#tolkien elf kin

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

as far as character arcs can be delineated in a style like the silm's -- and additionally because thingol just has more of a character arc than most -- i think denethor's death and the subsequent massacre to avenge him is a huge narrative beat in thingol's arc, and it's a shame it gets so little attention in fandom. also hmmmm the laegrim's answering battle with the dwarves of nogrod to avenge thingol after his death, much in the same way he once did denethor, comes off to me as something of closing the circle: taking vengeance for their kinsman as he did for them so long ago. it feels very fitting that thingol, who felt so strongly for his kin that he avenged them with fury and violence, has his own death avenged with fury and violence by the same kin

[dunadaan]

The curse of trying to make dúnedain men is trying to make “tall, dark haired, grey eyed” look uniquely different without being mistaken for each other

[a-little-hobbit-hole]

Had to take a photo in Enedwaith ☺️

[sh1-n0bu]

bello, not sure if your taking requests so this will be my little thirst😼

was thinking about the elf bf and how intimacy is so foreign to him! How good your touches feel on his heated skin but what was this odd feeling? The coil in his tummy getting tighter with each grind of his hips on your thigh. The feeling felt so weird.. it feels good? is this good? he doesn’t want to disappoint you, or worse, scare you away! so he stops himself, letting his hips slow their grind for a moment. Inadvertently edging himself!

id like to imagine if he touched himself he would stop before cumming as well, he doesn’t know what it is! it feels so odd, makes him feel hot all over!

After he slows his grinds, you would be a bit confused…, does he not want to cum? or does he want to wait til your inside him? it takes a bit before you even think that maybe he hasn’t gotten that far before, the idea that you get to corrupt him making your face heat. Goodness he would be so pretty, teary eyes begging for you to slow down. Hips bruised from how rough you had grabbed him!

and to think, when he finally cums? its so overwhelming. heat spreading through his body, mind numbing as his legs twitch slightly? his pretty cock leaking onto his stomach? GOOD LORD I NEED IT💥💥💥

ty for listening nobu🫶🏼 we love you pls dont die

(low key my first ask, hope you enjoyed as i dont write much)

bellooooo, me is not taking requests for now but im still open for brainrots/thirsts!!!!

good lawdddd y’all gotta stop corrupting me more, my horny level can’t keep up guys. so i haven’t read the history of middle earth and all abt the biologies and cultures of the races tolkien created but i have come across multiple posts or points of people pointing out that sex and intimacy is an extremely important and raw thing. like how a constant friction creates fire over time and how that fire spreads into a wildfire that consumes everything, that’s how it is to elves and their culture. courting is important and it could go for a very long time until they decide to officially tie the knot. yet even after getting married, the consummation won’t happen in a while, first the couple must at least intertwine their fëa (soul) and so, the consummation act is more intense and powerful. its a very draining thing, when elves fuck, they fuck. long and hard, probably all night and into the next morning and even evening perhaps. they’re immortals, they have a monster amount of stamina

so with this info in mind, u gotta realize that elves do have knowledge of sex, how it usually feels etc and how near sacred it is to their kin. love is a fragile thing that will cross their eternal life only once and when they love, boy do they love. yet something tells me that despite having knowledge of sex, masturbation and other fleshly pleasures, they don’t participate in it much. its like they barely have anything that gets them pent up or sexually frustrated until they fall in love. and if it is a mortal? oh boy, they are confused and yearning. it’s like an instant neuron activation for them

the poor elf would barely know what to do with these thoughts and imaginations of you and him in such a compromising position. images of you guiding him through your first times together, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into his sensitive, pointy ear while he shrivels with embarrassing noises on your lap. oh how those calloused, hardened hands would feel when tightly fisting at his cock, draining him dry and milking every last drop of his cum. how those long, thick fingers would feel when thrusting inside him, scissoring him open and making him squeal. good god, don’t even get him started on the dirty images he thinks of you when he looks at those arms and thighs of yours, he’s imagining himself riding that muscle until he soils his pants or how your hands would push his head down to fully swallow your cock into his throat

would it taste as how it is described in the eroticas? would your precum be salty as your thick cock head pushes past his soft lips with your soothing voice instructing him to “open wide, puppy”? would you be so mean as to fist at his gorgeous locks and fuck into his mouth, use him to your own pleasure? he would be a good puppy for that, taking whatever you had to give him with red cheeks and hands obediently held on his lap. like a good puppy, he would open his mouth, tongue out like an eager little dog waiting for the taste of his favorite snack as you stroke your dick, a low moan falling as he finally taste your load shoot into his awaiting open jaws

and when his dirty thoughts are finally granted and turned into reality? he’s a goner. scrambling on his feet, tripping over his words, mind blanking as he feels your hands grope his ass over the linen of his pants. feeling like a young ellon rather than the full grown elf he is when your hands fiddle with the buckle of your belt, gulping down the saliva in his mouth as he sees your strap spring out of your undergarment

with a shaky hand, he would grip your strap, meagerly stroking his hands up and down with a stuttered “i-is this okay…?” oh dear stars, how badly you wanted to just fuck him dumb right then and there, seeing the cute pouting lips, big eyes staring at you for an approval as he weakly asks for your preference. how fast he is to crumble when he feels your rough hand wrap around both your and his own dicks, stroking them together with a slow pace, occasionally spitting on them. his mind was already blanking, and he was sure that he had already came into your hand the moment you touched him

“w-wait a—annh!! mmh uhnng♡︎ h-hold owwnn♡︎ i ju-ust c-came! i came alreanngh already...♡︎!!” the poor elf weakly cried out, falling back into the sea of soft pillows as his hands shook by his chest, where he held them close to himself. he was sure you could hear the rapid beating of his heart, embarrassed by the noises he kept letting out despite biting down on his lips to shut himself up. poor sweetheart, doesn’t even know that the thing dripping down onto his stomach is his pre-ejaculation and not his cum! “shh shh… it’s alright, darling. i’ll be sure to teach you all about the fleshly pleasures tonight♡︎” and you were going to absolutely ruin him

sweet virgin elf who crumples into a heap of mess after experiencing his first cum. moaning and even squealing as his hands flailed around, unable to choose whether to hold onto your arms or to claw at the blanket beneath himself as you continue to keep going despite his whines of having already came. you were so mean, quickening your pace and even squeezing your dicks together, he was so sure that he blacked out when you first did that or swiped a thumb over his oozing tip. arms covering his face to hide the flush of his cheeks and the drooped ears, crying out to you that he was going to die. so dramatic

“sh-stooohpp..! stop stopstopstop—stop it♡︎♡︎! i came!! i nyaagh ungh guhc—came! i alreaawdyy camee…♥︎!” the elf cried out, already slurring his words together as his hips grind back and forth on the bed until your free hand comes up to keep it down in place with a bruising grip. your sweet boyfriend could only cry out, a broken whine falling as he shook his head, looking down at your hand that held down his hip before shifting to look at where your cocks were touching. held together in a tight fist, your hand already soiled with his cute load of precum as well as his stomach. he never noticed it before but gods, your strap was dwarfing him in size and girth. he would surely die if he takes that big thing inside himself!

but when you don’t seem to hear his pleas and only continue to fuck your strap and his weeping cock together in a faster pace into the tight grip of your fist — even rocking your hips forward too! — the poor elf was sure he was going to see the bright skies of valinor that night. whimpers turning into broken wails, punched out sobs of your name falling out of his now bloodied lips as he covers his face with his hands. he could feel the hot tears that fell from his eyes, wiping them away with cute pathetic sniffles as you tighten your fist just at the heads. another squeeze and one more before he was crying out your name in a shrill scream, his legs around your hips tightening, shaking even, as he finally feels himself cumming alongside you. translucent colored seeds mixing together, dirtying his stomach and even shooting up to his heaving chest

“…s-shoo goowdd… aaanh hhagc—♡︎ c-cum..♥︎ cumming ’gainn hhgaaa♥︎ ughk haahg [n-naawme], [namenamenamena—]♥︎♥︎” the elf sobbed out weakly, a putty in your hands as he feels his cock slowly grow flaccid. if it weren’t for the rough pads of your fingers tracing circles around his clenching rim and the feeling of your clean hand push away his hands from his face, your elf bf would have most definitely been sure that he had died and was re-embodied. yet despite the fuzziness in his brain and the way his blood seemed to circulate too quickly through his veins, his body unconsciously pressed itself against you, against your fingers as if seeking for more pleasure

thats enough thirsting yall, go do yalls assignments

[anghraine]

Another Tolkien rant before I (finally!!) go back to BG3:

By and large, heredity and ethnicity in Tolkien cannot be understood through blood quantum logic. I don't think this is even seriously debatable, really—it does not work.

Yes, Imrahil of Dol Amroth is many generations removed from his nearest Elvish ancestor. Yes, he's still visibly part-Silvan to someone like Legolas, and is Silvan-style pretty to everyone else, and his sister was mystically susceptible to Mordor's miasma and died of sea-longing.

Yes, Théoden has as much Númenórean ancestry as Eldacar, a literal Númenórean King of Gondor, and has the same Elvish ancestor as Imrahil. No, Théoden is not a Dúnadan and does not inherit Silvan features. Tolkien specifically contrasted the visible Silvan Elvish heritage of Imrahil and his nephews Boromir and Faramir with Théoden and Éomer's lack of them, though in some versions, Éomer inherited remarkable height from his Númenórean ancestry (but not specifically Elvish qualities like beardlessness).

The only known member of the House of Eorl to markedly inherit the distinctive Elvish appearance of the House of Dol Amroth is Elfwinë, son of Imrahil's daughter Lothíriel as well as of Éomer, and Elfwinë's appearance is attributed firmly to Lothíriel-Imrahil rather than Théodwyn-Morwen.

Aragorn and Denethor are descendants of Elendil removed by dozens of generations, and Elendil himself was many generations removed from Elros. Aragorn and Denethor's common heritage and special status results in a strong resemblance and kinship between these incredibly distant cousins, including innate beardlessness and various powers inherited from Lúthien, and a connection to the Maiar presumably derived from Lúthien's mother Melian (great-great-grandmother of their very distant ancestor Elros).

Galadriel has one Noldo grandparent (half as much Noldorin heritage as Théoden has Númenórean). She has ties to her Telerin and Vanyarin kin and inherits some of their traits (most notably her silvery-gold hair), but she is very fundamentally a Noldo.

Túrin Turambar is a member—and indeed, heir—of the House of Hador via patrilineality. However, he's strongly coded as Bëorian in every other way because of his powerful resemblance to his very Bëorian mother, while his sister Niënor is the reverse, identified strongly with Hadorian women and linked to their father, whom she never met.

Elrond and Elros have more Elvish heritage than anything else, but are defined as half-Elves regardless of choosing mortality or immortality. In The Nature of Middle-earth, Tolkien casually drops the bombshell that Elros's children with his presumably mortal partner also received a choice of mortality vs immortality (and then in true Tolkien style, breezed onto other, less interesting points). Elrond and his sons with fully Elvish Celebrían are referred to as Númenóreans as well as Elves, with Elladan and Elrohir scrupulously excluded from being classed as Elves on multiple occasions. Their sister Arwen, meanwhile, is a half-Elf regardless of how much literal mortal heritage she has but also is identified with the Eldar in a way they never are.

There's a letter that Tolkien received in which a fan asks how Aragorn, a descendant of Fíriel of Gondor, could be considered of pure Númenórean ancestry when Fíriel was a descendant of Eldacar, the "impure" king whose maternal heritage kicked off the Kinstrife. Tolkien's response is essentially a polite eyeroll (and understandably for sure), but it's not like ancestry that remote (or far more so) doesn't regularly linger.

The point, I guess, is that there's no hard and fast rule here that determines "real" ethnicity in Middle-earth or who inherits what narrative identification. It's clearly not dependent on purebloodedness (gross rhetoric anyway, but also can't be reconciled with ... like, anything we see). It's not based on upbringing or culture alone. Túrin and Niënor, for instance, are powerfully identified with the Edain narratively despite their upbringings. Their double cousin Tuor, however, is a more ambiguous figure in terms of the Elves, whom he loves and lives among and possibly even joins in immortality—yet Tuor's half-Elf son Eärendil, whose cultural background is overwhelmingly Elvish, is naturally aligned with Men and only chooses immortality for his wife's sake.

Elladan and Elrohir, as mentioned above, are sons of an Elf, Celebrían, and of Elrond, a half-Elf who chose immortality and established a largely Elvish community at Rivendell. But the twins have a centuries-long affinity with their mortal Dúnadan kin and delay choosing a kindred to be counted among long after Arwen's choice.

