Gondolin was a serious, conservative, prudish city.

Woke: The Gondolindrim were stuck in one city for 400-ish years with no Morgoth threatening them and basically nothing do to. If anyone in Middle-Earth was entertaining themselves with festivals and ragers, it was them. We're talking drunken moshpits, people getting thrown into fountains, endless romantic intrigue between most of the Lords, the whole nine yards.

Bespoke: The Gondolindrim were party animals but they all agreed that what happens in Gondolin stays in Gondolin and never talked about the parties after the fall; which is why Gondolin gets a reputation for being so serious and boring. Most of the Gondolindrim, and especially Turgon, think this is hilarious.

[autumnshighlady]

Love You For Infinity

Elrond x adopted daughter reader

summary: you’ve been in a depressive episode for weeks, and your thoughts turn dark - luckily, elrond is there to help guide you 

warnings: depression, self harm thoughts, mention of suicide, VERY bad mental health

word count: 3.5k

requests: It’s taken me a year to finish this oneshot due to my mental health. It was a bit difficult to write for reasons I won’t get into, so i apologize for the long wait. If you can relate to the reader in this fic at all, please know that you are not alone, and you are loved <3

IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE AND ARE IN NEED OF HELP PLEASE REACH OUT TO A PROFESSIONAL OR A HOTLINE

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You wandered through the gardens, feeling the warm sunlight soak into your skin. It was a beautiful day – the flowers were in full bloom, their scents filling the spring air, countless colours surrounding you as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The aged moss and lichen draped the marble statues and carvings along the gardens, an ancient beauty contrasted with the new growth. But you could not bring yourself to enjoy the scenery, nor stop to smell the flowers you loved so dearly. For all their vibrance, they seemed dull, muted, despite their bright colours. The glowing sunlight that so many other elves basked in felt too hot, too invasive. The sweet spring scents were choking you, stifling their air in your lungs as you tried to breathe.

            You had once loved wandering through the gardens of Imladris. Now you felt nothing but indifference, the guilt of losing such a joyous area of your life gnawing at your gut. You used to spend hours in these gardens, soaking in the scenery and revelling in the nature around you, content to simply sit on one of the benches or lay down in the grass and let the sounds and scents of the environment wash over your mind.

Now, you could barely stand to walk through the familiar path. Still, it was an improvement, considering it had taken all of your strength to get out of bed this morning. The task alone was daunting, yet you felt no sense of accomplishment. Most days had been like this lately – sleepless nights tossing and turning, yet no motivation to get out of bed when the sun rose, no drive to get yourself ready for the day. Instead you would simply lay there, sheltered in the confines of your room, closing off the rest of the world.

You hated every minute of it. You hated the fact that you felt so useless, the weight of simply getting up being too much to bear. You loathed that no matter how hard you tried, you could not bring yourself to join your friends for breakfast or pick up a good book and read. You hated feeling so weak, so empty – your brain screamed at you to stop wasting away, to get up and do something, anything. But you just could not.

Hours of pondering and crying into your pillow was not enough to figure out why you felt this way. Nothing bad had happened, no traumatic event to set off this episode of pain and depression that felt neverending. You were simply an elf from the Woodland Realm, who had been sent to and raised in Rivendell after the darkness began to creep into what was once Greenwood the Great. You worked as a scholar in the libraries of Imladris, safe within the House of Elrond. You had not seen some violent war, as some of your peers had, nor had you known anyone close to you who died or suffered tragically. Your life was pretty much perfect, your days amounting to reading, art, and simply wandering the grounds – none of which warranting the pain which now seemed to have spread through your entire chest, threatening to cave it in and shatter every piece of you.

You brushed my finger against a rose carelessly, letting your hand wander down from the soft petals to the thorny stalk. You felt a sting of pain, a thorn snagging your pointer finger. Instead of wiping away the blood, you just stood there and dragged your finger further down the thorn, creating a longer red line, content to let droplets of blood spill onto the marble pavement, deep red contrasting with the white floors. At least I could still feel something, you thought bitterly, relishing in the pain slightly. At least you had not gone completely numb.

“My Lady?”

You turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Lord Elrond was standing a few feet behind you, clad in his regal silver robes. He wore no crown, yet still possessed that regal authority that he was so renowned for. You felt your gut twist as you saw the concern flood over his face as you turned your body to face him.

