#elrond fic

[ophidion]

the last great american dynasty

part 5: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness and let us put on the armor of light

Fandom: The Rings of Power Fanfiction Pairing: Galadriel / Halbrand | Sauron , Celebrían / Elrond Peredhel Rating: E Chapter: 5 of 5 Word Count: 46,971

read on ao3

a #haladriel and #celrond political AU where the doom of mandos is the kennedy curse, the southlands and smithing are Texas’s oil industry, Feanor is FDR, Finrod is JFK, and Galadriel is the last girl left alive of an almost dead dynasty.

[aiwe-the-little-bird]

Fic: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

It is here!😁 The thing has been done. For the nonny that requested the rock-breaking fic and who's request made its way to me. I present to you, THE FIC.👏 I hope you all like this! And I hope it makes it's way to the nonny who wanted something like this. 🤍 🤍

And to those who asked to be tagged and to those who might be interested @lotrnonsense @starlady66 @elronds-pointy-ears @thesolarangel and @eremeldanin (I saw you in the reblogs, so thought you might want to be tagged as well). Hope you all enjoy!🤍 🤍

P.S. I kind of want to write a smutty sequel to this. Let me know what you think! 😘

----------------------------

Title: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Pairing: Not super specific but could be read as Durin/Elrond/Disa

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None, unless you count hot sweaty elves and dwarves.

“I demand a rematch!” Durin says, slamming his tankard of ale down onto the table. The sound rings out in the quiet halls of the dwarf prince’s home.

“You demand a what?” Elrond raises an eyebrow at him and takes a sip out of his own tankard.

The two were currently holed up in Durin’s and Disa’s home, avoiding their princely and heraldy duties for the moment. During the past hour, they had been telling stories and jokes at the dining table. They were deep into the ale, though it was only afternoon. 

“You heard me, elf. A rematch!”

“Yes, yes, Durin. My ears have not broken in the past minute. You need not shout. But what I fail to understand is a rematch of ‘what’?” The half-elf asks with a roll of his eyes.

“Sigin-tarâg, Elrond. You remember this do you not? Or have you lost your memory as well?” The dwarf teases.

“No, of course not. I remember it quite well actually.” Elrond grins at the memory.

“Well then you will remember that you cheated!”

“Cheated? I do not see how I cheated when it was you who won.”

“Because you let me win! It was not a fair match.” Durin complains.

“So you wish to have a rematch?”

“Aye! So I can prove that I would have won fair and square either way.”

Elrond laughs and sips his ale. “How do you know you will win again?”

Durin leans forward and grasps Elrond’s chin in his fingers. With fiery and glowing eyes he smirks. “Because, dear one, I am a dwarf. And I was made for that challenge. It is in my blood. I am stubborn and strong.” He strokes his thumb across the pink lips before dropping his hand.

Elrond pulls back with a blush. “Well, you may be a dwarf. But I am that of the elves and men. And we certainly do not back down from a challenge.” He bites his lips and looks at Durin across the table alluringly. “Will I be banished again, if I lose?”

“That remains to be seen.” The dwarf teases. Durin stands up and drains the rest of his ale. “Well let’s get a move on then.” He pulls Elrond up. “I have a challenge to win.”

“Challenge accepted.”

——————————

Disa was wandering down the hall with a plate of freshly baked scones in hand, and turns the corner. Lost in thought, she almost misses the sight of her husband and their elf walking ahead of her with purpose. Each held a large hammer in hand. Two that she definitely recognized as coming from their home. She rushes to catch up with them and falls in step with the two.

“What in Aule’s beard, are you two up to?”

“Off to break some rocks, my dear.” Durin says excitedly.

“Break some rocks? Whatever for?”

“A rematch, Disa.” Elrond grins down at her.

“Aye. This twig of an elf let me win last time. So now I have to prove that I would have won either way.”

“Are you talking about the rite of Sigin-tarâg? You can’t be serious…”She asks, shocked.

“Of course!” Elrond laughs.

Disa rolls her eyes at her two dear troublemakers, but in the end decides this would be the best way to spend her afternoon. “Well, I suppose I will just have to cheer you on.”

“Cheer who on?” Durin queries.

“Whoever wins the challenge of course!” She laughs.

The sight of the three of them, two dwarves and elf armed with hammers and scones, traipsing down the paths of Khazad-dûm, caused many of the citizens to look at them strangely. Several just rolled their eyes, used to the antics of their Prince and Princess and their elf. And others began to trail behind them to see what they were all up to this time.

Several dwarves were called to bring in rocks. Rock upon rock was brought in to the same chamber Elrond remembered from the first challenge, several months previously. Disa giggled to herself and sat upon a bench in the corner, giving herself a perfect view of what was about to happen. 

Elrond is the first to ready himself, removing his cloak just like the first time and grining at Durin.

“You and your feathery shirt better be ready. I will show no mercy.” Durin picks up his hammer.

“Nor do I expect any.” Elrond says as inspects the surface of the first rock. “Though I will say the same to you my fried.” His eyes twinkle as he speaks.

“Just you wait, elf. You won’t be so confident in a few minutes. Ready to have your delicate bottom handed to you?”

“Well, then I will give you the honor of going first.” 

Durin winks at Elrond before turning to his wife and doing the same thing. Disa snickers and mutters “This is going to be good.” She takes a bite of her blueberry scone and sighs when the first rock splits with a loud crack. Disa applauds her husband as the prince turns to smirk at Elrond. 

“Sure you don’t want to forfeit?”

Elrond just takes his own hammer and brings it swiftly down upon the large rock. It too splits in half. He stands straight once more, looking as if he had just been cutting a piece of butter, instead of a giant rock. Disa cheers.

Durin grumbles from a few feet over and moves on to the next rock. 

“Two!” He shouts as the rock splits. Elrond just shakes his head in amusement as he watches. The challenge continues, and both dwarf and elf make quick work of the next several rocks, both making it look like the easiest and simplest of tasks.

“Three!”

“That’s four, elf.”

“Five! Getting tired yet, Durin?”

“Six! In your dreams, Elrond.”

After the ground is littered by the halves of several rocks, Elrond wipes the single bead of sweat that drips down his forehead and sets his hammer down. Durin raises his eyebrows in shock.

“Not finished already are you? I didn’t take you for a weakling, Elrond.” He goads.

Elrond shakes his head. “Finished? Oh no, my friend. I have only just gotten started.” With that, he proceeds to unlace his tunic and pull it off over his head. All that is left upon his person is his trousers, which in Disa’s personal opinion hugged his legs and hips perfectly. That, and his boots.

The dwarves princess almost chokes on a piece of scone when he turns towards her and winks. Sweat was dripping down his neck and tracking its way down his muscular chest and the defined abdomen. 

“Show off.” Durin rolls his eyes.

“Well you have a shirt as well, my love.” Disa calls out to him.

“You aren’t the only one who can do that.” Durin tells Elrond, before removing his own tunic. Once his chest is bared, he flexes, showing off his muscles and body. Disa leans her chin on her hand and pops another piece of blueberry scone into her mouth.

“Well, are you two going to get on with it? I could watch this all day!”

“Humph.” Durin grumbles and picks up his axe. 

Elrond just laughs.

With a shout, Durin gets right back to it, with Elrond not far behind. 

“Eleven!”

“Twelve, Elrond. Surely you are getting weary by now.”

“Thirteen, Durin. Anything but.”

Disa hums in appreciation as she watches. The muscles on Elrond’s back ripple with each strike of his hammer. And her husband’s biceps flex enticingly each time he picks up his hammer.

“I sure could get used to this!” She tells them jokingly. 

“Anything for you, Disa.” Elrond says with an innocent smile.

“Typical elf. Sweet talking the spectator.” Durin grumbles.

For many many minutes they continue, striking each rock hard and with precision. By now Durin is panting, sweating and his muscles tremble with exhaustion. Elrond on the other hand only has a light sheen of sweat upon his body, and his hair still floats perfectly around his head.

“Still not going to give up, lad?” Durin bemoans.

“Why would I do that? I thought that was exactly what you did not want.” Elrond teases.

“Well you could at least look like you are having trouble keeping up! You are going to ruin my reputation as a prince!”

“Oh come now, it is only Disa watching. And I doubt she would find your reputation lesser than before, even if you were to lose.”

“Only Disa? Has your pretty little brain left you? That is my wife! It is exactly she who I am worried about.”

“Ah, well. In that case, better not let your wife down!” Another strike to a rock.

After what could have only been hours of the challenge, Durin throws down his hammer and puts his hands on his hips with a scowl. 

“Blast it! You are never going to give up.”

“I will give up if you wish.” Elrond sets his own hammer down. 

“Nay. Your pretty little head was the last one to break open a rock. You win.”

“We can continue.” Elrond points to Durin’s hammer.

“I value my arms and the rest of my limbs. I loathe to admit it, but I can do no more.”

Disa bursts up from her seat next to a plate of crumbs and claps loudly. “Oh that was absolutely magnificent. Best show of sport that I have ever seen in this mountain. Congratulations sweetheart.” She runs up to Elrond and pulls him down to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Yes. Congratulations, Elrond.” Durin says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Oh come now, husband. You played fair and square. And it was no terrible thing for me to watch you as well.” She presses a second kiss to Durin’s cheek.