Patrilineal heritages are more often than not given priority, which has nothing to do with how much of X blood someone has, only which side it comes from. Queen Morwen's children and descendants are emphatically Rohirrim who don't ping Legolas's Elvishness radar (though Elfwinë might, later on; we're not told). King Eldacar is firmly treated as a Dúnadan with no shortening of lifespan or signs of Northern heritage. Finwë's children and grandchildren are definitionally Noldor.

But this is by no means absolutely the case. The Elvishness of the line of Dol Amroth is not only inherited from Mithrellas, a woman, but passes to some extent to Boromir and Faramir through their mother Finduilas. Denethor and Aragorn's descent from Elros primarily comes through Silmariën, a woman (and also through Rían daughter of Barahir and Morwen daughter of Belecthor for Denethor, and Fíriel daughter of Ondoher for Aragorn). And of course, Elros's part-Maia heritage that lingers among his descendants for thousands of years derives from women, Lúthien and Melian.

So there's not some straightforward system or rule that will tell you when a near or remote ancestor "matters" when it comes to determining a character's identity, either to the character or to how they're handled by the narrative. Sometimes a single grandparent, or great-grandparent, or more distant ancestor, is fundamental to how a character is treated by the story and understands themself. Sometimes a character is so completely identified with one parent that the entire other half of their heritage is negligible to how they're framed by the story and see themself. It depends!

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Galadriel in Season 1-2 of “Rings of Power”: Valiant, Prideful and the Darkness Within

Galadriel was born during the Years of the Trees, on Valinor, the only daughter of High King of the Noldor, Finarfin, sister to three brothers. She was named “Artanis” by her father, and “Galadriel” (Sindarin for “Maiden crowned with gleaming hair”) is the name she took after marrying prince Celebron, in Doriath (Middle-earth).

In her youth, Galadriel was known for her proud, strong and self-willed temperament, and for the unmatched beauty of her hair. She had the golden hair of her kin, but hers was particularly striking, shot with silver, and beautiful. And so much so that Fëanor was inspired by how the light of the Two Trees of Valinor caught her hair to craft the Silmarils. Three times he asked her for a few strands of it, and three times Galadriel refuse him. Galadriel couldn’t stand Fëanor and saw the growing darkness in him; most likely because it was the same as within herself.

Tolkien describes Galadriel as “of Amazon disposition”, “strong of body, mind and will, a match for both the loremasters and the athletes of the Eldar in the days of their youth”, and she would “bound up her hair as a crown when taking part in athletic feats”. Her mother called her Nerwen, “man-maiden”.

Departure from Valinor

Galadriel is adventurous, ambitious “and like her brother Finrod, of all her kindred the nearest to her in heart, she had dreams of far lands and dominions that might be her own to order as she would without tutelage [from the Valar]”.

Galadriel, the only woman of the Noldor to stand that day tall and valiant among the contending princes, was eager to be gone [from Valinor]. No oaths she swore, but the words of Fëanor concerning Middle-earth had kindled her heart, and she yearned to see the wide untrodden lands and to rule there a realm at her own will. For the youngest of the House of Finwë she came into the world west of the Sea, and knew yet nought of the unguarded lands. Morgoth’s Ring

In Unfinished Tales, Tolkien tells us Galadriel wanted to leave Valinor and travel to Middle-earth to exercise her talents; being brilliant in mind and swift in action she had early absorbed all of what she was capable of the teaching which the Valar thought fit to give the Eldar’, and she felt confined in the tutelage of Aman. In Valinor, Galadriel had been a pupil of both Aulë and Yavanna, and felt the Valar had already taught her everything they were allowed to.

This can look like a level of arrogance of the likes of Fëanor, however, this is not how Tolkien sees it. Galadriel is presented like a character full of potential, spirit and talent. And even Manwë, the King of the Valar himself, has heard of her desire to leave for Middle-earth and didn’t oppose.

Refusing the Valar pardon

At the end of the First Age she [Galadriel] proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. Tolkien Letter 320

And this is the Galadriel we meet in the first episode of “Rings of Power”. The audience can immediately perceive she’s strong-willed, proud and rebellious, acting against orders of the High-king of the Noldor, Gil-galad, in her endless hunt for Sauron, Morgoth’s sucessor and the responsible for her brother’s death.

Galadriel is also the only Elf in Middle-earth who believes that Sauron is still out there, and means to find and destroy him, at any cost. “More and more of our kind began to believe that Sauron was but a memory. And the threat, at last, was ended. I wish I could be one of them.”

It was not your company who defied you out there, but rather you who defied the High King, by refusing to heed any limit placed upon you. In an act of magnanimity, he has chosen to honor your accomplishments… Rather than dwell upon your insolence. Test him again and you may find him less receptive than you might have hoped. Elrond warns Galadriel, 1x01

Gil-galad “honors” Galadriel by granting her passage to return to Valinor, and rest in glory. But she’s set on refusing, not because she’s certain Sauron will return, and wants to find him, but due to her belief she won’t find inner peace, until she accomplishes that, as she tells Elrond in the same episode:

Elrond: Do you truly believe seeking him out will satisfy you? That one more Orc upon the point of your blade will bring you peace? […] If you are wrong, will you lead more Elves to die in far-off lands? To convince yourself you have done enough, how many more statues would you add to this path? No one in history has ever refused the call. Do so now, it may never come again. Do so now, it may never come again. You will linger here, an outcast, poisoned in dark whispers and dreams. Galadriel: And in the West, do you think my fate would be better? Where song would mock the cries of battle in my ears? You say I have won victory over all the horrors of Middle-earth. Yet you would leave them alive in me? To take with me? Undying, unchanging, unbreaking, into the land of winter less spring? Elrond: Only in the Blessed Realm can that which is broken in you be healed. Go there. Go, and I promise you… If but a whisper of a rumor of the threat you perceive proves true, I will not rest until it is put right. You have fought long enough, Galadriel. Put up your sword.

I would also like to point out Elrond foreshadowing Galadriel’s banishment in this scene. And this is very much in line with what Tolkien wrote:

[Galadriel] had no peace within. Pride still moved her when, at the end of the Elder Days after the final overthrow of Morgoth, she refused the pardon of the Valar for all who had fought against him, and remained in Middle-earth. It was not until two long ages more had passed, when at last all she had desired in her youth came to her hand, the Ring of Power and the dominion of Middle-earth of which she had dreamed, that her wisdom was full grown and she rejected it, and passing the last test departed from Middle-earth forever. The Peoples of Middle-earth

The Darkness Within

“Rings of Power” presents some explanations to Galadriel refusing the Valar’s pardon and staying in Middle-earth. At the surface, it’s because she wants to hunt down Sauron, defeat him, and for Halbrand to be “The Lost King” who could ride [her] to victory, like Elrond says, in 2x02.

It’s because of her pride, or her desire for vengeance. However, in 1x05, and in a moment of vulnerability with Halbrand aka Repentant Mairon, she reveals the true reason behind her restless pursuit of Sauron:

Galadriel sees her endless pursue for Sauron as the means to earn her inner peace after everything she saw, did and endured on Middle-earth. It’s connected to her pride, yes, but also to her greatest and deepest desire of healing. And this is why she can’t stop her pursuit, even when we, the audience, watch Galadriel endanger her companions’ lives in 1x01. She believes only when she destroys Sauron, will she destroy the darkness within herself.

Indeed he does, because Sauron wants to heal Middle-earth from Morgoth’s corruption, at this point in his own character arc. But the “darkness within” has been present in Galadriel’s character ever since the prologue of “Rings of Power”, and this is also in line with Tolkien legendarium, as Galadriel recognizes the darkness in others as a mirror to her own, and how she refuses to talk about her time in Valinor with Melian.

And in Season 1, we see Galadriel employing some questionable tactics; in Númenor she acts behind Halbrand’s back with Queen regent Míriel to get herself an army (the army she claims to Adar Sauron promised her, in 2x06), and travel to the Southlands and defeat Sauron. There, she vows to genocide the Orcs and killing some of them in a gruesome manner (bringing them into the sunlight) just for Adar to reveal Sauron’s whereabouts, even though he already told her the truth (as he knows it): he killed Sauron.

It would seem I'm not the only Elf alive who has been transformed by darkness. Perhaps your search for Morgoth's successor should have ended in your own mirror. Adar taunts Galadriel, 1x06

And Adar will not be the only character to mention the pull to the darkness in Galadriel, in “Rings of Power”:

The light of Valinor shone upon your very face, Galadriel, and you turned your back on it. Was it truly to fight the darkness or was the darkness calling to you? Elrond, 2x01

This is more noticeable with Repentant Mairon aka Halbrand, when she acts the “Morgoth” to his “Sauron”, by tempting him with power while he’s on a quest for redemption. By then, we already have some pieces of foreshadowing on this. We have Gil-galad’s prophecy in 1x01: “We foresaw that if it had, she [Galadriel] might have inadvertently kept alive the very evil she sought to defeat [Sauron]. For the same wind that seeks to blow out a fire may also cause its spread.”

And we also see Galadriel in connection with the Fall of Númenor visions, in Season 1:

And Mairon himself confirms this in 1x08. And that explains his “are they not the seeds you planted?” in Season 2. Because she’s the one who tempted him with power, and with the pouch of the King of the Southlands (Morgoth), when he wanted to remain in Númenor in servitude, and to prove his good faith to the Valar, and redeem himself from his crimes under Morgoth.

However, not only Galadriel established a connection with him, but also said “I’ve felt it too” when he expressed his wish to bind himself to her (“Fighting at your side, I... I felt... If I could just hold on to that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being, then I...”). She gave him the validation he wanted, and made him believe she would offer him forgiveness, and he would earn the redemption he so desperately wanted. But she didn’t, she cast him out. And he wouldn’t let it slide that easily, as we’ve been in Season 2.

Growing in Wisdom

In Season 2, we saw some glimpses of Galadriel letting go of her arrogance and “galloping”, and seeing the “bigger picture” in some occasions. This is foreshadowing for her future character arc, as the wise and compassionate, yet fierce and valiant, leader we know her to be on the Third Age. From Tolkien lore, we know that as she grows in wisdom and power (“elf magic” as Sam calls it), Galadriel will leave her pride behind.

Arondir. There is a dearth of Elven heroes this night. It would be a pity to lose another. Galadriel advises Arondir not to attack Adar, 2x07

But perhaps her last scene with Adar, in 2x08, was the most emblematic of this. She has been to the Orc camp, and witnessed the funeral rites, and how the Orcs live, and realized that, maybe, they aren’t the scourged slaves she believed them to be, back in Season 1. Each one of them has a personality. Like Adar told her, in 1x06: “We are creations of The One, Master of the Secret Fire, the same as you. As worthy of the breath of life, and just as worthy of a home.”

And Galadriel is becoming more attuned to every race in Middle-earth, and the Orcs were only the beginning. And she was willingly to make an alliance with Adar, at the end. They shared an agreement (until Sauron showed up and put an end to that). But more importantly, Adar forgives Galadriel for her hatred and her killing of the Orcs. And, as I’ve talked about on my post on Repentant Mairon (aka Halbrand), forgiveness is a major theme in Tolkien legendarium, and it’s not only earned, but given as well. And by forgiving Galadriel and returning Nenya to her, Adar redeems himself (just like Gollum; which is a theme I talked about here).

Banishment from Valinor

In Letter 353, Tolkien confirms that “Galadriel was 'unstained': she had committed no evil deeds”, concerning the Oath of Fëanor. She took no part in any of that; because “she was an enemy of Fëanor”. In the same letter, Tolkien tells us Galadriel reached Middle-earth independently, and not alongside the other Noldor. And her desires were legitimate, but “she became involved in the desperate measures of Manwë, and the ban on all emigrations”.

Many (Christopher Tolkien included) think this contradicts Galadriel’s banishment from returning to Valinor. But this is an idea (“the banishment of Galadriel”) Tolkien has in place in several sources of his work. And it wouldn’t be the first time Christopher Tolkien misinterpreted his father work, either, with the Dagor Dagorath being a prime example, when he thinks Tolkien abandoned the concept when he didn’t (Christopher later corrected this, though).

And it has been noticed by many Tolkien scholars how Christopher Tolkien has “tone down” his father’s female characters on his notes and editions, too. With Galadriel being a prime example of this. Tolkien tells us on several occasions that Galadriel had aspirations of power and dominion, she wanted a kingdom of her own, to rule as she saw fit, and that’s why she remained on Middle-earth, and refused the Valar’s pardon. However, Christopher decided to strip Galadriel of her agency, and even attempted to whitewash her character by claiming she wanted to stay on Middle-earth due to her love for Celeborn, when this has nothing to do with what Tolkien himself wrote. So, excuse me, for talking his interpretation with a grain of salt.

