#v: foundations of Lindon (between the mountains and the sea)

[scion-of-kings]

//Tag drop

[scion-of-kings]

Forlond had grown organically from the shores and up, springing gardens and leisure areas among dwellings and workplaces as the buildings climbed up the gentler slopes of the hills towards the forests. It was a sight to behold, this still raw jewel by the sea, and yet Gil-galad knew it was nowhere near finished.

The people were thriving and comfortable in their new houses, already settling into a period of peace while the horrors of the last war sank deeper into the ocean. Sometimes, when he roamed the streets on his own, he got the feeling that darkness had never tainted their days, that the only things his people had ever known were peace and happiness.

And yet, having lived his youth fleeing from one place to the next, the High King couldn't help but wonder how come this sense of safety would last.

Nonsense on a day like this.

The latest commission for his personal study had arrived to the palace earlier that day, and Gil-galad found himself busy, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, assembling the last pieces before the task started to feel dull — the city might be ready to be lived in, but he had requested his personal comforts to be delayed until everyone was settled, so it was only now that this room —this sanctuary of sorts— was beginning to take shape.

Physical work would take his mind off the thousand things spinning around his head on the regular, and so the High King had taken to spend his evenings working in solitude in furnishing this room; there were shelves and whatever books and trinkets he'd salvaged from a previous life, his precious harp and a chaise that had still to be tamed to his body's comfort.

When Elrond arrived, lost in thought as he was, Gil-galad couldn't help but frown in confusion.

“What of me—” he started, setting his tools down and wiping his hands in a cloth. It was not the first time the peredhel hit him with a question seemingly out of the blue, one he would struggle to answer at first. “Where is this coming from, Elrond?”

He gestured at the young peredhel to come in.

“I am sure our dear Círdan has regaled you with tales of my rebellious youth,” Gil-galad said, not without mirth, as he perched on the edge of his desk. Then he took on a pensive look, fingers drumming over the wood. “I do not know the exact story I would like you to cherish, but I know I would rather have those close to me remember me by as an individual, not... not the King, I guess.” His voice lowered a tad at that admittance, and his gaze left the rolled-up carpet by his feet to meet Elrond's. “What would you choose to remember, hadn't you ask me?”

Starter for @scion-of-kings

Elrond found himself taken by a thought. It was small, but then it grew and took precedence over most others. Until, for the past few days, it took all his attention. It pushed him onward, going around Forlindon talking and listening, asking questions and listening, listening and remembering...

It had morphed into a greed, and he understood in one aspect why.

Fear, one he buried.

For a new age this might be, buoyed by such hope, and Lindon was a kingdom—a kingdom, yet it whispered about possibilities inevitable. So he stood at the threshold of where he knew Gil-galad was—garden? study? office?—chewing at his thoughts some more.

It decided for him how to start.

"Pardon me, what of you would you like me to remember for the rest of my life?" A blink. That sounded incoherent and rushed, words tumbling after each other. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean…what story of you or your childhood, or anything that you hold dear, would you like me to remember?"

[scion-of-kings]

Home ||Redirected from here || @iriysse

Aredhel looked upon her nephew with the fondest of expressions, tears welling in relieved joy. Home, she had not had a home in so long, for even Valinor had felt as if she were missing something of herself. Home... it settled in her like a warm blanket, for here with her brother's son she truly felt that this was home. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, unable to contain her emotions, and hugged him close. "Thank you, suyon."

Gil-galad offered a small smile —the one he'd been told time and again that was too reminiscent of Fingon's to believe him fully gone—, but his heart shattered at the sight of his aunt's tears.

The concept of home had eluded him since his early childhood, lost in time and war —those other places had been mere dwellings in which to grow and live, but they'd always missed something. Something quite not tangible. Something that evoked roots and that felt permanent, as opposed to leaving his belongings behind once again; something that would withstand the passing of seasons and people and proudly defied the elements and the ages. Somewhere safe.

And these lands, this gulf where they'd ended up, seemed quite like that. Or it would, in time.