“Thank you Durin, for the rematch.” Elrond bows his head to his friend.

“Yes, yes. Just don’t let this win go to that pretty little head of yours. Your ego has already grown double since you met Disa.”

“He deserves the compliments, lovely little thing that he is!” Disa runs a hand down Elrond’s sweat covered chest.

“Disa….” The half-elf blushes.

“Alright alright, you won fair and square elf. Now, this was no formal event, but I will still grant you a single boon. What shall it be?”

“Well. I find myself quite sweaty and feeling less then fresh. You would not want to help me get cleaned up, would you? I think I need a bath.” He asks the prince with a twinkle in his eyes.

“If you put it like that, then lead the way.” Durin grabs Elrond’s hand and pulls him out of the chamber, still half-naked.

“I can help too!” Disa cries, running after them with a giggle.

[leucisticpuffin]

It is not yet dawn when they break camp – so much as "dawn" means these days, when the northern skies are ever black with smoke and orcs roam freely in the wilds of broken Beleriand. There are few places left free of the Enemy's taint. Yet the smoke cannot cover all light; the rim of the sky is blushed pink, and the new star rises in the West.

Maglor looks to the light, as the children do: all three fall quiet. But Maedhros walks ahead, his hand on his sword-hilt, and sees nothing but the dark and treacherous path ahead.

For @maedhrosmaglorweek, Day 5: New Horizons

[elronds-meleth-nin]

I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed

I heard a song and one of the lines got stuck in my head, so here's a fic. (If you're curious, it was "Figure You Out" by VOILÀ.) No idea why, but Thranduil just felt perfect for this.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Thranduil x Reader

[A/N: This is mostly just fluff, but there's some innuendo, so... 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Fluff, angst, Elf x Human romance, mutual pining, idiots in love, Thranduil being dramatic, fake betrothal speedrun, Thranduil being soft for one (1) person only, protective Thranduil, Human!Reader has been adopted by elf who had no idea what he was getting into and Thranduil thinks he's an idiot, mild innuendo.

~*~

My mind wandered during my guard shift. Given that nothing ever penetrated this deep into the realm without the king's consent, the risk of allowing my focus to roam among my busy thoughts was minimal. The night air was brisk as I sat on one corner of the king's balcony with my bow laid across my lap.

Normally, the night air was soothing, but at that moment, all I could think about was how different everything would be soon. There would be no more extravagant views of the stars framed by elaborately gilded windows, no more training with my bow, no more front row seats to royal audiences, and - the worst of all - no more late night conversations when King Thranduil grew weary of his work.

I'd taken those things for granted. Oh, I hadn't squandered my time once I'd become one of his guards, by any means, but now that I might be forced to give up that position sooner than I'd anticipated, a list of regrets seemed to be cycling endlessly in my mind's eye. One that caused me the most pain was that I would very soon no longer be the recipient of his majesty's secret smirks when something we'd discussed privately occurred in his court.

The sound of a quill scratching away on parchment within the king's study ceased abruptly, but not even the anticipation of a quiet, intimate talk with him could lift my spirits. Not after the news I'd had that morning.

The swish of a cloak being removed was followed by unhurried footsteps toward the balcony, and then he was there beside me. The King of the Woodland Realm stood less than a few feet from me in all his finery, save the little circlet that usually rested upon his brow. He tended not to wear it when he retired to his chambers for the evening, choosing instead to lay it atop a book of poetry which resided permanently on his desk.

"On a lovely, cloudless night such as this, what cause would a newly-engaged lady have to look so forlorn?" The smooth, regal voice of my liege met my ears, and under any other circumstances, I might have scrambled to my feet to bow before him, as was his due. All I could muster, however, was a quiet, sincere apology over my shoulder as I remained seated on the balcony. I could feel his keen, pale blue eyes on me as I set my bow aside and let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, dear. Is he that repulsive?"

"Not physically, but...all he seems to see is himself. I am perfectly aware that the betrothal wasn't either of our choices, but he could at least pretend that he's interested when our parents are nowhere to be seen." I was aware that I sounded ungrateful, but just because I was a mortal woman in a realm of Elves didn't mean that I had to like it when I was constantly looked down upon by others.

One of the few people who never gave me the impression that he thought less of me took a seat beside me in robes much too elegant for anything less than a perfectly padded chair to touch.

"Have you spoken with your guardian - apologies, your father - about your fears?" Instead of sounding judgmental, Thranduil's voice held only softness - a rarity, to be sure, but such a tone was more common when he conversed with me than with anyone else. I nodded my head as I recalled the cold aloofness in my adoptive father's voice as he'd dismissed both me and my protests.

"He seemed more concerned with maintaining the status associated with his name than with some silly little mortal's concerns." I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, I really did, but the sharp edge that crept in made me cringe a bit. "After all, who am I to complain when he took me in? My life could have been over before it had even truly begun. He could just as easily have left me to die in the ruins of our burning village and adopted an Elfling instead. I...owe him for all that he has done."

One of Thranduil's hands rested lightly on my shoulder, coaxing me to face him. My eyes met his, and his free hand laid over my wrist. The warm weight of his palm covering my pulse made my heart flutter in my chest.

"Is that what he told you?" When I stammered about it being nothing more than the truth, he shook his head while stormclouds gathered in his expression. "What foul words of comfort from one who claims to care for you."

To that, I had no response. Naturally, several statements sprung to the tip of my tongue - defenses for my father's actions - but I swallowed them all down when my king's gaze warned me that he would tolerate no such excuses.

"Remind me, mellon-nin, how long have you served in my guard?"

"Twelve years and a few months, sire."

"And in all of our many conversations, have I ever given you any reason to doubt that I value you as highly as any other in my kingdom? After that first fortnight, when you were terrified of making a mistake, have you ever felt out of place because of your mortality?"

The memory of that fateful night drew a smile to my lips.

"No, mellon-nin. That rather thorough tongue-lashing you meted out made your stance quite clear to all in the palace," I murmured allowing myself the small liberty of turning my hand beneath his and threading our fingers together.

The guards he'd berated for their rudeness and bigotry had practically fled the throne room when he was finished with them. After that night, he'd ordered that whenever I was on duty, I would be assigned to his personal detail.

"Then, what cause have you to believe that I would tolerate anyone treating you so poorly anywhere else in my domain?"

"This is different–"

"How? Enlighten me," the king ordered giving my fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Father has the right to demand that I repay him for the time he has spent on me," I hedged, but Thranduil shook his head.

"Just because he raised you, that does not mean that he was unaware of what he was choosing. He may not have known the full extent of the demands made of a parent, but that was not the fault of the innocent babe he rescued." He sounded so calm, so casual about his assertions that I could do no more than blink as he spoke. "I do not expect Legolas to sacrifice his happiness to satisfy some imagined debt incurred at his birth, nor should your guardian make such ludicrous demands of you."

We sat quietly for a moment, side-by-side and hand-in-hand beneath the moonlight before words began flowing from my mouth almost without my consent.

"He's an ass, you know, the man to whom I have been promised. Nothing brings him greater pleasure than a mirror, and nothing strains him more than remembering a preference held by someone other than himself," I murmured feeling as though this confession of my unkind thoughts about the Ellon would give me some measure of comfort beyond another's commiseration. "Six different times he has insisted that he knows my favorite flower, and six times have I received something completely different. He claims that I keep changing my answer, but, truly, I have given the same response every time."

"He chooses not to listen," Thranduil muttered almost to himself.

"Quite correct, aran-nin. He is dismissive...practically ignores me when we are in the same room..."

"Had he been listening, he undoubtedly would have heard your scathingly pointed sighs, not unlike those which you direct toward any who insult your king in the throne room," he teased, and a huff of laughter bubbled out of me. "I shall have you know that I enjoy those little sighs. They convey a great deal about the receiver's lack of intelligence and manners, whilst simultaneously broadcasting that you would like nothing more than to drag them from the gates by the scruff of their neck. Quite effective, do you not agree?"

"Oh, yes, mellon. As I recall, you've allowed me to do just that on several occasions," I said glancing over at him. The answering sparkle in his eyes coupled with the wicked little smirk adorning his lips made my heart thud faster in my chest.

"And I reveled in every second of their humiliation at your beautiful hands," Thranduil practically purred in satisfaction at the memories, but I sobered rather quickly as I recalled the reason I was so down in the first place. He must've seen my smile slip. "Forgive me, I was certain that you enjoyed dragging witless rats from my sight...?"

"I do...rather, I did." The correction was small, but he pounced upon it immediately. The hand that had been on my shoulder grasped my chin and forced me to look back up at him. He didn't need to say a word. The question floated between us unasked, yet requiring an answer. "My betrothed made it clear that he believed a guard was no proper wife. He has demanded that I resign my position here."

More seriously than he had all night, Thranduil gazed into my eyes.