And, since Galadriel is married to Celeborn, of course, he’s included on her plans of having a kingdom of her own (to be otherwise wouldn’t make sense), with them both ruling it, but Galadriel wants to be the one “calling the shots”. And this dynamic is what will happen in Lothlórien: Celeborn is lord, but Galadriel is *the* Lady, without her husband overstep or overshining her. I’m not seeing any contradiction here. Maybe a case of “overthinking”, because Letter 353 appears to be about Galadriel not taking the Oath of Fëanor (and that’s not the reason for her banishment).

I owe much of this character to Christian and Catholic teachings and imagination of Mary, but actually Galadriel was a penitent, in her youth, a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the [One] Ring for herself. Tolkien Letter 320

I already theorized about Galadriel connection to the Virgin Mary (she’s not “the Virgin Mary”, but a “devotee of the Virgin Mary” in Tolkien lore) but I think Tolkien is being very clear with his words here. He considers Galadriel a “repentant sinner”, and he doesn’t contradict himself at all. Because a desire for power and dominion are not positive traits on his legendarium. And the confirmation that she was pardoned by the Valar when she resists the One Ring, clearly indicates there was something more at work, and is connected with her return to Valinor.

In “Fellowship of the Ring” book, this is also clear: “I pass the test,” she says, “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.” Her “passing the test” and resisting the One Ring is connected with her returning to Valinor.

We know, from Tolkien lore, Galadriel develops “sea longing” on the Third Age, and has a deep desire to return to Valinor, to the point of depression (she sings laments about it). One can argue she stays out of duty, but then why is she “pardoned” by the Valar after rejecting the One Ring and can now go to Valinor? The only explanation is that Galadriel was, indeed, banished, and her resisting the One Ring is her final test. She passes the test, the Valar pardon her, her banishment is lifted, and she returns to Valinor at the end of “The Return of the King”. No contradictions there.

On Christopher’s defense, he probably thought Galadriel “desiring power and dominion” weren’t good enough reasons for her to be banished from Valinor, and that’s a plot hole “Rings of Power” is trying to answer, with her connection with Sauron, and the temptations he offers her. He is, after all, the one who introduces the “desire for power and dominion” to her character arc in the show; by offering her temptations and promises of endless power (his power). Which means, Galadriel’s desire for dominion and power from Tolkien lore is personified by Sauron in the show. And the reason for her banishment, will be, also, connected to him, somehow, for Sauron has already offered her the same temptation as the One ring, thousands of years into the future:

And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair! She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Fellowship of the Ring

In Tolkien legendarium, it’s not Galadriel adventurous or valiant nature that gets her into trouble with the Valar, but her rebellious spirit, and her pride, above of all, that lead her defy their authority, and wanting to claim a kingdom of her own where she can make her own rules. In “Rings of Power” the disapproval of the Valar are personified in the characters of Gil-galad and Elrond.

Indeed, her disregard for the Valar laws is visible on several occasions in lore. Not only she “proudly refused” their pardon to return to Valinor, at the dawn of the Second Age, but Tolkien tells us, in Unfinished Tales: Celeborn was the lover of Galadriel, who she later wedded. In Letter 43, Tolkien defines what he means by “a lover” (in general): “engaging and blending all his affections and powers of mind and body in a complex emotion powerfully coloured and energized by sex”.

This seems to imply, Galadriel didn’t wait to be “officially” married (ceremony, feast) to Celeborn before consummating their union. For the Eldar, “sex = marriage”, indeed, but the way Tolkien phrases this seems to indicate Galadriel doesn’t concern herself with the Eldar ways, and took Celeborn as her lover before any thought of actual marriage. Because language is extremely important in Tolkien, and we already know “sex = marriage” for the Eldar, so him writing this about Galadriel’s character means there’s something more to it.

Interestingly enough, these two themes are present in Tolkien last letter concerning Galadriel, in 1973 (the year of his passing). Without context, however, it’s unclear if the two are related or not, so read this with a whole saltshaker:

I meant right away to deal with Galadriel, and with the question of Elvish child-bearing.

[foedhrass]

“But Eöl, though stooped by his smithwork, was no Dwarf, but a tall Elf of a high kin of the Teleri, noble though grim of face; and his eyes could see deep into shadows and dark places.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Hi! I love your writing! Are you able to do a Elrond fic with a mage elf reader from a different land where their ears are longer & was raised with human commoners? Maybe she's been hiding with Bronwyn and the south landers? (they don't trust Halbrand, he reminds her of the nobles she used to know) Just a meet cute would be lovely, maybe in Eregion? Thanks, keep up the fantastic writing ♥️

I haven't forgotten about my asks! It's just taken me some time to give them all the time they deserve!

This is adorable and I had so much fun writing it!

Side note: For the purposes of this ask, we are saying that the Noldor have longer ears and some split off to stay around the humans in the southlands. Does it follow Tolkien lore? No. But that's okay. Don't take it too seriously :)

A Promise at the Gates

The air smells faintly of woodsmoke, a ghost of the battle that razed Tirharad to its foundations. You stride through the remnants of the village, your boots kicking up ash that clings to the hem of your cloak. The cries of children and murmurs of despair echo as displaced humans cluster around their leader, Bronwyn. Your friend.

She stands with her shoulders straight, her face a mask of calm determination. You marvel at her resilience; the humans have lost so much, and yet Bronwyn remains steadfast.

"I’ll journey to Eregion," you announce, breaking into her thoughts.

Bronwyn’s sharp gaze fixes on you. "Are you sure? The road is dangerous, and the elves…" She hesitates. "They may not listen."

You smirk, though your heart aches for her doubt. "They’ll listen to me. I’m persuasive."

She huffs out a laugh, and the two of you share a moment of fleeting warmth. But your gaze flickers to Halbrand, standing apart from the others. His every move prickles your instincts—his easy charm, his watchful eyes, the way he avoids questions with a grin.

"I still don’t trust him," you mutter.

"Neither do I," Bronwyn admits. "But he helped us."

"Did he, though?" you counter, your voice low. Your past whispers in your mind—smiling lords who lied with their teeth and betrayed with their blades. Halbrand reminds you of them.

But Bronwyn shakes her head, her focus resolute. "If he means harm, we’ll deal with it. For now, we must find shelter."

And so, you go, leaving the humans behind to gather their meager belongings.

+++++

The road to Eregion is long, winding through the wildlands of Middle-earth. You keep to yourself, avoiding caravans and curious humans. The journey gives you time to think—perhaps too much time. Memories surface, unbidden, of the great halls of your kin, where politics wove tighter snares than any spider’s web.

By the time you arrive, the walls of Eregion gleam in the sunlight, and its beauty takes your breath away. Fine craftsmanship blends seamlessly with the natural world, an unmistakable mark of the elves who dwell here. Yet it’s not the architecture that catches your eye—it’s the figure waiting just beyond the gates.

"Mae govannen," he says, his voice like a song. He is tall, with a poise that speaks of both wisdom and kindness. His dark hair shines in the light, and his eyes—those eyes—seem to look straight into your soul.

You hesitate, and his brow furrows slightly. "You are a traveler, yes? Seeking refuge or passage?"

"I’m seeking aid," you reply, your voice steady. "For the people of Tirharad."

His lips quirk upward at her name. "Ah, the human settlement. I cannot say I have heard much of anything from the southlands." He places a hand over his heart in a gesture of respect. "I am Elrond Peredhel. Please, come inside."

You nod, falling into step beside him as he leads you through the city.

+++++

The warmth of Eregion’s halls is a balm to your weary soul. You are ushered into a sitting room, where wine and fruit await. Elrond pours you a glass himself, his movements unhurried.

"You are Noldor, are you not?" he asks as he offers the drink.

You incline your head. "You know us by our ears, I assume."

His smile softens. "They are distinctive, but there is something else. A certain… informality in your bearing. It is refreshing."

You laugh, a genuine sound that surprises even you. "Is that your way of saying I lack decorum?"

"Not at all," he replies, his tone earnest. "It is a compliment."

The conversation flows easily after that. You speak of Bronwyn’s plight, of the humans displaced by war and the help they desperately need. Elrond listens intently, his gaze never wavering. When you finish, he nods thoughtfully.

"Eregion’s resources are strained, they are not equipped to send out vast quantities of supplies," he admits. "But I will speak with the High King.  No one should be left to suffer, not while aid is within reach."

His words ease a tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying. "Thank you," you say, meaning it.

But as the evening wears on, you find yourself watching him not as an emissary, but as a friend. There’s a warmth to him, a quiet strength that draws you in. And when he smiles at you—a real, unguarded smile—it feels like the sun breaking through the clouds.

The days that follow blur together. You work closely with Elrond, planning the logistics of transporting supplies to Tirharad. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize how different he is from the elves you knew in your youth. He is kind, yes, but also clever and quick-witted, with a knack for putting others at ease.

One afternoon, as you pore over maps in his study, he leans back in his chair and regards you with a curious expression.

"You are unlike any Noldor I’ve met before," he says.

You arch an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment or an observation?"

"A little of both," he admits, his lips twitching into a grin.

You tilt your head, studying him. "And you, Elrond Peredhel. You’re unlike the other elves I’ve met. You seem to carry the weight of two worlds on your shoulders, yet you never falter."

He looks away, his smile fading. "It is both a gift and a burden to be of two peoples. I strive to honor them both, but it is not always easy."

For a moment, you see the vulnerability beneath his polished exterior, and it makes your heart ache. Without thinking, you reach across the table and place your hand over his.

"You do it well," you say softly. "Better than most could."

He meets your gaze, and something unspoken passes between you—a connection that feels as ancient and unshakable as the earth beneath your feet.

The day of your departure arrives too soon. Bronwyn’s people need the supplies, and you cannot linger, no matter how much a part of you wishes to stay.

Elrond walks you to the gates of Eregion, his expression unreadable.

"Will you return?" he asks, his voice quiet.

You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. "If the road leads me here again," you say, "I will not stray from it."

He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Then I will wait. Until the road calls you back."

You step closer, your heart pounding. "And if it doesn’t?"

His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, the world falls away. "Then I will find it myself."

The words hang between you, a promise and a hope. You don’t say goodbye; it feels too final, too cruel. Instead, you turn and walk away, the weight of his gaze following you long after the city disappears from view.

As you journey back to Tirharad, your thoughts linger on Elrond—on his kindness, his strength, and the way he made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t been in centuries.

You smile to yourself, the memory of his voice echoing in your mind. Perhaps, someday, the road will lead you back to Eregion. Or perhaps, as he promised, he will find you first.

[daughterofthesunlands]

I need to CLARIFY SOMETHING! 😌💗

Gil-galad is a foine looking elf.

If I found a portal to middle Earth, would I shoot my shot at beloved Gil-galad?

Naur.

Why you ask?

Cause if you haven't already noticed, I have the personality of SpongeBob Square pants. I am a walking, talking, forever-happy headache. And anybody taller and CALMER than me by default becomes my Squidward.

I would annoy that elf SO BAD😭 worse than Galadriel and Elrond combined! If we're being generous, I'd last 2 1/2 hours in Lindon before I'd get banished from the kingdom by Gil-galad.

What I am tho, is his hype man. His wingman. His fairy godmother till the wheels fall off. Before S2, I didn't know that he was an orphan, I didn't know that all his kin had been slaughtered, I didn't know baby girl was just a girl 🥺.

And I didn't know that he would d...

Tolkien when I CATCH YOU! 👹

So yes he is hawt, and I will blush every time he blinks, if he looks at me I literally will:

I would tell him how fabulous he looks every day so he can whip his fabulous hair back and go "I know! 😌", I'd lurk behind every tree and bush and start grinning if I saw someone blush @ him and go "He/She likes youuuuuuuu😏😏😏😏" I'd give him a kiss on the cheek but I will melt if I come too close he's that 😌❤️

But I foremost want him to have known love before he d...

So I will not rest until I've read (and written) a million fics of him being loved on and doted on, may it be by Elendil, another RoP or Silmarillion character OR an OC! 🥹❤️

My man deserves the world.

He's that girl.

He's my girl.

[thyras]

→ of the song of mairon & ilmarátâ (bonus chapter)

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 1.6k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → no warnings for this chapter

SUMMARY → what would it be like to have your tale told by the generations after you? what would they say about the being you loved and were created for? would your tale end in tragedy or would it be of redemption? even in the darkest of shadows could there still be light?