Already having opened his arms for her, the young king kissed her cheek before enclosing Aredhel between his arms. “Don't—” he began, a hand cupping the back of her head. “There is no need of thanking me for wanting you around.”

It was more than that. She was family, a link to everything he'd lost in the days of the Bragollach, and the ties they'd nurtured since their paths had crossed was something Gil-galad treasured like a dragon does gold and gems.

[scion-of-kings]

❝ i would've come sooner. i would've been here if you'd only asked. ❞

There's a certain cadence to her words that makes his heart soften, and a heartbeat later Gil-galad cares not that they are in the sight of many, their fingers entwined and cradled to his chest.

"That is something I know for certain," he murmurs only for her to hear, his gaze travelling down to the knuckles pressed against the sigil adorning his breastplate —a cluster of white stars in heaven's fields, all blues and silvers mingling with the dirt he's gathered on the road.

This closeness has garnered a few curious glances; an elegant flick of his free wrist sees a parade of soldiers, counsellors and courtiers departing the hall.

It is only then that the High King dares to take a step forward. His eyes never leave Celebrían's as he lifts their hands and lets his lips rest against her palm.

"I did not wish to concern you without reason," Gil-galad says, "but I will not deny that I longed to see you. It is—" There is a clearing of his throat, his voice having gone rough just at thinking what it means to have Celebrían here. "I have missed you, hiril nîn."

[scion-of-kings]

Visitor

(@silvercrowned - hi!)

Since news of a party coming from Lake Evendim had reached the royal halls in Forlindon, Gil-galad thoughts had been out of the room with whoever would bring him tidings of the newcomers. It had been but a tiny little thing to let his mind wander while the latest meeting of his council stretched well past noon, as pleasant and slow as a reunion of the Onodrim.

A few guesses could be made about the identity of the guests coming from Nenuial, but the High King's countenance brightened ever so slightly when, having bid a good afternoon to his council, he saw the lady Celebrían herself amidst the golden leaves of the courtyard.

"I would ask what news you bring about your lady mother," Gil-galad called, descending the steps towards his kinswoman, "if I did not know yours will be far more entertaining."

That was the one thing he wouldn't dare to say in the vicinity of Artanis, of course.

[scion-of-kings]

You’re not alone anymore; you’ve got me, kid | Continued from here | @tofeelthecold

Elrond smiled at Gil-galad but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He had been plagued by dreams, rather nightmares, of his parents and brother. It was always the same but he didn’t want to disrupt the king and he hoped that he hadn’t. “That means more to me than I can ever express,” he said, meaning the words because he felt as if the other was a brother or uncle of sorts. “I hope I haven’t woken you,” he said gently.

Looking out towards the balcony he moved to step out onto so he could look at the scenery and take in the cool night air. There was a part of him that wanted to share what was plaguing him but another part that didn’t want to share out of fear that he would be laughed at or scolded. “Do you have nightmares?” he asked, trying to take what he felt was the safest approach to broach the subject. Elrond turned to where he was facing into the room with his back out towards the openness that surrounded the balcony.

Concern gleamed in his eyes as he looked down at the peredhel at his care, and yet a small, calming smile tugged at Gil-galad's lips. He offered a nod in acknowledgment of Elrond's words, his hand brushing over the other's shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort him. "It's okay, I was still awake," he assured softly.

That was the truth -partially. He should have been awake, revising some texts Círdan had asked him to read earlier that day. But after a few dozen pages about laws, commerce and treaties, he must've dozed off. That was, until a scream across the corridor had made him jump off his chair and run into Elrond's quarters to check in on him.

Heart still racing, Gil-galad grabbed a blanket and draped it over the younger elf's frame as he followed him out into the balcony. He leaned on the balustrade, allowing the peredhel some time and space to gather his thoughts, and tilted his head down to gaze upon the city spreading at their feet, and the sea beyond. He was still fairly young, and still so very unused to the idea of taking care of another the way Círdan had taken care of him when he'd been younger -they way he was still taking care of them both.