"Is that what you want? Do you wish to give up the station you fought so hard to attain for a man who cannot remember even the simplest of things about you?" I shook my head as hot, desperate tears filled my eyes. "Then tell me, what do you want? What desires fill your mind when you allow yourself to dream under cover of darkness?"

I most certainly could not give him the whole truth. I couldn't tell him that over the course of our acquaintance and friendship I had fallen in love with him. Nothing could ever come of my pathetic heartache. I was only a guard. A peasant. Peasants might fall in love with royalty, but they did not end up with them. That was not the way of the world.

"Love," I breathed instead. "I want to be loved for myself, not my father's position. I wish to be cared for and to care for another. I wish to remain a guard, a warrior for the Woodland Realm, and to be accepted as I am, not swept aside. Obviously, I am not without fault, but while I attempt to grow wiser and gain experience, I do not wish to be impeded or judged by someone who could never remember even the most basic facts about me. I...What I want is impossible."

A small, gentle smile crossed the king's lips, and an intense, burning desire to kiss him fought a war within me against my common sense. Thranduil could forgive much, but a lapse in judgment as severe as throwing myself at him? Never.

"Your presence here is proof that nothing is impossible. You are much easier to love than you have allowed yourself to believe." His deep, rumbling voice sounded at once comforting and sensual, which proved quite effective at helping me blink back my tears before they could even begin to fall. "When are you next due to meet with this unworthy cad?"

"Tomorrow. My father has invited both he and his parents to our home for the evening meal as it is my day without a shift." I was surprised at how steady my voice sounded after how vulnerable I'd just been. Strangely, though, I felt no shame in having allowed my friend to see my pain.

King Thranduil nodded his head pensively, brushing his thumb over my chin as he did so - why had he not yet released his grip? Not that I was going to complain, of course. Being this close to him, touching him, speaking with him in confidence...that was as close as I was ever going to get to him, and even that might soon be pulled from my grasp, so I savored every moment that I was afforded.

Neither of us had much more to say. Instead, the Elvenking slipped an arm around my waist and tugged me close enough to his side for me to lay my head on his shoulder. We sat in companionable silence until the time came for the guard change. Bidding me sweet dreams and a safe trip home, Thranduil dropped a soft kiss onto my hand and retreated back inside his rooms.

As usual, the guard who was to replace me gave me a raised eyebrow at my familiarity with someone so far above my station, and, as usual, I ignored him.

Sneaking to the stables on my way out, I plucked an apple from my coat pocket and headed to the gilded gates of the stall holding the king's mount. Slicing the fruit quickly in half with my dagger to delay my return home by a few extra seconds, I cooed gently to the large elk, stroking the soft fur on his muzzle as I offered him the treat.

"Who's a good boy? Hm? You are! Yes, you are," I praised as he gingerly bit into the first half of the bright red fruit, then the second. He was a gentle giant, in truth. Much of the kingdom supposed that he would be as prickly as his rider, but nothing could be further from reality. Firstly, the king was only short with those who deserved his ire. Secondly, the admittedly imposing elk upon which he rode hadn't a mean bone in his very large body. "Aww, you're never grumpy with me, are you, mellon-nin?"

He chuffed and snuffled, nuzzling gratefully into my caressing fingers as a 'thank you' for his treat. Even he would be a far superior companion for life than the idiot with whom I'd be forced to spend yet another pointless evening the next day...and perhaps the rest of my life.

"Don't worry, mellon, even if he makes me resign, I'll still find a way to sneak in and bring you extra apples." The pleased little snort he gave me drew a giggle from my lips, but I knew that soon the guard patrolling this section of the grounds would be here. I bid goodnight to my tall, fur-covered friend and set off on the path toward home with our secret intact.

Had I so much as bothered to glance back, I would've seen a familiar head of bright blond hair watching as I tugged the hood of my cloak over my head.

--

When I awoke the next day, it was still early morning. The lateness of my shift usually tired me out well enough that I slept for at least another hour or two, but after a few bleary blinks, I realized that I'd been awakened by voices.

Odd. My adoptive father did not usually entertain guests at this hour. Either something had happened, or today was destined to turn out rather strangely. As he hadn't bothered to come wake me, I gathered that there was no urgency in whatever had transpired. What was not in question, however, was the way my stomach growled as I tried to roll over and go back to sleep.

With a sigh of defeat, I climbed out of bed and dressed, even going so far as to tie my hair back in a quick braid since it looked as though it might rain. Thus, clothed and presentable, I cleaned my teeth and ventured from my bedroom in search of food.

The voices seemed to be coming from my destination, so it seemed as though I would get both sustenance and an answer to my curiosity all at the same time. A fortuitous turn for such a gray morning.

"...ere she is now." I was able to make out my father's voice as I intentionally stepped on the creaky board in the hallway. I wasn't as quiet as an Elf when I walked, but I still didn't like to appear as though I was eavesdropping or sneaking where I shouldn't be. When I stepped into the kitchen, I froze.

There in all his regal, perfectly-groomed glory was King Thranduil, sitting at our tiny wooden table.

What in the name of the Valar was the king doing in our kitchen?

"Aran-nin," I greeted him, bowing slightly less steadily than I might have if I'd been awake for more than a few minutes. A low, velvety chuckle floated around the space.

"Come now, meleth, you know there is no need for such formality," Thranduil crooned giving me a charming, mischievous smile as I straightened again, but that statement alone nearly shattered my poor tired mind.

He'd said 'meleth,' but...that meant 'love.' He'd never called me that before. And I still didn't know why he was in our kitchen.

Glancing between my king and my father, I tried silently to piece together what the hell was going on here. Thranduil must have seen my lack of progress in my eyes, because he continued as if this was all completely normal.

"Come, break your fast. Your guardian has been kind enough to make tea and lay out some provisions for us," he said standing and pulling out the chair directly beside him.

Almost without thinking, I did as he asked, and my heart thudded rapidly in my chest when he seated me as if we were at some lavish feast instead of around our small, wooden table. He acknowledged my hastily-murmured gratitude, then resumed his own seat with his usual flourish. The three of us ate quietly for a few moments, staunchly ignoring the fact that the king was in our tiny kitchen eating with us as casually as if he had always done so.

It was...pleasant. Strange, obviously, but much more enjoyable than my usual solitary morning meal.

"So, meleth-nin, would you like to tell him the good news, or should I?" Thranduil asked, and I looked up at him. Slightly more cognizant than before, I recognized the glint in his eyes that usually accompanied a desire for me to play along with whatever he said next. I could do that.

"I'm quite certain that it would be much more eloquent coming from you," I demurred, and I very pointedly avoided looking across the table at my father's reaction to whatever bit of theater my king had orchestrated. Less than a heartbeat later, I found my free hand firmly in Thranduil's grasp as he looked at my father.

"The betrothal you arranged for your ward is hereby declared invalid by order of the king," he said, and the stunned expression on my father's face was worth every moment of confusion I'd experienced that morning. He took a moment to gather himself before clearing his throat and looking between us in askance.

"If it is not too presumptuous, sire, may I ask why you have done this? Her betrothal to–"

"That engagement was no more than a farce. We meant to announce it earlier, but with how busy I've been attending to my royal duties, I fear I have been remiss." The king cut him off, and the indignation in my father's eyes gave me a sick sort of pleasure. "You see, your ward is not available for the suitor you preferred, because she has already accepted my own marriage proposal."

Oh. So, that was what he had in mind. A faux betrothal. Somehow, that was both intensely flattering and a knife to my chest.

The announcement worked to perfection, though. My father looked as though he'd been punched soundly in the face.

"You...?" He blinked and made a second attempt at speech. "Why would a king want her?"

Thranduil's head tilted in a manner I recognized as indicative of the imminent rise of his temper.

"Why does a king desire anything? Tell me, why should a king not desire a worthy queen for his realm?" He asked, and my father caught up rather rapidly with the realization that he'd said the wrong thing. Thranduil looked back over at me as he lifted my hand to his lips. "Why should an Ellon not marry the one whom he loves?"

Ow. Those were the exact words I'd longed to hear from him for so many years, but to hear them now knowing that they were all an act...

"And why should I not wish to marry the Elf with whom I have grown so close over my many years of guard duty?" How far he intended to carry this fiction, I didn't know, but I could play along for now. I could hide the pain.

"I...Congratulations," my father stammered hesitantly, but he was no longer relevant. Not now.

"Thank you," the king said without taking his eyes off of me. "Meleth, I believe it is time for you to live in the palace. It will be your home once we are married, and if you are prepared, I can take you back with me. My mount is outside."

"Of course, but I shall need a few moments to pack–"

"Nonsense. You needn't do such menial work. You are to be my queen. I have already arranged for your belongings to be brought to you this evening. For now, you need only bring yourself and a riding cloak," he insisted with a warm smile.

"Might it not be simpler, my king, if I were to save you the trouble of taking her with you? I could escort her to the palace myself this evening so that you needn't be burdened by sharing your mount," my father said, and the blush that sent my cheeks burning at the thought of the pair of us riding together atop his elk was automatic. No acting required.

I prayed that Thranduil was unaware of how drastically he affected me, even within my own imagination.