AUTHORS NOTE → so this has been in my drafts for a while and i needed a little filler as i worked on the next chapter, i thought i'd share it as it is what i wrote as kind of an inspiration for rewriting my dark!reader series and creating of sauron & the moriquendi. i had just finished the silmarillion and i had a good grasp on the style, so i tried to imagine what marion's and mori's story would sound like if it was among the pages of the book. the name for mori used in here is ilmarátâ which means radiant one in valarian and is the inspiration i got for her sindarian name. grammarly HATED me so much so I had to turn it off so I could write in tolkien's style. boy was this a BITCH to edit without it. funny enough i submitted this to for one of my creative writing assignments at school and got a B on it 🤭 my professor apparently did not like the fact that i used mairon in my writing 🤣

PARTS → masterlist

Great was their love, for Ilúvatar in his thought sang their fëar into being. Yet sorrow touched his heart as he perceived the shadow growing in one of his servants—a spirit once radiant, who, in his striving for perfection and dominion, turned to darkness. Moved by the discord and foreseeing the strife to come, Ilúvatar wove a new theme into the Music: a being of light and grace, a counterpoint to the shadow. Ilmarátâ he named her, a maiden of the Quendi, fairest among the Children of Ilúvatar.

Ilmarátâ was set apart, destined to awaken in the appointed hour when her presence would be most needed. Unlike her kin, she would not feel the call of the Valar to the West, for her heart and fëa were bound to another purpose. She would not find fulfillment until her fate intertwined with the being Ilúvatar had fashioned for her—a light against the encroaching dark.

Her beauty would rival the stars, for her spirit shone with an untainted purity. Her heart would remain steadfast, her mind unyielding to shadow, and her essence unsullied by the marring of the world. For no great darkness, however vast, could overcome the light Ilúvatar had kindled within her.

Ilmarátâ was blessed by Varda, who set her among the stars as a daughter of their light, and by Yavanna, who wove into her the harmony of nurturing things. These two among the Valar watched over her, guiding her steps through the long path of her fate. Yet, even their wisdom could not foresee all, for Ilmarátâ’s tale was destined to turn toward shadow as the Ages unfolded, her light tested by the gathering dark.

When Ilúvatar conceived of Mairon, fairest and most potent among the Maiar, he entrusted him to Aulë, the great smith of the Valar. To Aulë, Ilúvatar gave the task of teaching Mairon the crafting of wonders, that through his skill the world might be enriched. And for a time, Mairon walked in the light, delighting in the works of his hands and the wisdom of his master. Yet Ilúvatar, in his infinite thought, knew that the notes of Mairon’s song carried a strain of sorrow and disquiet, for within his heart lay a yearning for great order and harmony that would draw him ever closer to the shadow. 

Thus Ilúvatar brought Ilmarátâ into being for this purpose: that she would remain untouched by shadow, her fëa unyielding and pure, beholding only the light of Ilúvatar’s creation. In her, the harmony of the Music would find its fullest expression, and through her, the beauty of the unmarred world would shine. For in Mairon, Ilúvatar had woven the potential for great light, though it was veiled by the discord of his own desires.

Ilmarátâ was destined to perceive in Mairon the light and harmony he was meant to walk among, the path for which he had been created. Her unshaken purity, shaped and blessed by the Valar—by Varda’s light and Yavanna’s nurturing wisdom—would stand as a beacon to temper the shadow in Mairon’s heart. Through her steadfastness, Ilúvatar foresaw that the dark threads of Mairon’s song might yet be woven back into the greater harmony, if he would but turn to the light she embodied.

In the light of his being, Mairon felt a great yearning, a longing for something unknown, a void in his fëa that he could neither name nor understand. Ever he sought to grasp the source of this incompleteness, to craft wonders so perfect and resplendent that they might fill the ache within him. And so it was that, in the secret depths of his labor, he forged a ring of surpassing beauty—a work of flawless design, imbued with his greatest skill. As he gazed upon it, joy kindled in his heart, for in its perfection he glimpsed something of the harmony for which his fëa yearned. Yet he knew not for whom this gift was wrought, nor why he had shaped it. Thus, he kept it hidden, guarded from all eyes, and continued in his toil.

But in time, Melkor came to Mairon, weaving dark words and promises into his thoughts. Melkor spoke to the hidden places of Mairon’s heart, to his longing for order amidst chaos and his desire to fulfill the emptiness he bore. With every word, the shadow grew stronger, and Mairon, drawn by the promise of answers, found the yearning in his fëa begin to fade, though it was but a fleeting balm. Believing that the Valar themselves were flawed and their works disorderly, he turned to Melkor, imagining that through the might of the Shadow he might impose order upon the world and, at last, quench the fire of his unfulfilled longing. And so, Mairon followed Melkor into the darkness, abandoning the light of Ilúvatar for the promises of power and purpose that Melkor offered.

The time came at last when the Quendi awoke beneath the starlight, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar, wondrous and unmarred. Yet Melkor, filled with hate and jealousy at the beauty of their creation, sought to taint them and draw them into his shadow. Knowing the Valar would summon the Quendi to Aman, he set himself to hinder their journey and poison their hearts with fear. To this end, he commanded his servant Mairon, the most cunning and watchful of his followers, to observe the Quendi and delay their coming forth, raising storms and upheavals to bar their path. Thus, through Mairon’s labors, Melkor hoped to plant the seeds of discord and rebellion against Ilúvatar's designs.

Yet in his watchfulness, Mairon grew enamored of the Quendi, especially the Moriquendi who lingered under the starlit skies. In them, he saw a beauty and harmony that stirred something deep within him, awakening the unfulfilled yearning of his fëa. Though tasked to hinder them, he found himself reluctant to obey, and the storms he raised grew less frequent, the upheavals less fierce. More and more, he walked among them in his fair form, veiling his purpose. Drawn by their light and grace, the Moriquendi seemed to Mairon to ease the shadow in his heart, and for a time, he marveled at their purity, forgetting the darkness to which he had bound himself.

But though his heart softened, the seeds of Melkor’s will remained, and even this strange affection was not free of shadow, for within it lay the beginnings of Mairon’s own desire to rule and shape the Children of Ilúvatar, bending them to his will in the name of harmony and perfection.

Yet when Mairon’s eyes first beheld the fair beauty of Ilmarátâ, the most radiant of Ilúvatar’s creations, his fëa was struck with a great and wondrous harmony, unlike anything he had known before. It was she who had drawn him to the Moriquendi, though he had not understood it. For Ilmarátâ was his match, the light that Ilúvatar had fashioned to shine even into the shadowed recesses of his heart.

For long centuries, Mairon lingered, watching her from afar as she journeyed beneath the stars. He saw her sorrow at the loss of kin and her grief as Melkor’s malice despoiled the land she loved. Her pain pierced his heart, and though he had bound himself to the will of the Shadow, he made a silent vow: never would he allow such sorrow to touch her again, even if it meant defying his master.

When the Valar overthrew Melkor and chained him in the depths of the Void, Mairon fled into the wild places of the world, unshackled for a time from his master’s dominion. In his newfound freedom, his thoughts turned to Ilmarátâ, his star and his light. He resolved to seek her once more, to step out of shadow and stand in her radiance. And so, he fashioned for himself a fair form, one of great beauty and grace, and with trembling hope, he came forth to her.

In her presence, Mairon was transformed. He took Ilmarátâ as his bride, and for many centuries they dwelt in light, their union a joy to both the Valar and Ilúvatar. For Ilmarátâ was his redemption, the purpose for which she had been created: to temper the shadow in his fëa and lead him back to the light he had forsaken. In her, Mairon found harmony, and for a time, he walked no longer in darkness but in the light of love and grace.

For such was Mairon’s love for Ilmarátâ that it is told, when he was at last stripped of his fair form by his own servants in their treachery, he cried out in great despair. His sorrow echoed through the void, for he knew that she would never again look upon him with love, his light forever lost to him. And when he was remade, clothed in a form shaped by malice and power, he sought only to possess Ilmarátâ’s light, believing that in doing so, he might reclaim the harmony he had once known.

Yet his heart had grown dark, and her light remained pure, untouchable by the shadow that now consumed him. In all things, shadow twists and tempers even the brightest of lights, and so it was that his love, once noble, turned to a desire for dominion. His longing for Ilmarátâ, no longer borne of selfless harmony, became a hunger to bind her to him, to make her his in defiance of the light she carried.

Thus, the tragedy of Mairon and Ilmarátâ was sealed, for though he yearned for redemption, the shadow within him twisted his path, and her light could not be dimmed nor corrupted by his darkness. In this, the wisdom of Ilúvatar was revealed: though shadow may cloud the world, it cannot extinguish the light of a fëa untainted, nor can it reclaim the harmony it has forsaken.

[marshmellin]

Star and Stone, Ch. 8 | Long Ago He Rode Away

Gil-galad did not want to show divisions in front of Men and their kings. He wanted to show a unified front. To stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his kin against the darkness, as the Valar would want. To show these Men the true strength of being Firstborn . To show Elven glory and valor and might stretching back before the waking of the sun.  But something stopped him.  Elendil was offering the lives of his people. Their brief, bright, precious lives. And Gil-galad would not return that sincerity with a lie. 

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

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

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

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

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

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

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

You are here -> Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

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

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

//

The journey to Greenwood had been long and arduous, the road winding through dense forests and shadowed glades. Gil-galad had journeyed for nearly a full moon cycle with a small group of guards – far from his typical retinue of courtiers as High King – to come here. 

It felt more honest that way, somehow, to come alone. King to king.

The cavernous halls of Oropher’s palace seemed to echo with each step as Gil-galad walked into the Woodland Realm's throne room. Oropher’s courts were much different than the court in Lindon. Lindon was golden light, warm radiance, the sun breaking into dawn. 

Greenwood was the cold silver of night stars peeking through the trees, sharp and keen.

The smooth stone of the walls shimmered faintly under the soft glow of orbs of light suspended in the air. The pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling rose like massive trees, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns of leaves and vines. 

At the far end of the hall stood Oropher’s throne, carved from pale rock that gleamed like moonlight, resembling the entwined roots and branches of an ancient tree. The throne rose high above the dais, its back fanning out into a lattice of twisting branches. 

And there sat Oropher himself. Draped in flowing robes of silver and forest green, his crown intertwining silver branches, studded with green and amber jewels. Leaves caught in mid-autumn moonlight.

If any crown in this room is enchanted, it is his and not mine, Gil-galad thought wryly, remembering Elaniel’s joke.

Gil-galad approached the dias and Oropher rose slowly, his movements deliberate, as if each step was meant to command attention. The two kings stood to face each other, their gazes locking—a meeting of equals, each one proud, each one wary.

“Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor,” Oropher intoned, his voice smooth. He inclined his head slightly, his eyes closing as he did so. “It is my honor to welcome you to the Woodland Realm, High King. It is not often that our paths cross so directly.” Though his expression was calm, there was a quiet intensity in Oropher’s gray eyes.

“King Oropher,” Gil-galad replied, inclining his head with the same respect. “It is my honor to be welcomed. Your halls are as beautiful as I have been told. It is a pleasure to stand within them.”

Oropher smiled faintly, though the gesture carried more politeness than warmth. “And I see the tales of the High King’s courtesy are no exaggeration.” His gaze swept over Gil-galad, evaluating him as a fighter examines his foe’s weapon. “But I doubt you have come all this way merely to admire my halls.”

Gil-galad’s expression remained steady, though he felt the tension beneath the exchange, a subtle dance of pride and guardedness. 

Then let us dance, Oropher. 

“I come seeking your alliance. The Shadow spreads farther with each passing day, and I fear that neither of our realms can stand alone against what is to come.”

Oropher’s eyes narrowed slightly, his posture shifting. “An alliance,” he repeated, the word lingering in the air like a challenge. “Such bonds are often forged with difficulty and sustained with even greater care. What, I wonder, would you ask of me and my people?”

Gil-galad stepped closer, his tone firm but not unkind. “I ask only that we stand together as darkness falls. Your people are strong, your warriors swift and skilled. With our combined strength, we may withstand what Sauron sends against us.”

Oropher’s gaze turned distant for a moment, as though he were peering through the walls into the depths of his memories. “You speak with conviction, High King, but conviction alone can not sway me from my duty to my people. They have already suffered much in wars waged far from these woods.”

Gil-galad nodded slowly, acknowledging the weight of Oropher’s words. Gil-galad’s forefathers had started some of those wars, and they had ended others. 

And finally, he understood that, despite not having committed the wrong, he was duty-bound.  It was not his action, but he had to answer for it nonetheless. 

A silence stretched between them, heavy. Oropher broke it first, shaking his head. “Why should my people bleed again, and leave their families unprotected? And why should I ask them to travel so close to Mordor and death to do it?”

