#:: elrond :: tidalhaired ::

[celevrian]

Eight hundred years of pining has led to desperation. Celebrían dances naked for Lord Elrond, crawls into his lap, and kisses him soundly.

@tidalhaired

[pxnxply]

@tidalhaired liked for starter!

He hadn't meant to start such a commotion. But when a man burst bleeding into the great hall of Imladris, it did attract attention. With one glance at the bloodied cloth covering his right wrist, the poor girl who had first seen him went running for Elrond.

Beren greeted him with a dazed smile, and pulled the cloth from his hand to show him - except, there was no hand, and gash up his forearm that had covered the stump of his wrist in blood.

"I apologise, lord Elrond. I did not mean to greet you like this."

But on closer inspection, once the wound was cleaned and the blood out of the way, it was be obvious to any healer that he had lost his hand long ago.

"But I could use some help."

[saltuary]

⪼ @tidalhaired // cont.

At first, he did not know he lived.

A storm of arrows, so many and so dark they cast their own shadow upon the earth. A steel-tipped hail that tore through men and beast alike. The guttural screams of the dying, the frantic whinnying of their horses. A blow to the chest, another to the gut. Gondor’s blue sky. Then, mercifully, nothing.

Now, he was adrift in flame and shadow. Bones cracked, blood thick with poison. A weight pressed upon him – not the heat of his father’s pyre, but something colder, gentler. Linen. The scent of kingsfoil. A voice like water passing over stone. Through it all, a presence.

Not Death, though it lingered near. No, this was something kinder, something close to divine. He could not see, but he felt it – the great stillness of Elrond, the sorrowing heart behind his gentle, healing hands.

Faramir stirred, a groan thrumming through him like the last breath of a dying man. He tried to lift a hand, to speak, but only fragments came.

“Do you hear it? The sky… raining corpses.” His melodic voice rasped, the words torn by cracked lips and fever. “Their eyes are empty. Empty.”

The touch to his brow was cool, gentle, soothing. A tremulous voice murmured something low – meant for no ears but his. Still, it rang through him like silver bells in a ruined city:

“You are not permitted to die.”

Then the world fell away again, bleeding into dreams of white water and pollen-thick summer trees. In half-sleep, he felt cloth lap his skin like an animal’s tongue. Fingers in his hair, working free the tangles, rinsing away dried blood and mire. Sacred intimacy. The tenderness of being cared for as if he were beloved, not broken. He did not wake as he was washed, though he murmured once at the sensation of warmth trickling behind his ear:

“Am I a child again?”

Later, in a chamber veiled with pale gauze and perfumed with crushed thyme and field mint, he dreamed of the ocean. Not the churning, white-capped sea like that in the Bay of Belfalas – this was a sea of light, of melody, and there was someone kneeling beside him. He knew the shape and song of him, he knew the weightless grace of his warmth.

Faramir awoke.

Slowly, as foam-crested surf dredges a body from the deep. First came the ache, blooming through his limbs like bruises, gnawing toothlessly on his bones. Then, the too-bright sunlight filtered through rippled glass. Finally, the one seated beside him. Wreathed in radiance, known in dreams. Someone unspeakably dear.

“Elrond,” Faramir breathed.

Immediately, he tried to sit up. Just as quickly, he failed. Stitches pulled the moment his abdomen grew taut, their searing protest dragging him back with a soft hiss. Shame bruised the grey of his gaze. It was a terrible thing, to be seen at one’s worst.

“My Lord Elrond…” Faramir tried again, his voice ragged and hoarse. “Forgive me.”

Those mournful eyes fluttered closed, just for a breath, but he forced them open again, not willing to risk the oblivion he had only just escaped. A pause, silence soft as snow. Then, with effort, as though it took all the strength left in his mortal body to form the words:

“Cenningen le vi Anor en amarad.” Faramir swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing. “Cenin le si.”

[sashaofravenlock]

@tidalhaired Continued from X

Each step was stiff and uncomfortable, the long walk from the forest into the Homely House being tedious and draining upon her small form as she fought through ice and snow. Other felines stayed away, all either comfortably lounging in fire warmed spaces or upon the laps of those they adored. Such a frosty day kept all but a few indoors.

His voice was a welcomed tune and blue eyes, mostly covered by the white of her inner eyelids, looked towards him, her tail rising in greeting. Several silent footsteps later and she had to stop, coughing pathetically and sneezing several times more before she bumped her head into his hand, practically begging for aid. The chill of the journey lessened slightly from the warmth in his voice, the disguised fey immediately knowing that she made the right decision in coming to him for healing. Perhaps she'd be let to rest by him for a while...

[fatepowered]

anything  in  my  power,  I  give  to  you. (for Ecthelion)

@tidalhaired / romantic declarations

--- What could he possibly ask of Elrond ?

What could he, Ecthelion, former Lord of the Fountain, ask of anyone ?

He had been given a second chance by the Valar, been allowed to return to this world, been reunited with Glorfindel, received power that he never could have dreamed of before. Here, now, in Imladris, his long fingers running softly over the cool surface of his silver flute, Ecthelion cannot imagine asking anything of Elrond.