You could see in his eyes he knew something was wrong, but your body gave you away entirely. You knew your eyes looked hollow, framed by dark circles that sucked the life out of your face. Your dress was slightly too big, evidence of the weight you had lost in the past few weeks as you isolated yourself in your room. A sick part of you delighted in it, always having been insecure of your size. Your hair which was usually well-kept and styled hung loosely around your face, knotted and frizzy in some parts as it cascaded down your back.

To cover your shame, you bowed your head in formality. “My Lord Elrond.” You managed to say, staring at the pavement as you inclined your head, eager to get away from his piercing gaze.

Elrond sighed, visibly attempting to soften his gaze. “My dear, must I remind you again that you may simply call me Elrond?”

“My apologies, my Lord.” You mumbled, straightening up and finally meeting his gaze. He did not correct you. Instead, his eyes travelled down to your hand and the blood that still dripped from it.

“You are hurt.” Elrond stated, his eyebrows furrowing. He stepped forward, a gentle hand reaching out as if to assess the wound, but you found yourself stepping back.

“I am alright,” you said quickly, moving your hand back to your side. The blood smeared your midnight-blue robes, but you did not care. “I simply snagged my finger on a thorn. A careless mistake, that’s all.”

Elrond’s eyebrow raised, and dread filled your stomach as you knew he didn’t believe a word you said, or at least he did not buy the too-casual excuse you pulled out of your ass. Your relationship with Elrond had always been relatively close – as close as one can have with an elven Lord of Imladris. When you had arrived in Rivendell as a child, Elrond had ensured you were well cared for. He became involved in your life – often bringing you gifts and trinkets, showing you around the place. Reading to you evolved into him teaching you how to read, sitting at the table with you and his children at dinner. Elrond had taken a special interest in you, always finding a way to make sure you had everything you needed beyond what a normal elven lord would do for their people. Sometimes you wondered if this was due to him losing Celebrían right before you arrived, as if his protective instincts had doubled with wife’s departure to the Undying Lands. He could not spare her from torment, but he could do his best to make sure you never met the same fate. Things changed a bit as you grew older – not wanting to impose on the family he already had before you, you found yourself growing a bit distant. You had no desire to be a burden to him, you were not his blood nor did he raise you, but he still played a paternal role in your life. Even as you began to make a life for yourself in Rivendell, that kindness and care Elrond had shown you as a child prevailed. You and him still had walks in the garden, he still ordered books from other kingdoms he thought may interest you. It was complicated, as he was not your father per say, but he was all you had, and he was important to you. But at the same time, he was still the Lord of the town you had the privilege of residing in and living under.

Guilt clawed away at your gut as you realised how even more distant you had become in these past few weeks. You could not recall the last time you had a conversation with Elrond or sat down for dinner with him. Surely, he noticed your absence but did not want to intrude, trusting you to make your own choices and open up if you were ready.

But you were too far gone for that approach, and deep down you knew that he knew it too.

“That is more than a simple thorn prick, little one,” Elrond said, the concern on his face seeping into his voice. “If you will not tell me what happened, at least let me take care of it for you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly shut up. You knew from the look in his eyes he was not going to let this go. You gulped down your nausea that was produced by your stomach, which churned knowing where this conversation was headed.

Arwen had made attempts to get you out of your room lately, none successfully executed. You cried even harder as she softly knocked at your door, her gentle voice ushering you to come out and join her for breakfast. You knew it broke her heart when you did not answer, unable to even crawl out of bed and unlock the door. She and her father knew something was wrong but had waited for you to come forward to them about it.

You guess they had waited long enough.

With your non-bloody hand, you accepted Elrond’s outstretched arm and began to walk with him towards his quarters. He did not hold you close to him as he usually did, as if he was afraid getting too close would scare you off. Instead, you walked in silence, which you appreciated. Other elves bowed their heads at him as you passed, but you kept your eyes to the ground.

Five minutes later, Elrond shut the door to his room, grabbing some herbs, water, and bandages to tend to your wound. The silence prevailed, and you sat down on the bed and let him take your hand. He began wiping the blood off, waiting a few seconds before saying softly, “I am glad to see you in the gardens again. It has been a few weeks since I last recall you spending time there.”

You sat quietly, torn. Part of you wanted to break down in ugly sobs and explain the struggles of the past few weeks, to open the floodgates and let go of every horrible and depressing thing you had felt and thought you had over the last while. But the other part of you screamed at yourself to suppress it, to make yourself go numb, a practice you now excelled at. Deep down you knew you wouldn’t have to make that choice – Elrond could see right through you. You knew that one look into those kind eyes and you would crumble, so you looked at the floor.