“Because Sauron does not care for borders or allegiances. He will come for us all, whether we face him together or apart.”

Oropher’s voice softened, though the tension in his posture remained. “Your words are not without merit, High King. But I have lived in Middle Earth long enough to know that alliances are forged not only in words but in deeds. Tell me, how far are you willing to go to prove the strength of your commitment?”

Gil-galad met his gaze unflinchingly. “As far as I need. I do not ask for the lives of your people lightly. I come here not as a king demanding allegiance, but as a fellow leader seeking partnership. I can not stand alone against this darkness.” He swallowed and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I will fail without your people.”

Oropher studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes seeming to weigh every word, every nuance. When he spoke again, there was a subtle shift in his tone—a glimmer of respect, though tempered by caution.

“Very well,” Oropher said. “I will consider your words, Gil-galad. We will meet in one week to discuss my decision. But I must be plain: my first duty is to my people. Their safety, their survival, will always come before any vow I make. To you or any other.”

“Understood,” Gil-galad replied, his voice steady. “And my duty is to all the free peoples of Middle Earth. It is my hope that our duties align.”

Oropher inclined his head, the faintest trace of a smile flickering across his face. “You speak well, Gil-galad. I will…consider carefully.”

–

Oropher’s private chamber was modest compared to the grandeur of the Woodland Realm’s throne room. Soft beams of light filtered through latticed stone windows carved in intricate patterns, casting delicate shadows on the polished floor. A small round table of pale wood, polished to a mirror-like sheen, stood between Oropher and Gil-galad, who had taken their seats across from each other. A pair of silver goblets, untouched, rested on the table, filled with a pale yellow wine that neither seemed inclined to taste.

We act like it’s poisoned. …. Or maybe we both fear getting drunk. 

The fist fight would be remarkable to behold. If I was able to remember it afterwards.

Oropher’s face was unreadable, his piercing gray eyes fixed on Gil-galad as though trying to discern the measure of his patience. 

“I have considered your proposal,” Oropher began, his voice cool but deliberate, like a blade drawn carefully from its sheath. “And I have decided that I will join your alliance. I speak for King Amdír as well, by his leave.”

Gil-galad inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, though he knew from the cadence of Oropher’s voice that there was more to come.

There is always another request. 

“However,” Oropher continued, his gaze unyielding, “I must make one condition. We request two of the palantíri from King Elendil to be entrusted to us until the Shadow is defeated. We will then return the seeing-stones to the stewardship of Men.”

The words settled heavily in the chamber. Gil-galad betrayed no surprise – there was none to betray. 

So Ristarion had spoken true. 

Gil-galad folded his hands atop the table and leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but firm. “Two palantír ,” he repeated. “That is a significant request, King Oropher. Though I understand their value, such a condition will not be easily met. I will take this request to Elendil, but I cannot promise you what another king might agree to.”

Oropher nodded, as if he had expected this response. “I understand, but I make the request not lightly, nor out of greed. My halls are secluded, and my people live apart from the wider affairs of Middle Earth, as do Amdír’s. We can pledge warriors to this fight, but they will join us on the field of battle at the cost of protecting our people here . Should the Shadow march on Greenwood – should a band of wayward Orcs cross our borders –  we may find ourselves isolated, cut off from aid before it can even be summoned. The palantíri would allow us to call for aid swiftly, to remain connected to you, to Elendil, or to all others who would stand with us to defend our walls against Sauron.”

Gil-galad studied him for a moment. That argument was unexpected. 

Not power. Not loyalty. Not Sinda vs. Noldo. 

But instead, the chance to call for aid. For help.

“Your reasoning is sound,” Gil-galad said slowly, inclining his head. “Though…now that you have shared your request, I must also discuss an issue that has come to my attention. Lord Ristarion mentioned your request for two palantirí — long before you voiced it here. And, he claimed, for much different reasons.”

Oropher’s eyes narrowed, a spark of irritation flashing across his face. “And what, pray tell, did Lord Ristarion, son of Remmirath, claim?”

Gil-galad chose his words carefully – so carefully, he knew, that Oropher would notice exactly how careful he was being. “Ristarion claimed you and King Amdír demanded the palantíri because you did not trust a Noldor king to act in the interests of your people and you required a show of faith. He insinuated that your condition was born from distrust based on the shared history of our people and a lack of history between our people and Men.”

A shadow of anger passed over Oropher’s face, his jaw tightening. “So Ristarion dares to use my name to stoke division between our peoples,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “You have been High King of the Noldor for three and a half thousand years, Gil-galad, and you have not yet gone back on your word. Wounds exist and trust is fragile, yes, but you have honor in my eyes and the eyes of my people.” Oropher clenched his hands. “How convenient for Ristarion to twist my intent into a weapon of distrust. I would have thought better of one who sits on your council.”

Gil-galad inclined his head, his tone measured but edged with the same irritation Oropher showed. “Ristarion has been a thorn in my side, stirring discord where unity is needed. His actions are his own and not representative of the type of counsel I value. That is why I came to you directly – I did not believe we had so little trust between us.”

Oropher leaned back slightly in his chair, the tension in his posture easing a fraction. He sighed and nodded. “Indeed. I am…angered to hear my words have been misrepresented to you, High King. The palantíri are tools of connection, not instruments of power. I would use them no other way than to protect my people and Amdír’s while we and our bravest warriors are on the field of battle with you. Shoulder to shoulder.”

The sincerity in Oropher’s voice struck a chord in Gil-galad. For a moment, he saw not a leader, but a man who feared for his people. His family. A man burdened by the same fears and responsibilities that he himself carried.

“I understand,” Gil-galad said finally, his voice softening. “And I agree. However, my agreement with you does not alter much, unfortunately. Elendil is the rightful steward of the seeing-stones. While I cannot declare what he will decide, I will present your reasoning to him as faithfully as you have shared it with me.”

Oropher inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression softening slightly. “You honor me with your candor, Gil-galad.”

Oropher rose first, his robes flowing like water as he moved. “I will await word from you regarding King Elendil’s response. Until then, may the stars watch over you.”

“And you,” Gil-galad replied, rising as well. “Let us hope our actions today shape a better future for all our peoples.”

As Gil-galad left the chamber, doubts lingered in his mind. But so did hope. The Woodland king was no less proud or cautious than he had expected, but beneath that pride was a leader who cared deeply for his people—a leader not so different from himself. 

King to king . 

//

The coastal winds carried the tang of the sea as the sun dipped low over the Gulf of Lhûn, casting a warm light upon the freshly hewn stone of the White Towers. Gil-galad stood at the base of the tallest of the towers, his robes of deep blue catching the breeze. Beside him, Elendil looked up at the bricks of the tower.

“Your vision for this place is taking shape, High King,” Elendil said, his voice deep and resonant. His eyes lingered on the soaring spire and the scaffolding that clung to its side like a delicate web. “A beacon for our peoples.”

“Indeed,” Gil-galad murmured, his gaze sweeping over the workers. Elves moved gracefully across the site, carrying stone and smoothing mortar, their movements precise and purposeful. Among them, a lone figure with hair tied back, stood directing the flow of work.

“Master Elaniel,” Gil-galad called, his voice carrying across the construction site.

She turned, a smudge of dust across her cheek and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. “Erein– ah, uh, yes, High King. How may I assist you?” she asked, her boots crunching softly against the gravel as she approached.

She will never become used to calling me High King. He bit back a smile at the thought.  And at the memory of the names she had called him the night before. 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Master Elaniel, this is High King Elendil of Arnor and Gondor. He has come to see the progress of the White Towers. High King Elendil, may I introduce Master Elaniel, Chief Mason of Lindon. It is her vision and skill that guide these stones into place.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Master Elaniel,” Elendil said richly. “Your work speaks for itself. The craftsmanship is remarkable.”

Gil-galad fought to contain the fierce pride bubbling up in him at the impressed look on Elendil’s face.

Elaniel bowed slightly. “Thank you, High King Elendil. The vision belongs to our High King Gil-galad. I simply ensure the stones hear him.”

“King Elendil has asked for a tour of the keep,” Gil-galad said smoothly, turning to Elaniel. “If you have time to oblige us, Master Elaniel?”

“Of course,” she said quickly, her tone crisp. She motioned for Elendil to follow. “This way, my lord. I would show you both Elostirion, the tower built to hold the palantír .”

Elaniel led them through the wide arched entrance, her voice clear and confident as she explained the design. The air within the keep was cooler, the walls still raw stone in places.

“The keep is the heart of the tower,” she began. “Its foundation was reinforced with quarried granite, brought in from the hills near Mithlond. The lower levels will house supplies and quarters for the keepers of the palantír . On the upper floors, we’ve constructed chambers with narrow windows to allow light but minimize vulnerability for the winding staircase. If you’ll look here…”

She gestured to a staircase carved directly into the stone, its steps wide and shallow. They ascended, the sounds of construction below fading as they climbed higher. Elaniel pointed out the viewing platforms and defensive advantages of the design, her tone even and professional.

Finally, the three arrived at the topmost chamber. The wind swirled around them, carrying with it the faint sound of waves breaking against the cliffs. Elaniel gestured to the circular room. “This is where the palantír will be housed. The chamber is warded with protective runes, etched into the walls and keystone. It is designed to preserve not only the seeing-stone but the sanctity of its use as it points toward Tol Eressëa.”

Elendil stepped to the center of the room, looking out through the narrow windows at the expanse of sea and land. “It is a place of strength and clarity. I am impressed.”

“Thank you,” she replied simply, bowing her head. 

Elendil nodded. “You honor us with such work, Master Elaniel. You’ve given us much to admire.”

“High King Elendil,” Elaniel inclined her head once more. “If you have no further questions, I will leave you and High King Gil-galad to speak.” After both men bowed their heads to her, she left, her boots echoing lightly as she descended the stairwell.

The two kings stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at their cloaks.

Elendil crossed his arms, leaning casually on the stone parapet, a smile on his face. His keen blue eyes were piercing. “Gil-galad, my friend. You are troubled. Why have you brought me here?”

Gil-galad sighed, his hands folding into his robes. “I have had difficult conversations with Kings Oropher and Amdír. Oropher, in particular, has requested a sign of good faith from the realms of Men — as well as a means of protection.”

Elendil’s eyes narrowed. “And what is it King Oropher asks?”

“He wishes for two of the seven palantirí to remain under his and Amdír’s care,” Gil-galad said quietly. “He states it is not for himself but for his people, to provide safety to their smaller realms as they dedicate their warriors. They wouls use the seeing-stones to call for aid.” 

Gil-galad hesitated, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “I understand, however, that this request is…not small, by any means. The seeing-stones belong to you and were earned by the faithfulness of your forefathers. I understand if you can not fulfill this request, but I am compelled to bring it to you. As one king to another.”

Elendil’s gaze still focused west as though he could see the sea. Perhaps, with his keen eyes, he could.

“From your vantage point, do we need their support to win?” His voice was no more than a whisper, and he had not yet turned to Gil-galad. 

Gil-galad’s reply came swiftly, his voice low and confident and disappointed. “Yes.”

Elendil was quiet for a moment, leaning into the wind. His sharp blue eyes surveyed the land. 

“Can you secure their loyalty without the stones?” he asked quietly. 

Gil-galad looked out as well, the wind stinging his eyes as he gazed at the horizon. 

The moment was quiet. But it hummed like a harp string. 

Gil-galad did not want to show divisions in front of Men and their kings. He wanted to show a unified front. To stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his kin against the darkness, as the Valar would want. To show these Men the true strength of being Firstborn . To show Elven glory and valor and might stretching back before the waking of the sun. 

But something stopped him. 

Elendil was offering the lives of his people. Their brief, bright, precious lives. 

And Gil-galad would not return that sincerity with a lie. 

King to king. 

“No,” he replied, his shoulders slumping. “I can not. I can assure you of my loyalty, but I can not speak for Oropher, even if he receives the palantirí . He seems earnest and I know you have his respect, but…I…” 

Gil-galad searched for what to say, his heart sinking with heavy understanding as he finally settled on the truth of it: “I do not speak for all the elves of Middle Earth.”

Time slowed. 

The moment shimmered. Flickered. So many choices, so many lives, so much hung on this moment. So much so that Gil-galad felt as though the air hummed. He thought the noise was so loud it could shatter glass.

Elendil did not seem to hear it.

Nodding as the wind blew his hair over his eyes, Elendil finally turned to meet Gil-galad’s gaze. Blue and brown, locked together.

“A ship can sail against the wind by tacking back and forth,” Elendil finally declared. “We will change our course. Oropher and Amdír will have their seeing-stones in return for their vow to join us. Their choices are their own, but the Valar will remember.”