"Ah... yes, sometimes I do," the young King answered. He turned around to face Elrond, quietly examining his expression. Trying to -as his mentor had always been able to- ascertain what was that was troubling his mind. "I think we all do have our share of those, at one point or another," Gil-galad said gently. "Don't feel... compelled to share your thoughts with me," he went on, searching the other's eyes and curving his lips in another reassuring smile, "but I'd very much like to help you if that's within my reach."

"What is it that troubles your sleep, Elrond?" 

[scion-of-kings]

Bouncing through the halls, Elrond didn't regard the darkness of night outside, nor the ministers who'd just walked out of the king’s office. He had just returned from successful trade negotiations at the Mountains, securing good margins for Forlond’s economy. He was even given some rare, seasonal biscuits that he wants to share with Ereinion. Upon entry, Elrond quickens and maybe runs to plop his butt on the edge of the king’s desk. ❝Hey hey!❞ He opened the pack, held it towards Gil-galad.

Gil-galad had never been fond of spending his nights sitting at his desk, but the day had been busy -it was nearly midnight and he’d just waved goodbye to his last visitors- and he’d always been stern when it came to his duties.

But when Elrond’s backside appeared in his range of vision, crushing down a few papers and blowing away a few more, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I fear I’ve spoiled you absolutely rotten!”, he claimed, sinking back into his chair. 

“What do you have there?” but at the moment of asking, his hand was already picking up a couple of biscuits from the pack. He had skipped the dinner due to some meetings, but he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he took a bite off the first biscuit. “First we eat, then we work?”

[scion-of-kings]

treasures of the sea // oh, please!!

Gil-galad was determined not to let Elrond out of his sight. At least, not until things had settled down a little in Forlond. The coup and assassination attempt his young ward had thwarted not a month ago had had everyone’s nerves on edge at the palace, and the king didn’t want him to suffer any further consequences.

He bent down to pick up a handful of sand, hoping to find some tiny seashells among the grains; they were building a ship to play with in the royal garden’s streams, and Gil-galad had wanted to glue some seashells to the prow.

“Do you think these could work?” he asked the child, showing him what he’d captured.

[scion-of-kings]

The throne room has seen merrier mornings, and the High King cannot help but recall the sensation of soothing, cold fingers stretching upward the skin between his brows and then dancing tamely all across his forehead.

"I will have your guild leader see to it," he says at the fourth reiteration of a simple problem described in words so great that it would be deemed of significance by any other ears. "Word will be sent to you once the matter is dealt with. I trust nothing else requires my advice?"

It is not after some more opinions have been exchanged that Gil-galad offers a polite nod to the elf that stands just a few feet from him, clad in finery, and offers to walk him towards the veranda that leads to the gardens and out of his sight.

May stars have mercy on his nerves, for he hears steps just when he's about to sit back down on his throne. It takes all his restraint to keep an amenable countenance while, inside, he dreads another one of these cases.

But it is her, sporting an expression he knows well.

There's a quiet kind of laughter at his beloved's words, and the smile that had been absent from his features shines like sunlight parting through clouds.

"Which obscure requests would my lady make, I wonder?" he hums, reaching out to pull Celebrían down with him and then slouching back to make room for her. The customary kiss to her hands fills his nostrils with the sweet scent of the flower wreath she has just revealed. "Would you have me wear that?"

He is, of course, tilting his head in the right angle so Celebrían can grace his head with her creation.

"Heavy it might be, but it lightens in the presence of some," Gil-galad says softly, his eyes searching for hers. He then looks at her bare locks, and frowns slightly. "Did you not weave one for yourself?"