“Arwen has not seen you lately either,” Elrond continued gently, beginning to wrap up your hand in soft bandages. “Neither have I, in fact. Are you sick, my dear?”

“I…” Your throat went dry as you tried to speak. Say something, come on, say anything, you screamed at yourself. But no words came out.

After tying the final knot, Elrond looked up. “I can tell that you are unwell. I understand that you are grown now, but you are still my little one, and I wish you would know that you can always turn to me in time of need.”

At his comforting voice, you involuntarily looked up and met his gaze. Seeing those kind, concerned eyes that had watched over you all of these years opened that gate inside of you that you had tried desperately to keep sealed for so long. Like a dam bursting, tears spilled down your cheeks and your body shook with sobs. The world around you stopped turning, leaving you enveloped in a flood of your own pain. Your chest hurt, feeling as if it was filled with cement. You felt lightheaded, gasping for air between sobs.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t keep living like this. You were in so much pain you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t strong enough, it was going to kill you. Everything you felt raging inside of you was all-consuming, your own thoughts so loud and relentless, screaming at you all day and night to the point where you figured only death would release you from them. You were stuck in your own head, and the fight to swim to the surface was too exhausting to bear.

You felt movement, and the space on the bed beside you shifted as Elrond sat down. He wrapped one arm around you, cradling your head with the other and bringing you close to him. “It’s ok,” He murmured, stroking your hair and holding you as you sobbed uncontrollably. “It’s ok, little one. Let it all out.”

And so you did. You let yourself feel everything – the guilt of neglecting your job, the pain in seeing your friends give up their attempts to see you, the hateful thoughts about yourself that clouded your mind telling you that you were deserving of nothing good, all of it. You clung onto Elrond as you cried, feeling so overwhelmed that you may implode. “I can’t… I can’t, I can’t,” You managed to choke out between sobs. “It hurts so much, please make it stop, please make it stop, Ada.”

Ada.

You had never called Elrond ‘father’ before, always using his name or title. You did not want those around you to think you were getting special treatment, or to seem like you were expecting it. Before you could gather your wits and apologise, you felt him hold you tighter.

“It’s ok,” He repeated. “You are safe. You are strong. You can overcome this, but not if it is burning up inside of you. Let it all out, my dear.”

You nodded into his chest, your relentless chants of I can’t fading out as you slowly regained control over your breathing. The raging sea that was storming inside of you calmed down to a simple rocky surface, the weight of everything lifting off of your chest slightly. You stayed there for a few minutes, letting Elrond hold you close as you calmed down.

He had done so much for you, more than you could ever hope to repay him for. Yet here you were, crying like a child despite the perfect, safe life he had worked so hard to provide you with. What a fucking ungrateful brat, you thought to yourself bitterly, allowing yourself a cruel sob.

You managed to peel yourself away from Elrond, sitting upright. You put your head in your hands, wiping away your tears as you took a shaky breath. His hand remained over your shoulder, rubbing in comforting circles. “I am sorry.” He murmured.

You laughed half-heartedly. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be sorry, not you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Elrond said softly, but firmly. “I am sorry because I should have noticed this sooner. I should have noticed that you were hurting and found a way to help before you suffered this much. I failed you.”

You pried your head from your hands and turned to face him, and your heart nearly broke. The noble elven lord looked so sad, so guilt-ridden at the sight before him. An elf who had seen thousands of years of suffering, who had lived through the most brutal wars in Arda’s history, looked more defeated than ever as he looked at you. That guilt churned inside you again as you realised you had caused this. “You have far from failed me, Elrond.” You said quietly. “You have given me everything, more than I could ever ask for. I have no reason to be this sad or act this way.”

Elrond cocked his head, brushing the hair out of your face. “Is that what you truly think?” He asked gently. “That you need a reason to be sad?”

“Uh…yes?” You said, puzzled. “There is nothing in my life that is going wrong, or even remotely horrible. I have not been traumatised by battle or had to run from a sword. My village was never raided by orcs, I have never known hunger nor harsh winters. I truly have nothing to be sad about.”