And as if Varda herself had been singing her displeasure and was now satisfied, the humming stopped. Gil-galad could not understand it, but he felt something deep within the bones of the world change. 

The sound of crystal being unbroken. Of a cry being pulled back. A spool of thread unravelling only to be wound again, whole and untangled. 

Time moved forward. 

Relief flooded over him, and he knew it showed on his face. Gil-galad could barely contain a grin, but forced his voice to be steady. “Thank you, King Elendil. The trust you show our people will not be forgotten.”

Elendil smiled in reply, clamping a friendly hand on Gil-galad’s shoulder, his voice warm. “We will provide a matched pair so they can communicate with each other or with Lindon, depending on their wish.” He smiled, blue eyes crinkling impishly as they turned back to the tower keep. “I do feel I should mention a minor issue with the sizes of the stones, however…”

// 

He was trying to focus. Truly, he was trying. The stack of papers on his desk was nearly two hands high by now.

And yet. 

He could still feel the way she touched him. The way she invited him to touch her. The feel of her lips as her body fit so perfectly against him. 

And that will be the legacy of King Gil-galad, of whom the harpers will one day sadly sing. All the peoples of Middle Earth fell to darkness because I can not stop thinking with my di–

A soft knock at the study door pulled him from his thoughts. He padded over to the door, already knowing who it was, and greeted her warmly. “Elaniel.”

“You’ve been here too long,” she remarked as she stepped inside, her tone soft but edged with gentle reproach.

“I’ll leave when the world stops falling apart,” he replied dryly.

“Then you’ll never leave, at that rate,” she shot back cheerfully, crossing the room toward the fireplace. Her gaze lingered on the papers cluttering his desk before she turned her grey eyes back to him. “How long will the journey to Gondor take?” she asked, leaning slightly against the edge of the desk.

“A moon cycle,” he said, allowing himself a long sigh. “Perhaps less if the weather is kind.”

“And how often is the weather kind to you?” she teased, a small smile blossoming across her face.

He chuckled, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Rarely.”

Moving behind him, her fingers lightly brushed his shoulder. “You’re tense,” she observed casually.

“One of my commanders insisted on bringing me yet another argument about resource allocation which, when discussed more, turned out to be a reporting error. An hour of my time over an incorrect number on a scroll. Then Ristarion –”

“Ah-ah,” she interrupted, her hands settling gently on his shoulders. “I’ll allow no mention of that heconna while I’m here.”

He sighed, leaning slightly into her touch. “You’re wiser than I, then.”

“And that is the burden I must carry,” she teased.

Her fingers began to knead the tight muscles of his shoulders, and Gil-galad closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. She lightly kneaded at the knots in his neck, earning a soft sigh from him. Elaniel leaned in closer, her hands sliding down the front of his robe as she hooked her chin over his shoulder. “Better?” she asked after a moment, her voice low and close to his ear.

He meant to murmur in agreement, but the sound came out more like a growl as she started slowly planting kisses along his neck. Her lips made their way down to his shoulder and back to the corner of his jaw. Nimble hands worked underneath the collar of his robes and she ran her fingers across his chest before scraping her nails against his nipples, turning them to stiff peaks. His eyes fluttered shut and it was his turn to reward her with small sounds of pleasure. 

Responding very enthusiastically, she breathed heavily as she kissed his neck again, working her way up to trace the outline of his ear with the tip of her tongue. He moaned again, eyes shut, head falling back against her. 

And that seemed to add fuel to whatever fire was lit inside her. 

She moved into his lap, pulling her skirts up to expose far more of her legs than she needed, to bracket his hips. Heat coiled low in his stomach as she straightened on her knees, bringing her head higher than his to kiss him again. He took advantage of it, pulling her closer to kiss her collarbone, to strive to kiss her neck, to cup her breasts. 

Her hips rolled again and his hands met her, grabbing her by the back of her thighs to rock her against him in a slow — so temptingly slow — rhythm. 

She stilled and he followed her lead, but he failed to bite back an undignified whine, reluctant to stop. “Have you ever heard the old Teleri proverb: Dartha nedh i rhîw, an ir lín i ethuil ?” 

Wait in the winter, for your spring will come. 

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes slightly. “Is that not a proverb about revenge?”

She pretended to think for a moment, reaching out to play with the collar of his robe, loosening it wider and wider to expose more of his chest. He fought back the urge to shudder as her hands roved across him lightly. Maddeningly, she kept rolling her hips on occasion – out of rhythm and randomly, he noted with irritation and want. 

“Mmm. Not quite. The Sindar often think of it more as…returning a favor. Balancing our scales.”

“Oh?” he asked softly, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. 

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed in reply, hands still gliding over his now-exposed chest. Her eyes were bright. “Ereinion, I think you’re still very tense,” she whispered, flashing him a wicked grin. Her hands moved down his abs. “Yes, I’m right, I can feel it. Very tense. I would like to help you relax.” Elaniel found a steady rhythm again with her hips, finally rutting against his lap.

The heat coiled tighter in his stomach and he fought the urge to grip her by the back of her thighs again. He was fully hard and half naked, his robe falling open. “If this is how you wish to spend your evening,” he echoed her words.

Her voice dropped low, but he heard lust and authority creep into her tone. She leaned close, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear as she whispered breathily. “Oh, this is exactly how I wish to spend this evening.” 

His cock twitched. Her lips were swollen and red. His hands had tangled in her hair at least twice. She was well on her way to looking … 

Well, he liked it. 

And then, she hummed against his temple and suddenly moved, leaving his lap. He bit back a sigh again and closed his eyes. 

Why is she always leaving my lap…

Standing next to him, she nudged his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her. Elaniel’s face was suddenly smooth and formal, her hair tucked back, and she flicked her hands down her dress. 

What the –

“High King! An urgent message from the commander of the Eastern Armies, my lord.” The voice outside the door echoed loudly, and the expectant look on Elaniel’s face suggested this was not the first time the message had been announced. 

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. Elaniel was unsuccessfully hiding a smirk. She looked fine. He looked debauched and he knew it. 

Trying not to let irritation seep into every movement he made, he stood and rearranged his clothing before moving to answer the door, peeking his head out into the hallway. “Yes,” he demanded with more annoyance than the poor guard deserved. 

“Commander Arminas has called the full war council to meet immediately, High King. He believes Sauron’s forces now gather for war and prepare to march for battle within the day. Arminas has begun to muster all troops in Lindon for your command and urgently requests your presence in the council chamber.” 

And with that, the guard bowed and left quickly. 

As he closed the door, several thoughts flashed through Gil-galad’s head. Fifteen more minutes. Arminas…I will repay your timing, truly, you have my word, Commander. Mustering all troops – he thinks we must move quickly and does not wait to discuss it. A true threat, then, for his instincts are sound. Elendil waits for us at Amon Sûl, and so does Galadriel and the Northern Armies, but this is far sooner than we expected to march from Lindon. 

Their eyes met, brown and grey, and something broke in his heart. 

Elaniel reached out, her hand lightly gripping his arm, her demeanor shifting to a seriousness he had never seen in her – at least never while they were alone. “I will meet you in council, High King. I will prepare to offer my leadership to Lindon.” 

She left quickly, giving Gil-galad a moment to collect his thoughts. 

The forces of Lindon would march tonight. And he would march with them. 

And she would stay. 

//

The great war chamber of Lindon hummed with energy. Maps of the realms were unrolled across the central table, weighted at the corners with heavy stones, and the faint scent of wax and parchment mingled with the sharper tang of polished steel. Commanders moved purposefully about the room, their armor catching the flickering light of the braziers. The air was heavy with the sound of orders given and received, quills scratching across parchment as plans were hastily amended. Tactics had been agreed upon, but now came the administrative headache of moving thousands and thousands of troops toward a battlefield.

Gil-galad stood at the head of the chamber, his polished chest plate gleaming in the golden light. Aeglos was cradled in his arm but almost forgotten – he leaned against it as he looked down at the maps on the table. To his left stood Elrond, already dressed for battle. To Gil-galad’s right was Elaniel, clad not in armor but in sturdy traveling garb, her hair bound up in her normal bun, a short sword at her side. She watched the proceedings with sharp, unyielding focus.

At the far end of the table, Lord Ristarion sat with his arms crossed, his own armor accented with the greens and silvers of his house. His face bore the expression of someone who had come prepared to start an argument.

Ah. So nothing has changed, it would seem. 

Gil-galad struck the stone table lightly with his hand, bringing the room to attention. “Thank you all. We stand on the precipice of war. Lord Elrond and I will ride at the head of Lindon’s forces within the hour to Amon Sûl, where we will liaise with Elendil and Galadriel’s armies. During our absence, Lindon cannot be left leaderless.”

The room quieted, save for the faint murmur of a scribe taking notes. “Master Elaniel will serve as regent until my return.”

A ripple of agreement passed through the room. Ristarion’s voice cut through the noise. “High King…” He rose slowly, his hands clasped before him in a show of deference that rang hollow. “With all due respect, this is a… surprising choice. Master Elaniel is a skilled stonemason, yes, but she is not a warrior or a leader. Nor is she a noble of long standing. Surely there are others better suited to lead Lindon in a time of war.”

Elaniel’s eyes flicked to Ristarion, her posture unyielding. Before she could respond, Elrond stepped forward, his tone measured. “Leadership in Lindon is not dictated by titles. It is dictated by wisdom and the ability to guide our people. Elaniel has shown that ability, and as you can see,” Elrond waved an arm around the table, “She has the support of the healers, guards, and commanders gathered here who will provide her counsel in our absence.”

Ristarion inclined his head toward Elrond, though his lips tightened. “Yet I must speak what I have heard from others, my lord. There are whispers among the people—questions about her loyalty. They say she is Sindar, not Noldor, and wonder if her heart truly belongs to Lindon.”

Elaniel stood at that, her hands resting lightly on the edge of the table, her gray eyes a tempest. The sight of her fury tugged at the knot in Gil-galad’s chest and it took a moment before he realized he had gripped Aeglos more tightly than before, his knuckles turning white.       

Elaniel’s voice was sharper than the spear. “Do they wonder? Or is it you who wonders, Ristarion?” She spread her hands. “I must confess before you, before this council and before the Valar, I did choose to be born a Sinda, despite my parents asking for my preference several times during my conception. ‘Daughter of a Noldor prince’ was on offer, but, I regret to say, I rejected the opportunity. Much to my parents' dismay.” 

A small chuckle from Arminas, who had already half-drawn the dagger on his left hip. Halion somehow laughed loudly and grunted in agreement at the same time – not subtle, that one . Even Elrond had to hide his smile behind his hand, breaking the tension on his face.

Elaniel pressed on. “But please, Lord Ristarion, yes. Let us litigate the meaning of my parentage. Let us question my dedication to the people of Lindon because I was born in a different realm. Despite having built the fortifications of this realm and working with every leader we have allied with. Despite having planned the travel and troop routes, supply lines, and routes of retreat."

Arminas all but gestured at her to keep going from the corner of the table, rapping his fist on the stone in encouragement. His eyes flicked to Gil-galad, a smile blossoming across his face.

"Lord Ristarion," she sighed softly, her voice low and dangerous. "I am sure many here must agree with you, since you seem to know their minds so quickly. I beg them to speak alongside you, for I very much wish to hear what they know about myself that I do not. And if the lords at this table are too cowardly to stand with you, then that is your burden to bear, unfortunately. I recommend you remain silent until someone is bold enough to second your motion.”

More amusement flittered through the crowd. Gil-galad felt anything but amused. Elaniel put up a good fight, yes -- she had a fury that was wondrous to behold. But she should not have to engage in this fight at all. 

Predictably, Ristarion ignored her, addressing Gil-galad directly. “High King, it is not merely her lineage. There are… rumors that the influence of a simple stonemason clouds your sense of duty. She has snared you, king. And we will all fall because of it.”

The room fell silent. Elaniel’s gaze did not waver, but a bright flush rose to her cheeks. 

       Simple stonemason. 

             Simple.       

                    Stonemason.

                         My duty.

                              Simple.

                                   Duty.

                                        Simple.

                                             Stone.

                                                   Mason.

                                                       Clouds my 

                                                          sense of 

                                                                duty?

                                                                     simple.

Gil-galad’s anger, held in check for so long, finally broke free. The thread snapped. More than one thread. Every thread. 

He frayed past repair.

He stamped away from the head of the table loudly, the armored plates on his thighs clanking against each other, Aeglos in hand. Pulling himself up to his full height — a half-head above most elves — he glared at Ristarion, who at least had enough sense to drop his gaze.