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋  𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍  𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍  𝐀𝐒  𝐎𝐍𝐄.  some  wild  from  shoreline  and  field,  others  plucked  from  gardens  along  her  morning  path.  petals  of  gold  and  lilac,  sprigs  of  evergreen  meticulously  curated  with  him  in  mind.  she  floats  through  corridors  that  could  be  maneuvered  in  slumber,  gift  held  behind  her  back  as  though  it  were  some  roguish  secret.  celebrían  waits  in  the  wings,  a  spy  in  plain  sight,  peering  upon  @scion-of-kings as  he  attends  his  duties.  a  noldorin  nobleman  pleading  his  case  in  a  loop  as  though  to  simply  hear  himself  speak.  the  silver  maiden  holds  a  palm  to  lips,  stifling  a  chuckle  at  the  expense  of  gil-galad's  attempt  to  hide  irritation.

she  wastes  no  moment  between,  ambling  her  way  in  once  his  attentions  are  freed.  a  comfort  in  such  company  oft  sought  out  more  than  others.  ❛ if  i  put  up  such  a  fuss,  will  i  also  be  permitted  obscure  requests?  ❜  the  humour  glitters  in  her  ichor's  gaze,  and  no  ounce  of  it  is  spared  in  her  smile.  she  reveals  the  floral  crown  to  her  high  king,  a  flush  of  pride  tinting  her  cheeks.  ❛ heavy  is  the  head.  ❜  she  teases.

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 // 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

[scion-of-kings]

Starter for @elerondo 

There was uneasiness in the very air they breathed, and though night had shrouded Forlond in shadows until Anor sailed back into the skies, the trembling flames of a thousand candles still kept the palace alive. If it had not given in to chaos during the last days, it would as well help Gil-galad keep his sanity.

The scouts had combed the woods surrounding the city for three days, fruitlessly, and the High King had already mustered a small fleet to patrol the coasts. And in his desperation, he was about to send word to Círdan in Mithlond.

Elrond was gone.

Gil-galad tossed his crown over his desk in an angry motion, his robes a swirling storm of blue and gold in his wake. How had that child managed to escape the city, he did not know, but the unproductive search was getting to his nerves. He could not just stay there, idly sitting in his throne, while Eärendil’s son was out there in the wild. Frightened, freezing, wounded. The king sighed and closed his eyes, willing himself not to imagine what could have gone wrong with the young elf in his care. 

A scratching noise made him lift his head and open his eyes to zero them in on the white wooden panels which parted the room in two. It sounded like metal against wood, and the clattering sound that followed proved him right. The King drew a hunting dagger from his belt as he moved one panel aside.

“For Elbereth’s sake, child” he muttered, his voice devoid of all emotion, as the dagger slipped off his hand and hit the floor. Relief filled him before cold anger took the reigns of his words, his hands shaking at his sides and his star-bright eyes shinning in a warning glare. “My armies are out there looking for you, can you possibly imagine what- “ his words died in a low, frustrated grumble.

[scion-of-kings]

Dear Diary!

Meme: [x]

King’s Log. Year 870 of this Age. Tuilë.

After all these decades, I’m sailing back to Númenórë, if the prospect now is merrier than it was before. Word of Aldarion’s imminent marriage came to us nearly a year ago, and both Círdan and Elrond have come along with me in Alqualómë. My young friend is eager to see again the places where his twin dwelt, though I predict his temper will suffer from reopened wounds during our stay. As for my mentor… he’s spent most of our voyage perched over our figurehead, staring into the western horizon. I’ve tried to talk to him but, stubborn as he is, he refuses to let me know what memories that sight brings to his heart.

[scion-of-kings]

[ cont. from here | @feanors-daughter ]

“I would gladly trade you,” she laughed bitterly. “Certainly meetings with your counselors would be far better than being a cripple.”

The war had left her a wreck. Physically, she had nearly been eviscerated, her knee was crushed, arm snapped in half, ribs broken, along with numerous other injuries. Emotionally, well, her eldest brother was dead and the other was nowhere to be found. War had taken everything from her.

But more than anything, she was tired. Tired of that damned room in the halls of healing. Tired of being poked and prodded. Tired of surgery after surgery. Tired of constantly being reminded that she could barely even walk anymore, let alone run or fight or dance as she once did. Yes, her nephew had crafted her a brace to help her, but she’d still had to quite literally drag herself just to get to the bar. This was her life now, and it may never improve. She deserved more than just a drink.