Elrond paused for a minute, contemplating your words. “Just because you have not fought in war does not mean you have not suffered,” He said. “You are a young elf; you are allowed to feel whatever your heart feels. Circumstance does not spare you from pain or suffering. Things like this are not always the result of war or hardship. Sometimes we hurt for no reason, and no amount of explanation will reassure us nor will it change what we feel in our hearts.”

You sighed, cheeks damp. “It doesn’t make me feel any less ungrateful. I’ve never even been courted. Nobody has ever looked at me like that. All of my friends have been shown that type of affection, except me. I don’t understand what makes them worthy of it and not me.”

“You are young, little one. You have centuries ahead of you to find whatever love you may wish. You’ve only met a fraction of the people who will come to love you. Give yourself time, allow yourself to be comfortable in your own skin. I know it is easier said than done. If you cannot be at peace with yourself, no soul in this world can fill that void for you.”

You swallowed thickly. He was right – you felt like a stranger in your own body. Like the bones and flesh beneath your skin belonged to another. But sitting here with the elf who had been a pillar in your life for as long as you remembered, you began to feel more at ease within yourself. You sniffled, wiping your tears from your face with the back of your hand. Elrond reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at your cheeks gently.

“Someday,” he said softly. “Someone will love you exactly how you deserve to be loved. I did not meet my wife until I was 1759, and even then, I loved her in secret for many a century.”

 Arwen had told you stories of her mother. It always brought a deep sadness to her eyes as she remembered her mother’s grim departure to the Undying Lands. You knew the tale all too well, for talk of the tragedy Elrond had been faced with travelled all the way to the Woodland realm. When you had first arrived in Rivendell, the wound Celebrían’s departure had cut him deep. It took years of you getting to know him before his eyes went from hollow to bright. One day, you had snuck a book from the library on the elves of the First Age. It was then when you stumbled across Elrond’s story, a sad pain in your heart as you read about him and his brother’s early years during the wars and the period that followed.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a few moments. “About your wife. And everything that has happened to you.” You weren’t sure what had prompted you to say that, for you blurted out the words before you could stop and think. Elrond had never discussed his past with you besides the occasional story told in the grand scheme of sharing wisdom and life lessons.

But there was no defensiveness, for Elrond simply put a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you,” was all he said.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being your hitched breath as you calmed your breathing down. A slight weight had been lifted off your shoulders, lessening the crushing feeling in your chest. For weeks, you had feared Elrond finding out about your depressive episode and thinking less of you for it. Deep down, you knew that was illogical, but the thought had haunted you nonetheless.

“I want to help you, my dear,” Elrond said, grabbing your hands and looking at you with all the love and care a father would. “But only if you will have it. If you do not wish for my interference, I understand and will be there if you need me. But I urge you not to walk this path alone.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” you said quietly.

“I cannot change what you feel in your heart and soul. But there are little changes, perhaps, we can make to get you on the right path. If you would like, I shall have our breakfasts delivered to your room, and I may join you for breakfast and then we can go on a walk. It does not have to be long, nor strenuous. Simply something to get you up and moving at the beginning of the day. Once you climb that step, you may find things become much easier.”

Emotion clogged your throat. “You would do that for me?”

Elrond gave you a gentle smile. “For you, anything. I may not have fathered you, but you are my family. And I will move heaven and earth just to make you closer to the stars if that’s what would make you happy.”

[onthesandsofdreams]

Ever Love [1/?]

Fandom: The Silmarillion Pairing: Thranduil x Reader Summary: A series of short stories (100-500 words) based on Tolkien Characters x Reader. All sorts of verses.  Prompt: #20 from @fictober-event

On AO3

"Tell me, meleth, what mischief are you plotting now? I saw your eyes lit up."

You turned and looked up - Thranduil was so very tall, and while you were not short, he was still taller than you - and smiled at him. "Oh, I just had an idea."

Thranduil's lips twitched, "And what is that?"

"That we should make ourself a picnic beneath the stars."

"Would our Lady Melian not miss you?"

"She gave me the tomorrow off, that is why I came to look for you."

"Very well, then, Let us do so and enjoy our summer."

All was well.

[urwendii]

Pairing: Eönwë x Arien

Rating: Teens up

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary:

But the one Eönwë could not take his eyes off was the one leading the song. Thick wavy strands that curled along her shoulders in soft candlelight hues, freckles adoring high cheekbones and the memory of a mischievous smile on full rosy lips. A shiver ran through his spine to the tips of his wings while he kept staring mesmerised, taking notice of the gold of her eyelashes, the lit of her voice, the warmth of her song. He knew her not personally but immediately Eönwë was brought back to the Music, to their Creation, to the familiarity of Spirits born out of purpose. Urwendi, the Maiden of the sacred Light. Arien.

for @theriverwild 🧡

[dynamicdiplomacy]

New Fic Alert!