“High King, I meant no disrespect to you personally—”

Gil-galad ignored him, walking past the man to stand before Elaniel. Turning toward her, his broad body blotted out the rest of the council chambers. It was no longer a meeting room preparing for war. 

It was just Elaniel and Ereinion. 

“A king goes wherever the need is greatest. So would his queen.” 

Her eyes sparkling, she teased him, ”What was that, again?”

“Queen,” he repeated firmly, meeting her gaze. 

It was a statement and a question. 

“Mm. A frightening title. But, I suspect, a requirement.” Elaniel cocked her head at him, an adorable, madding look crossing her face as her cheeks burned bright red. “I find I have conditions before I would claim it.” She clasped her hands in front of her, eyebrows lifted, looking all the world as though they were going to finalize a simple construction contract. 

He wanted to gallop and she was coaxing him to be still, to talk through a decision at the one time in his long, long life he did not want to wait one second more. 

He knew it was intentional. 

And he knew he would let her. 

“Of course. Name them, Master Elaniel,” he said quickly, his tone slipping to one of a politician as he shifted Aeglos over his shoulder. 

He knew her well, and he knew how this conversation would end. 

The joy was in getting there. 

“I will lead Lindon as regent. But no — absolutely no, and I am being incredibly plain in this , Ereinion — absolutely no…curtsying, no…crowns.” She crinkled her nose. “Impossible at a worksite.”

“A circlet,” he countered. 

“Small. Formal occasions only .”

“Agreed,” he said, a half smile on his face at their not-quite-a-game.  Their tone was light, but he knew the lines they were drawing were not.  And she had failed to define both ‘small’ and ‘formal occasion,’ which gave him room to negotiate – or at the very least tease her – later. 

“If there is nothing—“

Elaniel held up a hand. “Additionally. You have managed the needs of this realm for thousands of years by yourself, and have proven to be a capable and dedicated leader. I’ve watched you do the paperwork, and I am not helping you with it beyond this. A favor I extend during war only.”

Gil-galad waved a bracer-covered arm. “Ah, that was never in doubt. I will secure another herald when I return. Any other requests?”

“I will attend events, but please do not ask me to be a politician. I am as likely to offend as I am to charm any dignitary you receive.”

“I confess I mourn for their loss, as your charm is a thing to behold. As is your offense, for that matter.” He pretended to sigh in surrender. “Agreed. But you must attend these events so I may admire the aforementioned circlet.” 

“Small circlet,” she corrected him with a raised finger. 

“Small circlet,” he murmured. 

Her eyes sparkled. “Then we have reached a consensus. Please, proceed.”

Gil-galad spoke the words quickly, his impatience at full gallop now that she had let him loose. 

“Manwë, see me. Varda, hear me. Carry my solemn vow to Eru Ilúvatar: I bind my fëa to this woman until Arda is remade.”

Elaniel laughed – a loud, excited sound of joy – before following him. “Manwë, see me. Varda, hear me. Carry my solemn vow to Eru Ilúvatar: I bind my fëa to this man until Arda is remade.” 

And something in them both felt known.

Agelos fell to the polished stones as Gil-galad crushed Elaniel — his wife — into a bruising kiss, pulling her flat against his body. His armor clanked again with the force of the impact. He was frenzied, hands on her waist, in her hair. Free from the restraint he imposed on himself for so long, he continued to gallop. He lifted her up to kiss her and fought a deep, primal urge to carry her from here and make her his in every way. 

But duty hammered in her chest just as loudly as in his, and she managed to pull back. Her eyes were glinting, lips red and swollen – Valar, her lips – and he craned to catch her beautiful mouth again before he saw a nearly-imperceptible shake of her head. She tapped her nails on his chest plate, which he had long ago learned was her request for his full focus.

And he suddenly remembered they were in a room with his closest advisors. Elrond was hiding a grin. Halion was not hiding a damn thing, and he looked delighted. Arminas….well, he looked like he was mentally taking notes, to be honest, in between sneaking glances at Alenya. 

Gil-galad found himself growing increasingly irritated that he had a sense of decorum. And that all. these. people. were in this room.

I find I do not care about decorum. This is my council hall, my palace and my wife. They can leave. 

They should leave before I take her on this table in front of them.

Finally facing Ristarion, Gil-galad’s tone turned brisk and business-like. “We have wed in front of the One, as you have witnessed. Elaniel is both Chief Master Mason of Lindon and High Queen of the Noldor.” He could sense, rather than see, her crinkling her nose at the title, but it did not concern him. She was High Queen. His High Queen. And he would remind her of it later. 

There is more than one way to help her acclimate to the title…and to giving commands…

Gil-galad tilted his head toward Ristarion. “Any arguments regarding her lineage, her capability or her right to lead are now quelled. Are there any other concerns from our people that you feel compelled to raise, Lord Ristarion?”

There was only silence.

“I am pleased to hear it. Lord Elrond wishes your advice on some…important matter, I’m sure. I give you leave to attend to it.” 

Gil-galad’s eyes flicked to meet Elrond’s, whose face had blossomed from a hidden grin to a mix of delight, annoyance that he was chosen to distract Ristarion, and something that faintly communicated, I told you so, in a very self-satisfied way. Gil-galad pretended not to notice. 

Instead, he spoke loudly to the rest of the council, his hands never leaving Elaniel’s hips. “We ride for Amon Sûl in an hour. Prepare your soldiers. Quickly. Council is dismissed.”

As the council hall emptied, Elaniel moved away from him – whywhywhymustshekeepleavingme – and leaned down to pick up Agelos, its blade sliding on the stones with a metallic note. She pretended to inspect the blade edge and nodded with exaggerated satisfaction before handing him the weapon.

“That was not a very respectful way to treat an ancestral weapon, husband.” 

“If dropping it will break it, then it is not a very formidable weapon, wife,” he replied with a smile, gripping her hips again to pin her against him, Aeglos cradled in his shoulder. He teased her gently, leaning to whisper close to her ear so only she could hear. “Half an hour, and we could…” 

She laughed quietly and he felt a shiver run through her as she moved her hands across his chest plate, resting on the buckles fastening it to his shoulders. Her fingers played with the strap. “It would take at least half that time to take off the—”

“So I shall leave the chest plate and bracers on— ” His voice came out as a growl next to her ear. 

“— And once I have you, you will need much longer than an hour to satisfy me as thoroughly as I demand,” she replied, swatting at his shoulder. “You have many responsibilities this evening.”

Gil-galad kissed her again, pulling her up on her toes before fully releasing her. “When I return,” he chuckled, “please do consider my offer about the bracers.”

“Yes, morconinya , your bracers will be on my mind for months,” she laughed, hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. After a moment, her voice sank low, her eyes soft and sad. “Go now, so that you return to me all the faster. I will watch the stars for us both while you’re gone.”

A moment passed between them, and he knew she was right. That this may be the last moment they had together and that he had to leave her. Married for an hour and then parted for…

He didn’t let himself finish the thought. 

“Even when we are apart, our stars will be the same. I will always watch with you. ” His fingers grazed her cheek once more. “ Namárië.”

With a final kiss, he left her reluctantly, attending to the multitude of needs required to move an army as large as Lindon’s as quickly as he now demanded – food and supply lines, housing, healers and commanders and quartermasters and horsemasters and weapons masters and more. Each coordinating a hundred, a thousand, elves at once to prepare for the march to Amon Sûl. There, they were to meet with Elendil’s army. Elendil’s very mortal army, who needed more food, more water, more rest than Gil-galad’s. 

The siege against Sauron would be long. The battle would take years. They would win. But the effort to wage this war had truly just begun. 

And he did not know when he would return.

An hour later, he had mounted his horse, Aeglos in hand. Gil-galad cast a final glance back at the gates and saw a lone figure standing at the top of the wall.

It was Elaniel. She raised a hand in silent farewell as Gil-galad led his soldiers out of Lindon. He could see the tears streaming down her face, shining like gold in the light of the rising sun, as he rode east. 

//

Author's Notes:

It’s a fix it, folks!

Elendil’s quip about the sizes of the seeing-stones is a reference to something not often shown in adaptations – some of those palantir are b.i.g. The one in Amon Sûl was likely the size of a small car or so. It was described as larger than one man could lift, while many other stones were the size we see on screen. In my mind, the stones Elendil has proffered here are from Amon Sûl and the master stone of Osgiliath (also described as a bigg’un). I believe these stones are paired, which would allow Oropher to set up a “family text thread” so to speak between his kingdom and another of his choice. These stones were both lost eventually, so moving them to Oropher’s domain does not alter their use later.

Dartha nedh i rhîw, an ir lín i ethuil or “Wait in the winter, for your spring will come” is fully made up – it’s likely incorrect Sindarin construction, is likely not constructed like a proverb, and it potentially doesn’t even make sense as a proverb used in this context. I needed an excuse for her to stay on his lap and tease him in more than one way. I am but a simple writer, dear reader, here to offer whatever humble aid I can.

My version of the Eldar's wedding oath, specifically “Manwë see me, Varda hear me,” is inspired by a line from the amazing Haladriel series Oathbound by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo): https://archiveofourown.org/works/45771712

//

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

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

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

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

You are here -> Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

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

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

[probablygoodrpgideas]

I think when it comes to building a world that has multiple races/ancestries/kintypes/whatever you want to call them, there are two extremes

The first (I'll call it the Tolkien approach) is to have each of the races fill a specific role. Elves live in the forest and are old and wise. Hobbits live in the shire and are chill. Dwarves live in the mountains and mine etc.

There can be multiple cultures among a single race (typically the humans) but there are no cultures that have any significant diversity. There can be individuals that live among a culture that is not of their race (e.g Bilgo, Arwen) but they are outliers.

It's very easy to be racist with this approach, but it's not inherently racist. In my (white) opinion, if you want to do this (or lean towards it) make sure that the individual types represent concepts and not real world cultures. The orcs as a representation of industrialisation are great, the fact that they're typically depicted with darker skin than anyone else less so

The other (I'll call it the ICON approach) is to just have a bunch of kintypes primarily for the purpose of allowing for more interesting character designs.

There can still be biological differences, but ultimately your culture is what is important. To directly quote the ICON rulebook: " Culture is far more important than Kintype. A Trogg and a Xixo from the same village are far more alike than two Troggs from different part of the world."

Cultures are also diverse. There is no culture that is just one type of Kin, and there is no Kin that has just one culture.

Obviously, as with most thigns in life, lots of things don't fit either of these extremes.

On a scale of 1-5 with 1 being the Tolkien approach and 5 being the ICON approach, I think the Forgotten Realms would be a 3. There are some strong associations with specific cultures to specific species but you can find anything anywhere, especially in the larger cities like Waterdeep or Baldur's Gate.

My setting of Draxnor would be a 4. Associatins between cultures and ancestries are typically weak and mostly only the result of the different ancestries originating in different parts of the world. There is one notable exception, the almost entirely dark elven Drow Queendom, but even they have notable amounts of dwarves, tieflings, and gnomes among them and there are enough dark elves in other nations that most wouldn't assume any dark elf to be part of the Drow Queendom.

[theoppositeofprofound]

We always talk about what gets remembered by Tolkien cultures, the oral histories and popular mythologies, but we never stop to consider the much worse reverse, the people who are forgotten. Especially in a memory-centric, semi-immortal society like Aman! Having your deeds left out of the record must be especially upsetting.

Some lesser Feanorian lieutenant gets a grudging parole from Mandos and realizes in horror that no one sings about the great battle in the Gap that felled them—they died in glory but all their fellow soldiers went and did a cheeky kinslaying or two after the bragollach so no one puts much stock by their less evil deeds.

The first elf from a Kinn-Lai settlement makes the choice to heed the Doomsman’s call and reunite with their long sundered kin in the Blinding Land. They recall the stories passed down—of tearful goodbyes and promises made—but of the blithe star-eyed elves only Ingwë and a few others can vaguely recall the parting words they offered to their worried families. Their family trees start when they set out on their journey, they make themselves motherless, fatherless. Did you even think of us, did you wonder how we were faring?

A reincarnation of Dúrin who returns and finds that the story of their last life is wrong. It weaves a great friendship where there was only amicable tolerance, misrepresents motives, fudges facts, erases an close councilor completely. Dwarves carve their history in stone and write their own epitaphs when they’re alive. It’s terrifying to see that even the rock can be manipulated.

[fatcatlittlebox]

What do you make of the people unironically rooting for celeborn to appear. Someone on twitter was saying that Galadriel has been “yearning” for her husband to come back and I was like, girl where. She mentioned him in all of ONE scene LAST season. Like there is one man Galadriel has certainly been obsessing shaking crying over for the whole series to date and it’s not her husband.