"Bringing my queen to the palace is my responsibility and privilege. And, if you shall forgive me for saying so aloud outside of the solitude of our marital chambers, meleth-nin, I view the opportunity to feel you in my arms with great anticipation," the king said turning my hand over gently and placing a slow, sensual kiss right over my racing pulse. My breath caught in my throat at the hunger in his eyes. His lips lingered a few beats longer than I expected, only pulling away when my father cleared his throat pointedly. "My apologies. In the presence of such beauty, I find that I am transported into the realm of fantasy."

Thranduil's words did not match his expression. He was an Ellon who found vast satisfaction in playing those around him like an orchestra. He wasn't sorry at all.

"As much as I adore seeing you like this, my darling king, I do hope you will be more discreet while holding court," I teased, but his smirk only grew.

"When my queen is so breathtaking? Never." If it wasn't for the disgustingly sexy wink he tossed me, I'd have thought he was laying his act on a bit thick. As it was, though, he seemed to be staying in character quite effortlessly. For my part, I was one shaky breath away from giggling like brainless idiot, or bursting out in tears because of the simple fact that this was all an act.

Ducking my head in what I hoped was a passable semblance of bashfulness, I tried to steady my breathing.

"I...trust that you still plan to give up your position in the guard?" My eyes flicked up and met my father's. There was something in his expression - disbelief, confusion, suspicion - that I couldn't quite place.

His obvious lack of trust after all these years angered me.

With the sweetest smile that I could muster, I tilted my head curiously.

"Not at all. A queen must be willing to fight for - and alongside - her people if she expects them to fight for her in return. Loyalty must be earned; it is not a gift to which one is entitled." Thranduil gave my fingers a gentle, supportive squeeze. "Surely, after your many years as a warrior, you of all people understand how crucial it is to inspire loyalty in those whom you command?"

He couldn't protest. When Thranduil said nothing, giving him neither a change of subject or an opportunity to dodge the question, my father stammered about his question being a foolish one and about the change in suitors being so sudden.

Almost as soon as we stepped outside, the king's elk snuffled happily. He walked over to us, but to my surprise, instead of vying for Thranduil's attention, he made a beeline for me. Without thought, I patted his muzzle and ran my fingers down his neck. Snuffling lower, as if he knew I usually kept his apples in my pockets, he looked at me expectantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mellon, I don't hav–" I was silenced by a large, gentle hand landing on my shoulder.

In my king's grasp was a bright, ripe, red apple. The same kind I usually smuggled out of the larder as a treat for my furry friend. He'd already sliced it in half - when had he even found the time?

"Thank you, but how did you...?"

"Nothing happens in my realm but I know of it," he whispered, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my scalp.

Choosing to temporarily ignore the implications of his statement, I accepted the apple and fed it to his elk. After a moment, Thranduil moved nearly soundlessly back toward my father.

"Ah, before I forget, this is for your ward's former suitor," he said pulling an envelope with the royal seal from his pocket. "Please convey to him that if the contents raise more questions than answers, he is most welcome to see the palace healers about his obviously failing memory."

With his cloak swishing behind him, Thranduil swept back over to me and helped me onto his mount's back. Once he was seated behind me with an arm wrapped firmly around my middle, it all sank in.

This might be an act for my father, but this was happening. I was really riding toward the palace with my king's chest pressing against my back. The guards who manned the gate would see us. Any who encountered us would bear witness to the king's act. How far did he mean to take this?

Surely, he wouldn't actually marry me just to get me away from one unsuitable Ellon? And when he did eventually end this ruse, what then? Would I be forced to go home with my tail tucked between my legs?

When we were around the halfway point in our journey - far enough from both my home and the palace that I was certain we wouldn't be observed - I asked if we could stop for a moment. Despite his confusion, Thranduil gave the command, and his elk trotted to a graceful stop. Without waiting for assistance, I slid off the saddle and landed rather hard on my feet.

Ignoring the new ache in my ankles and the ache that the loss of Thranduil's steadying grip left in my chest, I took a few steps and tried to slow my breathing. The sound of my traveling companion landing infinitely more gently than I had met my ears along with a concerned call of my name, but I just shook my head.

"Are you hurt, meleth?" He asked, and I swallowed heavily.

"No, but...my king–"

"You are perfectly allowed to call me by my name. After all, we are betrothed. It would not do for our subjects to see us behaving as if no love exists between us," he said as he patted his elk's neck, and a pang of hurt wound through my heart. Thranduil was saying all the right words, but it was an act. There were no longer any witnesses. There was no longer anyone to watch as my heart broke.

"Why are you doing this?" At the pain in my voice, confusion and concern washed over his features.

"Whatever do you mean?" The Elvenking asked stepping away from his elk's side. His cloak billowed around him, and it was all I could do not to drop to my knees at the sheer majesty of the figure he presented. All it did, though, was reinforce what I already knew: Thranduil was not for me.

"Please, do not misunderstand, I am grateful that you have saved me from such an unfortunate match. However, you needn't spare my feelings by pretending to love me. There is no need to waste your precious time playacting, mellon-nin."

"'Pretending'?" The word escaped him as a harsh, dangerous whisper. Oh dear. I'd seen the king's rage before, but never had his icy fury been turned upon me. Despite the outrage in his tone, his next words were at the same hushed volume as before. "'Playacting'? What do you take me for?"

I could see why Prince Legolas had insisted that raised voices were preferable to the fear that his father's cool, piercing anger inspired. I wasn't afraid, but I was acutely aware of the severity of his emotions. I wasn't intentionally trying to anger him, but I needed him to know how close he'd come to breaking me beyond repair. Before I could answer, he advanced another step and continued.

"And, pray tell, what am I, in your estimation? Cruel? Unforgiving? Demanding? Judgmental?" His eyes flashed with something akin to pain. "Perhaps your censure is not based upon personality, but upon appearance."

The glamour he kept constantly in place over his scar melted away.

"Is this the source of your misgivings? Am I too ugly for you to accept, even as a king?"

"You know that's not true," I snapped, with an edge of warning in my voice, recalling the first time I'd seen him without the glamour.

A few months after my appointment to the king's guard, I was given a jar of pain-dulling ointment by one of the healers to pass on to the king. I'd delivered it, of course, but when I'd been hesitant to leave him, going so far as to ask if he was injured, he'd locked the door and showed me what the fire drakes of the north had done to him. Thranduil admitted later that he'd intended to frighten me that night, but all I'd done was ask if he needed help applying the medicine. Once he realized I thought no less of him for his injury, he'd let me.

Yet he had the gall to stand before me and accuse me of being shallow? Had he learned nothing about me over the years?

"Then answer the question," Thranduil bit out quietly. "What exactly do you take me for?"

"A king," I breathed looking up into his eyes. Confusion mingled with his anger. "Peasants may fall in love with royalty, but they are not offered the luxury of marrying them. Kings do not give lowly guards a second thought, even if they afford them the title of 'friend,' so I will ask you again, sire: Why are you doing this? Why are you acting as though hope abounds for my doomed heart where none has ever existed?"

His brow smoothed, his lips parted a fraction, and his glamour slipped silently back into place as he processed what I'd said. Oh, Valar, what I'd said! I'd confessed to loving the king!

Comprehension melted his anger away into nothingness. Instead, he moved within a single step of me, lifting one of his large, graceful hands to caress my cheek.

"You truly do not know?" I couldn't even bring myself to answer as I leaned into Thranduil's touch. This might be the last chance to do so after what I'd just admitted. He'd dismissed guards in the past for much less severe transgressions. "When we spoke last night, you told me that you desired to be loved - not by the whole of the Woodland Realm as I believe you deserve, but by one person. The Ellon your father chose for you certainly could not do that when remembering something as small as your favorite flower caused him such strain."

Low and gentle, his voice trickled over my ears as smoothly as honey. He...He didn't sound angry, anymore. Why wasn't he enraged that someone like me had dared to cross the more-than-generous boundary of friendship that he'd allowed me?

"My king–"

"Thandruil," he corrected, but there was no real bite to his words despite having to repeat himself again. He never repeated himself, yet this morning alone he'd done so twice. "You adore the blue wildflowers that grow along our western borders, but if you smell them for too long, they make you sneeze. During the summer, you set them on the sill in your room and keep the window open so that you might enjoy them without discomfort."

I blinked in surprise. I could vaguely remember a conversation years ago where I'd mentioned the flowers, but it was such a trivial thing that I was quite certain it would've been forgotten by morning. After all, what I did with flowers had no bearing on the fate of the kingdom.

"You prefer your tea sweet but not overly so. When you believe it might rain, you take the precaution of braiding your hair so that the humidity will not render it impossible to untangle when you return home."

The Elvenking began slowly, allowing each small fact that he'd observed about me to sink in along with the realization that he'd favored me with his attention frequently enough to accrue them.

"Your confidence with daggers is low, but with a bow, you are as bold and graceful as any skilled Elleth warrior. When I express my anger at some wretched fool in my court, you often struggle to suppress your laughter at how close they come to wetting themselves in the throne room - do not deny it. Your body gives you away each and every time."