The Tragic and Peculiar

Fandom: Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion

Characters: Elrond, Celebrían, Glorfindel, Ecthelion of the Fountain, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, and Lindir

Relationships: Elrond/Celebrían, Glorfindel/Ecthelion of the Fountain

Summary: There are peculiar happenings in Rivendell. When they finally discover that it's all the work of a ghost, Elrond has only one idea who it is - Maglor, the elf doomed to never return to Westerly Shores. But when the truth comes to light, no one can quite believe it.

A Rivendell ghost story featuring our favourite Elflord, his wife and children, and all the other members of the household.

Tags: Ghosts, Ghosts in Rivendell, Can't spell Hurt/Comfort without 'ouch', Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Child Arwen, Glorfindel is a Horse Girl, Ecthelion is Doing His Best, Elrond is a good dad, Spooky Ghost becomes Grandfather!

This fic is fully completed and will be updated weekly.

Available on AO3:

[searchingforserendipity25]

Galadriel, Guilt, for the prompt meme

Thank you @merfilly <3! Tw: references to cannibalism.

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It was better, when the Queen was away. Galadriel felt the evil of the thought, the dangerous ingratitude, and thought it nonetheless. 

It was easier, when Melian was away, to watch her own skin ripple in the reflection, her own shining tresses and bright eyes bring out the questioning white fish that dwelt in the glowing caverns.

Always they came, the creatures of the the deep waters, from their nesting places where not even the luminescent stones cast their queer light, and the Song of the queen's handmaidens was stifled by a shadow that made the water almost thicker than light.

It had been dolphins that had been her friends, in her mother's land; carps, in the ponds of Tírion. Melian kept strange pets, however, creatures with nothing to feed on but their own kind; and Galadriel did not seek their friendship in the least.   

Often she pretended not to notice them. When Melian was present, all was delight. Living ivies grew around and through the carved bark of the great stone columns that lined their halls; and the stone, too, seemed to breathe, to shift, to exhale their own dews and gentle shadows. 

There was much joy in Doriath. Even in Thingol's absence; but in the summer the city of the caves diminished. The recitals were less high-minded - more amusing, at times, more licentious, but not noble. The marchwardens came only for rest and supplies; and the nobles that remained were those with their own work and aims rooted in the underground.

Artanis had the lakes. Lord Celeborn had his wanting of Artanis. Galadriel, he would have named her, if she were to allow it.

Artanis suspected she would, in time. For now she was far too busy doing remedial cramming, skimming Iathrim poems and interviewing Master Daeron and keeping her eyes opaque as the eyes of the fish none of the Sindar dared to touch, or fish, or eat, so foul were they accounted.  

Were it but the waters! The task Artanis was left behind to keep: to study and oversee the queen's own boudoir, her mirrors made of the stuff of clarity, rainwater made changed by Melian's own hungering mulch and hummus, soil and stone and stalactites, ever-dripping into the caves. 

There her handmaidens sewed and conversed, recited poetry and sang and played such workings of power as would have made the tame, Valar-taught scholars of Tírion tremble with fright. These things Artanis sought to know; and it was difficult to succeed, when always the Queen was watching, and always she must be false.

Melian's school was not Kementári's; and Artanis was so far behind. 

“So it may be, as you judge! Yet the queen is gracious even unto her pupils. Stern, but gracious. Melian will not resent one evening away from the working of the waters.”

“I would,” said Artanis. But she never sent him away. She knew he would go, if she did; so she did not. 

“Galadriel, if you wish to be,” Celeborn said, laughing. His bare fingertips moved in the water, made strange by its blackness; he moved them with grace and speed away from a collision. “Even these beasts know to value the glory of you.” 

“They are foul things,” said Artanis, polishing the ewer with downcast eyes.

“They are what they are,” Celeborn said. His fingers did not touch the fish. But then neither did he rise and flee with curses, as some handmaidens did. "Wretched things; but wise in their way, to keep near to what light they can manage. Behold! They know their worth well enough to flinch when we linger too long near.”

Galadriel looked at her own reflection, her eyes as bright as the eyes of the cannibal beasts, and did not reply.