The elf-lord's face softens into a smile, and he reaches up a hand to brush his fingers across Elrond's forehead, lightly moving Elrond's curls from his face. " Dearest Elrond, I know you are good on your word ; you have given me more than I could have ever dreamed. "

[nolohini]

Elrond drew Aredhel close and into an embrace, happy that she graced the valley with her valuable presence.

Inbox Answered---

--- It took Aredhel by surprise, though her arms reacted without thought, wrapping around Elrond in reply. Warm and relaxing, there was a tension that had been building for days in her chest which eased. She was used to embraces, but so often they came from her to someone else, appreciation and care poured from every part of her soul in hopes of giving peace. But with her family in Valinor, the were few who cared enough to look closely behind her joviality to find the hidden raw nerves and somber being within. Rarely was she the one embraced without preamble, and often the lack of such resulted in her self imposed isolation so she might recover that energy she gave so freely.

Her head rested on his shoulder, willing to accept whatever he would give, and aware that he too only had so much. Quietly, though she tried her best not to, she wept, letting her heart unfurl the wrenching pain for a moment and accept a little healing.

"Thank you." She whispered as she pressed a kiss to Elronds cheek and pulled back a little to look into his eyes. "I needed that. Thank you."

[nuruhuine]

"You are very kind to defend me. Thank you, ada."

Inbox Answered---

--- " . . . You are my son." Maedhros replied quietly, hulking form still tense with anger, though softening slightly as he looked to Elrond. " the only son I have. My father--" he growled in frustration, low and quiet. " he will simply have to accept that fact. What's more, he is fool to believe his pains are the only ones worth mentioning in Arda. "

[p4thfindr]

rivendell was cradled by cliffs, the city stitched seamlessly into waterfalls, cascading from impossible heights and vanishing into mist before they ever hit the ground. light moved differently here—filtered through veils of ivy, refracted in glass or still water. the air had a taste like memory, clean and old enough to hum with its own language. it was beautiful, and unlike anything he had ever seen before. his gaze drank in the wood and stone, neither looked cut, more as if they'd been grown. shaped by patience and songs he didn't know.

bathed in light on the other side of the bridge stood @tidalhaired, neteyam crossed it with careful footing, tentative, silent and carrying the scent of moss and hard travel. he felt out of place. bare footed, skin dark and sun-marked, adorned in flax-fibers, riverstones and bone. nerves bit at him, and once he was close, neteyam raised his hand to his brow and lowered it in formal greeting.

❝ lord elrond, descendant of lúthien, i see you. ❞ he said, accent thick and warm. he had practiced those words the entire walk down the cliffs, and still they'd felt clumsy in his mouth. ❝ i bring word from rhûn. ❞

prompt ; getting to know each other .

[ghostscribes]

@tidalhaired liked for a starter.

a huff came from him, coming around the corner and through the high arched door. "you should have let me join them." this argument again. "I know all the lands like the back of my hand." but would he have truly made it through without his father or brother ? or was he just looking out for aragorn ? "i am not a youngling anymore ... I can fight !"

[celevrian]

@tidalhaired redirected from here

Her lips wandered across the expanse of skin he so willingly offered, sat in his lap so that nothing could distract him, as she hummed softly. "You have been up since before the sun." She whispered between two kisses. "The sun has now set some hours ago." His jaw was her target now, and her kisses trailed along its edge then up to the corner of his mouth. "Come to bed."

[honorforged]

🥬 Elrond doesn't throw a cabbage at Zuko, he makes him cabbage soup and also draws him into an embrace

Send a 🥬 to throw a cabbage at Zuko.

Zuko froze. His first instinct was always to fight it. The sharp reflex of someone who’d never learned how to be held without flinching. But Elrond’s hold was sure, unhurried, and without expectation. He was a calm, steady presence, as grounding as earth beneath bare feet.

Zuko let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. His arms hovered awkwardly for a moment before he let them rest, uncertain, against Elrond’s back.

[saltuary]

⪼ @tidalhaired // cont.

Faramir lingered at the Elf-lord’s scalp, fingertips pressing slowly, reverently, as though combing back the long shadows of fever one stroke at a time. Elrond’s skin was warm, far too warm. Steam clung to him like the mist of some ancient barrow, and in that closeness Faramir could smell the salt of sweat mingling with the botanicals.

“I will hold you through it,” he murmured, a promise made to the hush and the steam and the trembling breath he felt beneath his palm. “Until the fever breaks and you lie still in my arms once more.”

He moved with care, always with care. Sliding one hand beneath Elrond’s jaw, he turned that noble face upward, the bones fine as sculpture, lips parted slightly in breathless fatigue. With the other hand, Faramir dipped a cloth into the still-warm water and wrung it out until it dripped like summer rain. Gently he bathed him – wiping the fevered brow, the curve of cheek and nose, the soft hollows beneath high cheekbones. Down the long line of his smooth throat, he passed the cloth.

For a while no word passed between them. Only the swish of water and the occasional hitch of Elrond’s breath, caught perhaps on some pain he did not show.