Had he truly seen so much of me during my service to him?

"When your temper is tested, there is a small line that appears just here," he touched a spot between my brows, "that brings me great consternation. On the one hand, I wish to give you my sword so that you may more easily remove the head of whomever has dared incur your wrath, but on the other, I wish to soothe your frustrations with my words, my lips, my body, whatever you will allow–"

"Thranduil–" His name fell from me as no more than a whisper. The leaves on the trees surrounding the path rustled in the breeze, but the Elvenking could not be stopped.

"Your free time is often spent reading. Once a week before you return home, you sneak out to the stables and feed my elk an extra apple, because you find him sweet-tempered. When you laugh, your eyes sparkle brighter than any star ever could, and you steal the breath from my chest each time you look at me."

My vision blurred, and only when my king's thumbs brushed tears from my cheeks did I realize that I was crying. I'd loved him for so long that this felt as surreal as a dream.

"You said that you wish to be loved, meleth-nin. To answer your question, I am doing this because I can give you exactly what you desire. I could love you with my eyes closed, because I have done so with them open since the day you were assigned to my guard."

Thranduil leaned closer, freezing but a hair's breadth from my lips.

"If you do not feel the same, we can remain friends, but if there is the slightest chance that you could find happiness by my side, then marry me. Be my queen. I am yours." His whispered promise was filled with so much tenderness and hope that my restraint snapped, and I closed the distance between our mouths.

My fingers gripped his robes in an attempt to ground myself, but this heady feeling of being wanted - being loved - robbed me of all coherent thought. There was only the feeling of gentle hands drawing me close by my waist and the nape of my neck. Only soft lips kissing me with the skill of thousands of years' worth of experience. Only a king claiming his queen's heart.

There was only love.

~*~

mellon-nin = my friend

aran-nin = my king

meleth-nin = my love

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (3/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

Some lighter Kidnap Fam content, after the downhill freefall that was the last chapter. With a dash of Finrod in Valinor.

Elrond and Elros have never had their hair braided when they end up with Maedhros and Maglor.

They don’t realize what they’re asking when Elros grabs a hairbrush and puts it in Maglor’s hand.

Maglor understands that, but decides that the twins need parental care, even though he has no right. He brushes their hair and leaves it loose at first.

But the twins have watched Maglor braid Maedhros’s hair and they soon start asking for more interesting hairstyles.

Eventually Maglor explains to them that it can only be done by family.

The twins have a whole silent conversation.

“What does it take to be family?” Elros asks eventually.

Well, braiding an unrelated child’s hair is pretty close to informal adoption.

Elros forces the brush into Maglor’s hand again.

Maglor stares.

Elrond shakes his head and runs out.

Of course, Elrond must hate them. He has every right. Sure, Elros has started to warm up to them, but that’s just because he’s affection-starved, probably. They’re still kidnappers.

Maglor is about to put down the brush and try to refuse when Elrond comes back.

He’s holding a second hairbrush.

He hands it to Maedhros expectantly.

Maedhros cries.

Maglor cries.

The twins’ hair really doesn’t hold braids very well, and they’re still kids who run around and play, but damn them if Maglor and Maedhros aren’t going to do their best.

Now all of their people can see that the twins are well-loved.

Maedhros and Maglor also proudly sport a few clumsy, wonky braids each.

They’re less wonky with time, and eventually the twins are doing their fathers’ (kidnappers’) hair as often as not.

Finrod is reembodied shortly before Eärendil and Elwing gets to Valinor. It’s too early and he’s Not Doing Well. While in Middle Earth, he was the one who let basically every one of his friends braid his hair, now he can’t stand the thought of someone touching him that way.

But Beleriandic battle braids feel wrong in Tirion. And he’s desperately trying to reckon with his trauma, with Sauron defeating him by singing about the kinslaying, so he can’t leave his hair loose like the Teleri.

And he can’t quite get the sight of Edrahil’s bloody braids spat out by a werewolf out of his head.

He wears nothing but the very strange-looking (to Amanyar) Mourning Braids he designed after Dagor Bragollach for a couple of years.

Then after an episode of really bad depression and nearly fading, he cuts his hair short.

No-braiding-possible kind of short.

While not unheard of in Beleriand (sometimes former thralls keep their hair very short, like Rog), it’s unthinkable in Valinor, especially for the Crown Prince of the Noldor.

He is stared at a lot, his reputation goes down the drain, but to Finrod it’s liberating.

He does let his hair grow out again eventually, but only when other Exiles start coming back and choose to keep the Beleriandic braid styles, and it becomes a fashion statement rather than a mark of shame.

Finarfin is Very Shocked arriving in Beleriand when he finds his (single remaining) child with her hair loose and everyone else with weird self-braided battle hairstyles.

After a battle or three where he ends up with his hair matted with blood and mud, he caves and gets Galadriel to give him battle braids.

By the end of the war he’s even learned to do them himself! Let it not be said that King Arafinwë Ñoldóran didn’t rise to his calling.

The night before sending the Elrond and Elros to Gil-galad, Maedhros and Maglor undo all of their braids. Everyone cries.

Maedhros and Maglor meant this to minimize the ‘taint’ their names would put on the twins, by making it look like they were still hostages to the end, but the twins stop on the way to do each other’s hair because one does not meet a king with their hair loose, they have manners (which the Fëanorians taught them, so they’re Very Specific Manners), so the effect is lost. Gil-galad has Questions. The twins refuse to lie.

Then, before going to steal the Silmarils, Maedhros and Maglor do each other’s hair, in a style of their father’s that they haven’t worn since the Oath.

Maglor braids a single golden ribbon into Maedhros’s hair.

They have very few pieces of hair jewellery left of their brothers’, but they use all of them.

They both know it’s the last time.

To be continued

I did some sketches for visual reference of a few of the hairstyles mentioned here, if you want to see what I'm imagining!

[tilion-writes]

WIP Snippet

Thank you for tagging, @gardensofthemoon!

Snippet from a fic set later in my Ghosts 'verse, in which Fëanor has broken out of Mandos.

-

“Celebrimbor?”

But as the Elf stepped forward, the light caught upon his braided hair, and it was not deep auburn but inky black. Elrond, narrowing his eyes, said cautiously, “Curufin?”

Celebrimbor had always described his father as reserved, his smiles as rare and cold. When this Elf smiled, every plane of his face moved in some way, animated by feeling, as though his soul was shining through his flesh. His eyes were warm and sharp, like Celebrimbor’s, and behind their silvery-gray gleamed an intensity that bordered on madness. Intensity—yes, 'intense' was the right word for this Elf, a presence bright and focused enough to fill the whole room. His fëa burned straight into the tangible world, like a beacon.

“I suppose 'Curufin' isn’t technically inaccurate,” he said, and his voice was deep, crisply-accented, and amused. 

There was only one Elf in Arda—or outside of it—that this man could possibly be.

“Fëanor,” Elrond breathed.

Fëanor’s smile widened, like the glare of the rising sun. “Hello, grandson."

Tagging uhmmm @melestasflight and @sallysavestheday (apologies if this is a repeat), no pressure!

[thesummerestsolstice]

This is for my unwritten fics game, responding to @JaztheBard's ask on "The Love of a Parent."

So, this story is very firmly about Elrond and his weird parents, none of whom are supposed to be in the world any more (M&M are dead, Earendil and Elwing are forbidden from setting foot on Arda). Of course, none of this stops Elrond's parents from wanting to be involved in his life, and making sure nothing bad happens to him.

Gil-Estel always seems to appear on the dark nights when Elrond's grief catches up to him, or when he's struggling to find hope. The birds of Lindon– and later, Rivendell– often give him things, little tokens, some of which are very obviously from Valinor. Elrond doesn't sail often, but when he does, the sea always seems to welcome him, calm and gentle. The strange, unearthly songs that seem to follow him out on the water unnerve most people, but Elrond finds them comforting. He gets caught up in orc attacks a few times, in the Second and Third Ages. Somehow, he never seems to get captured, or even badly injured. Neither he nor the people he's with really understand why. All they can remember is the smell of smoke and a flash of something that could not have been fire.

The actual plot of the story, however, is Elrond deciding to try and convince his parents (or at least, whatever is left of them) to come live with him in Rivendell. This includes, but is not limited to:

Elrond chasing a wraith (spirit? ghost? living flame?) that may or may not once have been the eldest son of Feanor through the woods

Arguments with the Valar about what constitutes fair labor practices for stars

Elrond spending a bunch of time in slightly shady dock towns tracking down rumors of a "wandering spirit" who roams the beaches

More arguments with the Valar, this time about how keeping incarnate beings (especially part-humans) from the world against their will is like, maybe kind of cruel

Several people finally getting to meet their grandchildren

A surprisingly peaceful family lunch in Rivendell's welcoming halls

[thelordofgifs]

Notes on the Care of the Tormented, ed. Elrond Half-elven

Written for @silmarillionepistolary day 3!