It would be tricky introducing Celeborn because they dont have the rights to the Unfinished Tales or Silm where most of their marriage backstory is described. But even if they did have those rights, there are alot of gaps and instances where Celeborn and Galadriel are doing their own thing. So his absence right now, though not accurate to canon, is not uncharacteristic from what Tolkien described. Id be interested if they make it a new love story for Gal or paint him to be a problematic guy. The text suggests that he’s kind of like a dwarf racist. Her one mention of him also hinted at a little tension.

I do think she misses him in the way one misses their youth and innocence. I don’t consider that yearning though. In the show it’s suggested he was lost in war when they were both very young in their marriage. And that they met when she was dancing in a glade. This is what I mean by an example of chivalric love. Celeborn, a prince, falls in love at first sight with a pretty princess. But ROP has made it very clear that Galadriel is no damsel in distress. In fact, all of the love stories on ROP are a total repudiation of this ideal. This story she tells also paints a pretty descriptive picture of who they both were at the time when they were married. Which is to say, she was a totally different person. She mentioned being naive about the war and absent any battle scars. His armor didn’t fit which hints that neither had extensive experience in combat. Galadriel wasn’t a commander and she hadn’t seen the loss of her kin and brother that would spawn the bloodlust and vendetta she became notorious for. And even though the memories of elves never dim, that doesn’t mean she’s the same person Celeborn married. She craves power now. No matter what these online experts say, TROP got that right.

Forgetting the fact that in the text she was actively involved in elven power struggles, that she desired her own realm, Galadriel wears a ring of power. She chooses to wear it. She doesn’t have to. The other elven rings change hands. But she wears it knowing that it will effectively and fundamentally ensure that she will never be that elf dancing carefree in a glade again.

But this is why ROP Galadriel and Celeborn’s marriage is so different from the text. I can understand text Galadriel yearning for her missing husband because their backstory supports shared ambitions, war experience and they also had Celebrian by this time. But TROP Galadriel and Celeborn will not have any of that deep history. So we’ll just have to see.

[jag-rat]

Let's analyse the drow!

Quick history on the drow: The drow have been historically characterised as ‘evil’, especially in earlier editions their alignment was always on the evil spectrum. Even Drizzt Do’urden for example was a story that essentially circles around one ‘good’ drow who managed to rise above the rest of his kin and become ‘one of the good ones’. I think we also need to acknowledge that in the earlier editions drow definitely had racist implications around them intentionally or not. With the drow initially being described as ‘completely opal black aside from their white hair’ and essentially just existed as the ‘evil’ elf counterparts to their perfect blonde cousins. Now in recent years wizards of the coast have started to rectify this. As of right now Drow have been described as being more purplish grey in colour and are steering towards being implied not to be 'completely evil'. There's no doubt about it that the drow have had a rocky history and being overtly over-sexualisalised by the early writers definitely didn't help much either. But I still think there's something very interesting wedged into this unique race of elves. 

Lolth's role: Their main goddess is of course Lolth who even in modern renditions is always depicted as a chaotic evil spider demon. You could argue she’s currently the main reason why the surface folk still don’t like these dark elves. Even in Baldur's gate three which came out last year the writers make a point of emphasising that the ‘good drow’ are the ones choosing to rebel against this goddess. Now obviously this ‘good’ and ‘evil’ thing has always been a core part of DND, which makes sense given it was inspired by Tolkien who consistently made a point about there being two sides, good and evil. And it's still a very common theme in modern fantasy but I think when we look at Lolth and her connection to the drow from a more contextual standpoint this insistence of ‘evil’ isn’t nearly as interesting as exploring the greyer implications of how this Goddess came to be. Being viewed as ‘evil’ in the dnd universe is natural as Lolth is written as a chaotic evil being, encouraging violence, the sacrifice of first born sons, and general betrayal among your fellow drow isn’t very appealing. It's enough for anyone to wonder why the drow worship her in the first place if they aren’t evil. However I think it's also important to remember in real life when we create gods they almost always reflect our world, the good and the bad. Let's take Zeus for example, he was a pretty shitty guy, cheating on his wife, kidnapping women and punishing people for petty reasons. But he was still worshipped, he just reflected power and kinghood. And kings aren't perfect or benevolent, they can abuse their power and take what they want. People are complex and imperfect and so are their Gods. So a similar sort of argument could be made for Lolth. 

How the environment shapes a culture: The underdark is almost always described as a harsh environment, with creatures like hook horrors casually wandering around, mushrooms that explode when touched and let's be honest probably not a lot of food in a place with little sunlight or stability. Earthquakes happen often here killing many and flattening villages. The underdark is without a doubt an unpredictable chaotic and cruel hellscape where death is a guarantee and often occurs for little to no reason. It's not hard to imagine how competition could become everything here. That means that every creature living in the underdark, even every other drow clan is just another competitor for those sparse food and resources in an already barren and harsh climate. In an environment so unforgiving and competitive you can imagine how a Goddess such as Lolth would be worshipped. Because Lolth, like most Gods, reflects the environment her worshippers live in, she is characterised as being as cruel, violent and chaotic as the underdark is. And the teachings of violence, sacrifice and betrayal that she encourages of her followers might not actually be such a bad thing but rather the key to the drows continued long term survival in such an impossible climate. Traditions and culture almost always stem from a purpose, in this case how you survive. The cutthroat nature of drow culture mirrors the underdark in such a way that it ensures that the strongest survive (although it's important to note when I say ‘strongest’ I don't mean it in a literal sense but rather those who possess the qualities best suited for survival in that environment.) The strict hierarchical structure also ensures this, with female drow being favoured as they are naturally larger, stronger and more robust than their male counterparts. Which in itself is most likely because larger stronger women generally lead to a higher rate of survival in offspring especially in harsher conditions where a single misstep can be certain death. This physical and social difference lends itself to the spider metaphor of their goddess both literally and figuratively where spiders eat their males. But as unfair as this rigid hierarchy based on sex seems, it can be argued like many cultural phenomena to be a curated survival method in itself. After all you need fewer males than females to maintain a stable population which is an important detail when living somewhere with a natural lack of food. Even sacrificing your first newborn son as gruesome of a tradition as it is, in a way makes sense. It selectively ensures that the male population is lower meaning less overall resource demand in an already scarce environment will be lower while still being able to maintain some semblance of genetic diversity.

Solutions to these dilemmas?: Now of course it goes without saying all these things are horrible, sex selection, strict hierarchies and encouraged violence to decrease competition are all bad. However in an extreme dystopian sounding scenario such as this one it does at the very least make sense. And I think what we can gather from this is that despite all the terrible things, at least terrible to us living in the world we are, drow aren’t really evil. Not even their society despite its depiction is ‘evil’. Calling them evil is kind of like if lions from a zoo who get fed everyday started calling wild lions evil for eating zebras. We may not like it of course but it's not fair to call it evil, it’s survival. In the same way Lolth isn’t even an ‘evil’ Goddess, she's just a cruel and unfair one, made to reflect the natural violence of the underdark and the lived experiences of those worshipping her. When debating the drows morality it's just about context. It brings some questions to mind. Like if the ‘good drow’ drow who are against Lolth did manage to rebel and forcefully shift the culture of the drow to be more like the surface elves for example what would really happen? Would the drow stop all their violent habits and competitiveness to live happily ever after in a more equal world? Or when all of this ‘evil’ behaviour was ‘corrected’ would it lead to a ripple effect causing famine and death anyway? Who are the surface dwellers to determine what’s wrong and right when they’ve never had to survive in such an environment? Perhaps instead the culture of the drow would just naturally change over time anyways if the need for those more violent and extreme traditions subsided because there were more ways of accessing resources and building a stabler environment. Either way I don’t know the future of drow society, but what I do know is that it’s far more complex and grey than we give it credit for.

[tar-thelien]

Explayining my Eöl is a Maia propaganda because @dfwbwfbbwfbwf told me to go for it and it made my head do a happy flip!!

Going to keep it to topics so it´s easier to read :)

Kin to Thingol & Residence/Friendship/Smith/Sorcery & Enchantments/Aredhel & Maeglin/Gondolin

Kin to Thingol & Residence:

We know Eöl is a dark elf who´s also a smith and kin to Thingol, who somehow knows a lot more sorcery than any other elf. That could be because he decided to live in an already enchanted forest but with that logic, Aredhel would become known in sorcery too so there got to be more to it.

He was said to be "restless and ill at ease in Doriath" when Melian raised the griddle, might be that Tolkien seems to have Maia be slightly territorial towards each other.

Kin can mean someone married into the family, and if Eöl and Melian is as close as they seem in the books they probably think of each other as some kind of siblings.

Friendship:

Eöl doesn't really seem to mind of the other races, he´s close friends with the dwarves, it only seems to be the Noldor he has beef with, for the kinslaying.

I think the note about the sun is important as a lot of the Sindir seem to like the stars better, although the comment about his servants strikes me, they are said to be similar in nature to him after him being described as a borderline evil wizard, which could either be, if you took a dark turn, that he enchanted them he pulled a Sauron or he somehow "blessed" them by sharing some of his Maia magic or them themself are some sorts of weaker Maiar.

Smith:

He was a smith and he created a new form of iron that was the strongest ever found - "as hard as the steel of the Dwarves", he was not messing around AND he made to TALKING swords out of a fallen star!! Tolkien never again mentioned stars as anything you could hold if you were not of the Ainur, and Aule had a tendency to lose his Maiar... just saying

Sorcery & Enchantments:

In some versions, Eöl is said to rape Aredhel which elvers die from just as a violation of their Hröa, yet she lives on, just as the orcs did when Melkor violated them.

Eöl seems to control Nan Elmoth to an absolute, and not only with what magic reminds from Melian, but he also seems to control growth light and roads as well as openings.

He can also hold stars and give metal it´s own soul.

Aredhel & Maeglin:

It could be he was evil or the Sindir/Avarin has other naming ritual (I do believe that and I have a page here I need to rewrite about it) but he seems to have no idea about elven costumes except from what he has observed Thingol doing.

When Aredhel nears Nan Elmoth Eöl commands the forest to separate her for her company luring her into his forest because he likes her look (maybe he´s just autistic??) where he shows himself and welcomes her to his home which she accepts and then chooses to stay, of her own will or under magic depends on the version, he later takes her as a wife and "they wandered far together under the stars or by the light of the sickle moon" even after he gets angry when she asks if she can see her kin again (not leave him just see her family) where he tell her to "shun sunlight" and after that, it sounds as if Nan Elmoth grows darker.

Note that Eöl too bans Quenya and only names Maeglin after 12 years, for his sharp eyes. And not sharp as in they see things, probably that too, but sharp as in "more piercing than his own" we know of two other characters with piercing eyes, and one of them is a Vala, Melkor, who if you look into the eyes of you go insane soooo...

When Maeglin near the years of an adult he requests to visit Celegorm and Curufin which sets Eöl off he threatends to "set him in bonds" if he does, and tells him he is the "house of Eöl", not Thingol, which seems a bit weird when he does a lot of other things alike to Thingol, as if he´s almost worshipping him, or looking at him to know how to act. If he was as loyal to Thingol as his action is (he lives in the place where Thingol first went on a date at) he would probably had said house of Thingol, as again he is KIN to Thingol.

We also know that Maeglin is really skilled in sorcery and Ósanwë, which some of the Valinor elvers are too, namely Idril, and his skill seems to be hinted to come from Nan Elmoth, a Maia-

Gondolin:

We know no one could find Gondolin, yet Eöl does it by tracking his wife and kid who left a week before him if not more?? there has to have been magic in over that, also he convinces Curufin to let him go - note that Curufin did tell that he thought Eöl was trying to deceive him by magic or just words we know not, I also think it funny that Eöl briefly calls Curufin kin because of Aredhel, but it makes me feel like it´s more to honor a smith than marriage.

Note that Eöl did not find his way into Gondolin, as it likely had enchantments on it, but he knew the way at first guess, and he´s fast enough to catch up to Aredhel and Maeglin when they are entering, even if Aredhel and Maeglin left before him and likely with the fastest horses and wasn´t stopped like he was.

When he cosses death for him and Maeglin he makes it seems as if he´s convinced they will survive, as if he dosne´t care for Aredhel here or that he wants her to live on, but he cares for Maeglin in a corrupt way and wants his son to die with him or he simply knows they will serve where Aredhel will not.

All in all I think it would make perfect sense if he was a Maia of Aule who either followed Melian to Beleriand or Melkor - if he followed Melkor who would later decide he wanted to go solo