The Noldo sighed, staring at her glass for a moment before draining the liquid from it and setting it back on the bar. “I drink because soon enough I will have to drag myself back to that room where healers wait to tend to my already painful wounds and scold me for getting out of bed - and I find it far easier to put up with it when I am intoxicated.”

The faintest smile -and certainly not a happy one- graced his lips, but soon it got hidden behind the rim of his glass. While the king understood her mood, in no way did he deem it wise to offer a reply to her words. Ereinion shot a sideways glance at his companion for the evening, pity pooling in his eyes at her statement.

“I know it must be hard,” he offered after a while, refilling both glasses and taking a sip of his wine. He didn’t approve of intoxicating oneself to avoid facing some personal demons or situations, but right there and then the king was not the most suitable being to lecture anyone on the matter. “But improvement will come, in time. Though I’m sure you’re tired of hearing things along that line, aren’t you?”

Ereinion discarded the depleted bottle and took another one from the counter. “Ah... Dorwinion,” he chuckled lightly, or at least he tried. “You have to be careful with this, or so they say,” he added, offering the woman a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He settled the bottle between the two of them and took another sip before turning to Laurelin again. “I’m not saying that I’m content with you getting intoxicated on this account, but I won’t deny you it is your choice,” the king said, looking intently at her.  “I will walk you back to the halls of healing, though, to avoid any accident... or any telling-off.”

[scion-of-kings]

Dear Diary

Meme: [x]

King’s Log. 

Rhîw 730. Mithlond, Lindon.

Winters here remind me of my childhood years in Brithombar and Eglarest. The smell of that mulled cider Círdan never allowed me to drink fills the air, though the weather is colder here than it was ever on those shores. Elrond has joined me in my visit to my mentor in our attempt to flee the court for some weeks, and we’ve been happily reunited with our friends from Númenórë. Círdan seems pleased with our young guests, and has put himself to the task of examining Númerrámar… again. 

[scion-of-kings]

"Why are you here?" asked Elrond, nose high and ill of temper, with the question sounding more like an exit than a genuine inquiry. / (maybe start of Lindon?)

The Valar knew he was trying to foster the young elf as if he was his own son, but damned be his crown if he knew how to drive the High King up a wall.

Gil-galad faced Elrond, his arms crossed upon his chest and a glance that would reduce any reasonable being to chastened silence. 

“Are you really asking why?” Ereinion almost snorted, trying to keep his voice low and controlled and failing miserably. “Maybe it is because, oh, I don’t know” he waved a hand, unable to contain the irony tainting his tone and gestures, “I might be worried about you putting your lessons off... again”.

[scion-of-kings]

VERSES

You can find all the info about the verses here [x]; this is just a quick summary to help me keep everything neat. Although there’re five main verses covering from Ereinion’s childhood to his death in the Siege of Barad-dûr, I’ve divided each one of them in several smaller verses, as sometimes there are a lot of things going on there. 

As this is going to be a sort of index to keep track of everything, I’ll be adding the links with the info about the AU verses once I write everything. 

CHILDHOOD

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: Snows of Hithlum, Círdan’s home.

YOUTH

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: The Pearls of Balar, Young High King of the Noldor, The War of Wrath

BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: Foundations of Lindon, Elvish Rings and Elvish Forges, The Faithful Ships

TALL SHIPS AND TALL KINGS

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: Of Elves and Men

THE LAST ALLIANCE

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: Moon’s Fall, Keep Darkness at Bay, Aeglos and Narsil, none could withstand

INTO THE WEST

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: The Halls of Mandos, The Undying Lands

INTO LIGHT HIS STAR SHINES

AU where Ereinion never died at the end of the Last Alliance and lived to witness the events in the War of the Ring.

More info: History. Headcanons.

Trackers: Into light his star shines