Rating: T

Relationships: Maglor & Maedhros, Maglor & Elrond

Words: 4k

I have hesitated a long time over transcribing this old collection of documents, and having them bound together as a pamphlet; but the library at Imladris is well-understood to be the finest East of the Sea, and I do not wish to deprive it of any lore. A point of pride, perhaps. So I have had two copies made, one for our own collection and one for that of the library at Fornost Erain — for I would not have it said that the Eldar hoard their knowledge, and leave Men to labour in the dark.

The library at Amon Ereb was nothing to marvel at, but it was there, in the uneasy days of my youth, that I first came across these notes. They had been written by Maglor son of Fëanor at varying points over the course of the First Age, and were altogether a rather disorganised collection; but I found myself drawn to them the very first time I read them, for the care that had been taken in their composition, and in their preservation through defeat after defeat and flight after flight. Maglor was no healer, certainly not by the time I knew him: his hands had been bloodied too many times for that gift to have lingered, if ever he had it. But all the same, he paid great attention to the care of Maedhros his brother — there was no other Maedhros would permit to touch him, or speak to him when he had an episode.

It would have been easy to conclude that Maglor did it all on instinct, watching them. So I was struck, on first finding these notes, by how much of his practice he had documented. The sons of Fëanor were all diligent record-keepers — ironic, many would claim, considering how much lore was lost in Menegroth beneath their marauding swords, and again at the Havens of Sirion. But none of them seemed to trust to the infallible memories of the Eldar, judging by the contents of even that much-depleted library at Amon Ereb. Still at times I wondered for whom exactly Maglor had written the notes — I do not doubt that he referred to them often himself, but I could never make out whether he had had any other audience in mind. Did he imagine that Maedhros might survive him, and dwell with another? I know not.

[Keep reading on AO3]

[runawaymun]

Ask me about my not-yet-written-fics from this list

thanks, @eowyn7023 also tagging: @polutrope because you sent me an ask about this a while ago and I just haven't had the spoons to respond until now, sorry! <3

Elrond in Valinor + Second Flight of the Noldor

so this stems from three possibly spicy Opinions I have about LOTR: 1) The Valar kind of suck, actually, and it was wrong of them to bring Elves to Valinor in the first place and it went directly against Eru's plan. 2) Valinor is kind of liminal and bad for you if you were born in Middle Earth 3) Elrond sailing (and staying) in Valinor is makes very little sense for him as a character, and is more about Jirt's wish fulfillment than it is good writing.

Obviously, unfortunately, due to the narrative, Elrond must sail at the end of LOTR. He needs to recuperate from the absolute havoc Vilya wreaked on his system, and he also needs to reunite with Cel and get some closure about a few things, like Celebrimbor's death, Gil-Galad's death, and his relationship with Elwing.

So Elrond sails, as he does. He reunites with Celebrian. He spends some time meeting his various family members and spends quite a lot of time with Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor. He has exactly one (1) talk with Elwing to ask her some questions and explain what became of Elros, but in my head he is not really interested in pursuing much of a relationship with her. Elwing respects that.

He and Celebrian work on healing their relationship and re-establishing intimacy.

Elrond slowly recovers from the damage Vilya did to him.

He might need to spend some time in Lorien actually. He is very good friends with Este and Nienna.

After a while though, things just don't feel right. Valinor feels very static and strange to him, and he doesn't really feel like he Fits. And that hurts because everyone is so glad to have him there and they expect that he's just as glad to be here as they are.

Also he really misses his kids, and wonders about his grandkids, and the Dunedain.

Eventually he starts connecting with more and more people who feel like they don't Fit. Mostly Noldor and the few Sindar that sailed. Many of them are still dealing with PTSD from Middle Earth and Beleriand, or with scars that refuse to heal. Many of them are just Restless. Most Vanyar do not understand this, and it's hard to talk about.

He and Cel begin work on a second Rivendell, and this keeps them both busy for a short time. He still doesn't feel Right though.

Eventually he starts experiencing like a reverse sea-longing and it gets more, and more, and more painful.

Finally, he talks it over with Celebrian. And they petition the Valar, who are not very happy to be petitioned. And then Elrond starts preparing to sail East.

Listen listen listen. Everything that Elrond has ever built, worked for, or loved is back in Middle Earth. It makes zero sense for him to be happy in Valinor. He aligns overwhelmingly with the Sindar and with the Dunedain in the books, and the Dunedain also consider him as one of them. Rivendell is there (he left it in the care of the Dunedain). Arwen and Aragorn are there. Gondor, and what is left of Elros are there. His grandchildren are there. Elladan and Elrohir are still there. The people left for him in Valinor are all people he has already mourned and found closure with.

He's not really made for Valinor anyway. He's made to watch over Middle Earth, to keep its lore and secrets, and to caretake Elros' line. He made a vow, once, and sure Aragorn and his descendants are doing just fine but he still feels half-whole without them.

And he's not the only person who doesn't feel Right in Valinor, who miss the mold and the rot and the fungi and the sheer diversity of life, and the Men!!! The humans!!! The normalcy of pain and suffering and scars and disabilities!

And so Elrond sails with Celebrian, and many of the Noldor say 'fuck it' and they go with him. They're tired and restless and have misgivings about the Valar anyway. A remnant returns to Middle Earth, and this time they go for love.

Elrond retakes his seat in Rivendell and the Dunedain rejoice that the eldest of their race, their most beloved uncle has come home. Celebrian reunites with Arwen, and meets a long line of adopted children that she never got to see, and meets Aragorn and her grandchildren.

They live through the ages, quietly doing what they have always done: living as watchers and caretakers, carefully preserving memories and lore and history.

Rivendell becomes a place that is both mythologized and startlingly real, where it is rumored that anyone who needs it will find help and sanctuary.

Many of the Noldor live in Rivendell, but some set up their own small kingdoms or simply live alongside the men and dwarves. They're finally there to guide and watch over the Secondborn, just as was intended in the Theme.

Eventually, of course, Elrond must grieve Arwen and Aragorn, but he's there for his grandchildren, and his great grandchildren, and his great grandchildren, and all of his family thereafter -- and in Arwen and Aragorn and their line, it almost feels like he is reunited with Elros again.

Elrond is there to help.

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

AU where the Third Kinslaying takes place a decade later

It doesn't truly change anything, not as far as the history books record things. Some of the Feanorian soldiers turncoat and defend the city, but not enough to save Sirion. The youngest sons of Feanor die in battle. Elwing is cornered in her tower, and jumps with a Silmaril. The remaining sons of Feanor take custody of her sons. Ulmo rescues Elwing and guides her bird-self to Earendil; Earendil and Elwing got to Valinor; Earendil pleads with the Valar. The arc of Fate continues unabated.

In other ways, it changes everything. Elrond and Elros are not children when the attack comes, to hide in a closet or cave in hopes their mother will return. Instead they are youths, not yet as wise or strong as some but nearly grown.

The princes take part in the battle to defend their city.

It's both of their first fight outside the practice yards. Elrond has gone hunting before and shot a deer, but Elros has never spilled the blood of another living being, not orc or elf or man.

He does so today, his sword travelling smoothly in the motion he's drilled a hundred times.

Elrond fights on horseback at first, riding down the street and firing arrows at anyone wearing Feanor's star, trampling down the invaders and moving on before he can see what's left behind and vomit in horror. But when the battle progresses into the palace he abandons his stallion at the gates, rushing to try and save his family.

Elros watches his mother jump from across a room crowded with combatants. Elrond is still four floors down, but he sees the gull emerge from the spray with a loud cry, far larger and brighter than any natural bird.

They do find each other in the battle, and fight side by side. But slowly the twins are driven back, before an army both more experienced and more numerous.

Elrond and Elros manage to retreat to the buttery and block the door, the thick stone walls that keep the beer cool also preventing anyone from reaching them. It's a very defensible room, with only one entrance to guard.

They are trapped. They know it.

Neither says it aloud.

They simply sit and wait, and hope the invaders will leave once they realize the prize they came to the city for is no longer achievable.

(Maedhros is not about to leave two young princes behind whose city was destroyed, will want revenge, would be a wonderful rallying point for the people of Sirion, and are two young to know the wisdom of not starting fights without a tactical benefit. Better to deal with it now, while the city is in chaos, than to wait and have an army come after the Feanorians in a year or a decade.)

(The only question is if the door can be breached, or if the Feanorians will need to starve the twins out. By which time reinforcements will likely have arrived to Sirion, so it becomes a matter of either defending the ransacked city or burning the palace with the boys inside it.)

After an hour or two, someone does think of negotiating, offering to spare the princes lives and leave the city not any further destroyed, and taking the boys captive.

(Tell me, what prince of the Noldor is infamous for going to a parlay under false pretenses? How much history and diplomacy do you think twins raised to rule a kingdom know?)

[ophidion]

the last great american dynasty

part 4: give people light and they will find a way

Fandom: The Rings of Power Fanfiction Pairing: Galadriel / Halbrand | Sauron , Celebrían / Elrond Peredhel Rating: E Chapter: 4 of 5 Word Count: 34,512

read on ao3

a #haladriel political AU where the doom of mandos is the kennedy curse, Rolling Stone is profiling the Herald and the Harbinger, and the Whip disciplines his page. oh and the starcrossed lovers' affair gets exposed.