Faramir washed his chest next – beautiful and smooth as marble, marred only by the faintest shadows of memory. He worked downwards, unhurried, bathing each arm, each long, elegant hand, lifting them one by one from the water to wash and press a kiss to each fingertip. They tasted faintly of mint. Hands that had wielded power, written histories, healed wounds, now lying still, cradled in his own.

The water had begun to cool.

“Come,” he said quietly, bending to kiss the damp crown of Elrond’s head. “Let us not linger in the chill.”

He slid his arms beneath Elrond’s, a secure grip at the forearms – a warrior’s clutch, intimate and sure. Together they rose, and though Elrond’s weight was not great, Faramir felt the gravity of it as one feels the pull of a star. Ancient, inevitable, terribly dear.

Towels awaited, warmed by hearthstone. He draped one over Elrond’s shoulders and drew him close into the shelter of his body. The heat of the bath had made the chamber thick with humidity, but even so, Faramir worked swiftly, drying the damp silk of his hair with long strokes, careful not to tug. Down his arms, his back, his flanks. He dropped to his knees to tend his legs, and thought – not without shame, not without wonder – of how he had often knelt thus with wildfire in his blood, his mouth rooting and hungering for the secret places of Elrond’s body. Devotion, for now, eclipsed desire. He dried the narrow feet and pressed his lips to each arch before swathing them in wool.

Swaddled in towels, Elrond looked near weightless. Faramir placed one steadying hand at the small of his back and guided him from the bathing chamber, their shadows long against the lantern-glow. The bedchamber lay ahead, heavy with warmth and the promise of rest.

“Almost there,” Faramir whispered, his hand remaining low, perched on the narrow slip of his waist.

[sashaofravenlock]

"Human blood is very hot. On a cold, humid morning, you can see it steam."

@tidalhaired

Rain pelted the fogged up windows of Elrond's rooms, golden hair spilling across his bare chest while she was curled into the crook of his shoulder. Often their conversations traversed many topics, waning and waxing as they fought against sleep or entered into a debate. Healing, a shared passion of theirs, often became the focus of their conversations.

Blue eyes were like saucers as he took hold of the conversation, love plain to see if he spared a moment to glance down at her while he gesticulated and rambled on about the differences in blood across species. If he doubted her love for him, then his elven eyes have failed him in every way.

"Hmm," she mused. "While human blood can run very hot, Fey blood can do the opposite. During times of severe stress, trauma, or magic exertion, it is possible for a Fey to fall into a death like state where the heartbeat slows, blood cools, and the soul flees the body to heal before returning once more."

[warhornofgondor]

[ ASSIST ]: sender picks up and carries the receiver away for medical attention because they've been injured and can't walk easily.

The Gondorian sat enthroned by large tree roots, his back propped against the ancient trunk. Luckily, it was comfortable, a small mercy given his inability to move. A leg wound that he had received on the journey had become infected. What started as an aching pain this morning now flared into fire with every step. Rather than bringing relief, the intended walk had merely left him stranded. Sweat, from the effort or a growing fever, ran down the sides of his face, dripping off his beard.

This was an embarrassing state of things. He had only been a guest for a couple days and now he was going to have to crawl back to his rooms. It was not the impression he had wished to make among the elves. With a groan loud enough to disturb the birds, Boromir leaned forward and began to crawl, dragging his leg behind him.

Until a boot appeared in front of his face.

His gaze traveled slowly upward, revealing Lord Elrond looking down at him with an expression Boromir could not quite decipher: pity, or perhaps disappointment? He did not have long to dwell on the subtleties before he was lifted off the ground, and off his feet. The relief was instant yet short lived. "Thank you," he managed to get out before he had to grit his teeth against the pain. If a reply came, Boromir could not heard it. Soft mutterings about the stubbornness of Man were all he could make out as they headed back to the Last Homely House.

[fatepowered]

❝ i’m in your debt. ❞ (for Glorfindel)

@tidalhaired / blood & darkness ( accepting )

Glorfindel does not keep a ledger - honestly, he would not choose to remember who owes him what. But of all people, Elrond owes him the least. Hearing his friend's words, Glorfindel reaches out and puts both hands on Elrond's shoulders, shining golden eyes meeting the other elf's gaze pointedly.

" Elrond, my cherished friend, ally mine, you owe me nothing. If anything, it is I who owe you ! " he laughs at this, shaking his head slightly. " What any of us would do without you, I've no idea. "

[findvilas]

❝ do you like it here? ❞

Inbox Answered---

--- "Yes." Finduilas looked out upon the sea, a breeze blown through golden tresses as she wondered just how far it was from Lindon to Nargothrond. "It feels strange to look out there and know that somwhere beneath the waves are the places I used to call home." She voiced, then shrugged with a small smile and turned to Elrond.

"There are so many who see it like a closed chapter, now that everyone has divided up time. Eager to forget. But I cannot say it's closed for me. I like my surroundings. I was born in an unmarred land, but the marring that came nearly made me forget how lovely things could be." But there was hesitancy in her expression, her hands held her arms like a self soothing child eyes glazed with a final thought. "I just wish it was as easier to move on."