[aiwe-the-little-bird]

Fic: For The Lovers

I jumped on the Celebrimbor/Elrond train thanks to @thesolarangel.😁🤍 This fic was supposed to be pure smut 🔥, but it ended up being mostly plot with some good smut at the end. I'm not mad about it though. It also ended up being twice as long as planned because I just can't NOT plot.

I hope you all enjoy this one! My first attempt at Brimby/Elrond so hopefully it's not horrible. 🌸 🌸

-------------------------------

Title: For The Lovers

Pairing: Celebrimbor/Elrond

Rating: 18+

Warning: SMUTTTT

“Why do you hide away up here, Elrond?” 

Elrond whips around to face the speaker, relaxing when he finds it is only Celebrimbor. 

“I am not hiding, my lord.” Elrond swipes a hand through his hair to try to make it look at least a tad presentable for the Elf-lord.

“No? Then why do you not mingle with the others? Dance? Sing?” Celebrimbor joins him upon the balcony, and the half-elf notices the bottle of wine and 2 glasses that he carries.

“It is a festival for lovers, my lord. I would be quite out of place down there.” Elrond places his hands upon the balcony that overlooked the gardens. Below them, upbeat music was being played and the elves danced merrily. Laughter and singing too could be heard throughout the gardens. 

“But there are others down there who have no mate or lover.” Celebrimbor raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yet their goal is to find one such being.”

“And yours is not?” The elf-lord asks quietly.

“I….I do not know my lord.”

Celebrimbor hums and looks back over the crowd of elves below them. It was a joyous sight, seeing so many of the citizens of Eregion dancing with joy and love.

“Even for only one night, would you not wish to spend the festivities with someone?” The older elf queries.

“I fear getting attached to someone who will only throw me aside come morning.” Elrond’s head drops in embarrassment. 

“You need not choose a lover then. There is no shame in being alone.”

“And what about you, Lord Celebrimbor? Why are you not down there with them?”

“For the very same reason, Elrond. I have no lover to share the merriment with.”

“Anyone would be happy to spend the night with you, my lord.” The younger elf says with a blush.

“There are very few I would allow so close. I do not wish to become the bragging rights of a nameless elf whose only goal is to be able to say they lured the lord of the city into their bed.” He scowls.

“I see.” 

“But it is a shame that you are hiding away, especially when you look so lovely this eve.” Celebrimbor smiles down at him.

Elrond blushes and shrugs. All of the elves had dressed simply for the evenings festivities, garbed only in garments of white. Elrond himself had donned a sleeveless tunic made of organza and high-waisted, silken trousers that hugged his hips.

“Nay, I do not….” He trails off, unsure of how to respond to such a compliment.

“But you are. Come, Elrond. If you do not wish to find a lover or mate this eve, and I echo the sentiment, then join me down in the gardens. We can share this bottle of wine.” He holds up the bottle and two glasses that he had approached Elrond with earlier.

“I would not wish to monopolize your time.” He bows deeply.

“You would not be. I want to spend the time with you. We can make fun of all the love-sick fools who trip over themselves to pronounce their love to each other.”

This causes Elrond to giggle and nod his agreement. Celebrimbor takes that as his cue to turn and lead themdown the stairs. Elrond stays back a moment, eyes caught on the the tall and handsome figure making his way down the stairs. The elf-lord had chosen similar garments, though his tunic was tighter and shone with with silver threads and pearls. Elrond swallows dryly and rushes to follow after him. 

Celebrimbor carefully twists his way through the elves dancing upon the grass. Several of them stop to bow to him, but he just waves them off with a smile. Elrond follows, unsure and intimidated by all the activities going around him. Celebrimbor leads him to an open, but luckily empty pavilion. Soft panels of blue fabric fell from the ceiling panels, giving them a little privacy.

The elf-lord motions for Elrond to take a seat across from him at the table there.

“You would like some wine, yes?” He asks.

“Aye. If you please, Lord Celebrimbor.”

“You are much too polite, Elrond. We are equals this night. Please just call me Celebrimbor.”

“As you wish, my… I mean Celeberimbor.”

“Good.” Celebrimbor pours them both a glass of the red wine and hands one over to the younger elf.

“Thank you.” Elrond whispers, taking the glass in hand.

“Well, since it is a night of festivities and merriment I suppose we should make a toast.”

“A toast? To what?” Elrond asks curiously.

“A good question.” Celebrimbor taps his chin as he thinks. “Ah! How about this. Let us toast to all the fools who find themselves hopelessly in love this eve, pining after their one true love. And to those who drink themselves silly and fall in bed with strangers.” Celebrimbor raises his glass.

“I will toast to that.” Elrond throws his head back in laughter and raises his own glass. 

Celebrimbor completes the toast by clinking his wine glass gently against Elrond’s and then throwing the drink back. Elrond does the same.

“Tell me Elrond.” Celebrimbor says after he has set the glass of wine back down on the table. “You would not wish for a lover for the night, yet there must be someone who has caught your eye over the past centuries?” He asks curiously.

“I….” Elrond stammers awkwardly.

“You need not tell me if that question is too personal.”

Elrond lowers his gaze to hide his blush. “Aye… you are correct.”

“But you are alone this night. Did they not return your affection?” Celebrimbor asks with a saddened look upon his face.

“Nay! That is not it… I just…..” Elrond stammers through his speech again. 

“You can speak freely with me, Elrond. I am your friend. At least I hope I am.” Celebrimbor reaches over to place a hand upon Elrond’s. 

“I just have not told them of my adoration.”

“Why ever not?” Celebrimbor raises an eyebrow.

“They do not hold the same affection for me, Celebrimbor. I can not tell them.”

“Have they told you this?”

“Not in as many words. But….”

“You can not know their feelings if you do not ask. Are they here tonight? You must ask them, Elrond.” The elf-lord interrupts.

“I….”

“Forgive me, my friend. I spoke of joking and making fun of the lovers and lovesick fools this eve, but I am here interrogating you instead. We may speak of other things.” Celebrimbor apologizes.

“There is nothing to forgive, Celebrimbor.” Elrond smiles kindly at the other elf. “But I would not be opposed to making fun of the others. Have you seen Meliriel trying to woo Taeron? She looks like a little lamb who just got her walking legs. I have never seen such a sorry attempt at professing love.”

Celebrimbor cackles as he observes the two elves. “And the flowers in her hand? Those are all weeds! The poor ellon beside her looks quite uncomfortable.”

“Though I think he actually likes her back, if his blush is anything to go by.” 

“Oh! And look at Errien. Bold of her to kiss her husband like that in the middle of the gardens. I hope they do not undress each other right in front of us. I would not appreciate such a sight…. Oh what love does to an elf….” 

Both Celebrimbor and Elrond gossip their way through basically the entire population of Eregion, and drink the wine the elf-lord brought until there was no more to be had. As Celebrimbor drains the last drop of his wine, he looks at Elrond’s empty glass as well.

“Would you like more wine, my friend? I am sure I could procure another bottle.”

Elrond, with flushed and warm cheeks, shakes his head.

“Nay, I would like to keep my wits about me. Where did you find that bottle? I have never had a drink so strong.” 

“Ah, it is from Ereinion’s private stash.”

“That explains it….” Elrond mutters. The High King was known to have a love of wine, particularly the strongest.

“It seems most of the lovers are retiring. The garden is beginning to clear out.” Celebrimbor observes. The gardens were much emptier than they had been when Elrond and he first sat down. The music had gentled as well, just quiet melodies floating in from the garden.

“Aye.” Elrond agrees, taking a look around.

“Both lovers and love-sick fools, falling into bed with each other. To wake in the morning with their mates, or with regrets.” 

“Hmmm.” Elrond takes the empty wine glass in hand and sighs deeply.

“But what of you, Elrond? Will you go back to your quarters?”

“Aye, I think I will stay up working on some translations. It is not yet that late. And you Celebrimbor?”

“I think I will go back to my forge. There is still work that needs to be done.”

“It is a lonely life you lead, my lord.” Elrond, full of wine and more courage says.

Celebrimbor smiles sadly at the half-elf across the table. 

“Just the same as yours, my friend.”

“Perhaps….” Elrond looks down, surprised at the emotions brewing under the surface of his skin. Must be the wine. He thinks.

“But you need not be alone, Elrond.” Celebrimbor states.

“What do you mean?”

“I know I am not… perhaps the most eligible of elves here. I am old, scarred and have little to give you. But if you wished, I would make your life a little less lonely, at least for the night.”

“You what?” Elrond’s head shoots back up in shock and his eyes widen in confusion. His heart races, unsure he heard the elf-lord correctly. 

“I would share this night, loving you, if you would have me. It burdens my heart to see all but you having the pleasure of love tonight.

“I do not want a lover out of pity.”Elrond scowls.

“Nay! That is not why I offer. You are sweet, kind and gentle. And truly an attractive being inside and out. You deserve to be loved. And perhaps I too do not wish to be alone either.” Celebrimbor says, eyes kind upon the half-elf. He is quick to add. “But you need not join me if you do not wish. Your night is your own. I only wish to make it more bearable for us both.”

Elrond sits there in silence for several moments, more than a little shocked. On one hand, he truly did want a lover for the long-term, not just for one night. He was sick of being tossed aside come morning because all the elves he had been with ever wanted was just someone to please their urges in the moment. But on the other hand, he was lonely. And it was Celebrimbor. His love for the elf-lord ran deep. And if this was all he was offered of the elf, then who was he to deny such an opportunity. Eventually, he nods and stands.

“I….I would like that. I would be honored.” He says with a blush.

“The honor is all mine.” Celebrimbor stands and offers Elrond his hand. “Come, young one. We can go to my chambers. Unless you would feel more comfortable in yours.”

“Yours is fine.” 

The walk to Celebrimbor’s home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Elrond, nervous and worried as he was, stays silent. But he relishes in the warmth of Celebrimbor’s hand upon his. It is dark too, the only light coming from the stars above and the lanterns placed along the paths of the city. 

At long last they reach Celebrimbor’s bed chambers. Elrond stands awkwardly by the door. Celebrimbor on the other hand rushes around the room, lighting the hearth and candles to make it seem less desolate and cold. Elrond takes a look around as he does so. The room was large, but not overbearing. There were tapestries and paintings along the walls, and heirlooms and personal items scattered around the tables and cabinets. The bed itself was large, with fluffy and soft looking pillows and a thick woven quilt upon the bed. When Celebrimbor is done lighting the candles he turns to look at Elrond with a smile.

“Forgive me for the mess. It is normally not so cluttered.” He smiles.

Elrond raises an eyebrow at him. The room was spotless, but not in an empty or unfriendly way.

“It is alright.” He says amused.

Celebrimbor approaches him, stopping a few feet from the half-elf and reaching up a warm hand to rest upon his cheek. His touch was gentle, though the skin calloused and rough from the many years spent at the forge. His thumb swipes over Elrond’s sharp cheekbone and the shell of his ear. When Elrond leans into the touch he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Have you done this before?” Celebrimbor asks seriously.

“Aye, I’ve had lovers in the past. I know what to expect.”

“Alright. May I kiss you?” 

“Please.” 

Celebrimbor’s lips are soft and move slowly. When he takes Elrond’s lips in his, it is the smallest of touches. The elf-lord takes his time in kissing him, much to Elrond’s frustration. It is almost as if he was afraid that if he pushed to hard, he would break him. Elrond kisses back impatient for a more passionate touch. Celebrimbor pulls away with a laugh. 

“As you wish, melissë.” Elrond blushes heavily at the pet name and closes his eyes when the lips return to his. 

Celebrimbor certainly takes his time, kissing Elrond for many minutes. It was the sweetest and softest kiss Elrond had ever experienced. But he grew impatient, wanting more. So he wraps his arms around the taller elf’s neck and runs his tongue over Celebrimbor’s bottom lip. The elf-lord groans and opens his mouth for him without any hesitation. After that, the kiss quickly becomes more passionate. Elrond’s hands find purchase in the hairs at the nape of the other’s neck, while Celebrimbor’s hands land upon Elrond’s hips. They fight for dominance in the kiss, but it is Celebrimbor who eventually wins the battle and pulls away.

“Bed?”

Elrond nods. Celebrimbor leans down to grab ahold of the backs of Elrond’s legs and lifts him with ease until the half-elf wraps his legs around him. He walks them to the bed before depositing his lover upon the woven quilt. Elrond laughs and beckons him closer.

The adoring eyes of the half-elf, cause Celebrimbor to grin. Celebrimbor does not go to him yet though. First, he takes the hem of his own shirt in hand and teasingly pulls it up over his head. And though the sight stirs something in Elrond, his heart suddenly pulls and aches.

I should not be doing this to him. Elrond thinks. He deserves to know my feelings, even if he does not return them. I can not and will not use him like this.

“Stop!” Elrond cries out when the same hands take hold of the bottom of his own tunic. 

Celebrimbor pulls away as if burned and his eyes widen in worry.

“Forgive me, Elrond! Have I hurt you in some way? Was I going to fast?” The elf-lord looks distraught with himself and sits a polite distance away.

“Nay! It is nothing you have done, Celebrimbor. You have been wonderful. But I…. You must forgive me, my lord. For I have been untruthful.”

“Untruthful? Whatever it is, it can not be so bad, melissë. What is it?”

“I… You know there is one that has caught my eye?”

“Aye?” 

“I should not have agreed to this. But I was selfish….For that person that has caught my eye is you, my lord. You have held my heart, though you did not know it. Forgive me for deceiving you.” Elrond bows his head so low that it almost touches the bedcovers. The room sits in silence for several long moments, and Elrond starts to get anxious when Celebrimbor does not respond.

“I am so sorry, my lord. I hope I have not ruined your night. I will go. I should not have….” Elrond babbles as he scurries to get off of the bed.

“No!” Celebrimbor cries, catching his hand.

Elrond turns to the elf but does not look at him, fearful of what he might see there.

“Elrond, look at me.”

Elrond looks up, but where he had thought he would find disgust, there is nothing but love and kindness in the other’s eyes.

“You have my heart as well.” Celebrimbor confesses. “You have always had it.”

“You…you….?” Elrond stutters in shock.

“Aye, and forgive me for not telling you sooner.”

“You could not have known….nor I.”

 Celebrimbor sits his younger lover back on the bed. “You are so sweet.” He pulls back to look Elrond in the eye before wrapping his arms around the figure and holding him tightly. He takes his chin in hand and kisses him once more. The kiss deepens quickly and Elrond’s hands find themselves sliding down Celebrimbor’s chest.

“I would still like to….make love. If you are agreeable.” Elrond states confidently.

“Aye. We may talk more in the morning. But now, you will have your pleasure.”

Celebrimbor takes the hem of his white tunic in hand again and tugs on it. Elrond lifts his arms and lets the fabric be pulled from him. The rest of the removal of their clothing is but a blur until they both stand naked before each other. 

He is like the Valar. Elrond thinks when he takes in Celebrimbor’s bare form. He was tall and strong and his muscles rippled with every movement. And the cock in between his legs hung heavy and hard. The half-elf can not help himself and his hands reaches out to touch him. His finger strokes over the flushed and pink tip, causing Celebrimbor to shudder.

With a gentle hand, Celebrimbor runs his palm down his cheek in response, down his neck, and further down to his chest. His hand drifts over to his nipple, rubbing over it but not staying to Elrond’s displeasure. But when the hand strays to the other nipple, he let’s out a pleased sigh. Even still, the hand upon his body moves down once more, tickling over his navel and hips until it rests on his thigh.

“What would you like?” Celebrimbor asks huskily.

“Like?”

“Aye, how do you want me, Elrond? Do you wish to take me or to be taken?” The hand on his thigh reaches around to rest upon his bottom.

“I would like you to take me, if you could.” He blushes furiously.

“Whatever you wish for, melissë, is yours.”

Celebrimbor takes Elrond’s cock in between his fingers with his free hand and strokes, pulling on the half-elf’s length until it is hard and stands proudly between them.  The sudden pleasurable movements forces the half-elf to grab hold of the other’s arms, lest his legs collapse beneath him. In retaliation for the pleasure, Elrond kisses the Celebrimbor’s neck softly, before beginning to suckle bruises into the skin. 

“Valar….” Elrond swears as he thrusts into the warm hand surrounding him.

Celebrimbor stops then and pulls his hand away. Elrond whines. The elf-lord guides his lover to lie on the bed as they had been before and takes a tiny pot from his bedside table.

“Oil.” He explains.

He swiftly uncorks it and pours a generous amount onto his fingers. He drags the hand down Elrond’s chest and teases his cock for another moment before moving further down. With gentle hands he presses Elrond’s legs away from him so they are spread out on the bed.

“What a sight you make, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

“All spread out, just for me.” Celebrimbor leans down to whisper huskily into Elrond’s ear.

Elrond flushes and bucks his hips with the first touch of the finger to his entrance. But it stops there. Only gently rubbing over him. 

“I am not fragile, Celebrimbor. Make me ready for you.” The half-elf growls.

Celebrimbor does not have to be told twice and presses the first finger into the warm body beneath him. Elrond moans at the feeling and squirms at the feeling. He arches up into the finger, trying to get it to go deeper. Celebrimbor obliges of course and then begins to prepare him. After the Elrond is all but shaking from the prolonged teasing, he strokes over that one spot inside him that makes him cry out. 

“There, do you want more of that, sweet one?”

Elrond nods eagerly and cries out once more when his prostate is pressed again. His legs attempt to fall shut of their own accord, but Celebrimbor just pushes them back open.

After Celebrimbor finally deems him ready, he removes his fingers and slicks up his cock with more of the oil. Elrond settles himself more comfortably into the pillows, but a large hand stops him in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“I would take you with you in my lap. I wish to look upon your face. Is that alright?”

“More than.” Elrond scrambles up as Celebrimbor adjusts a pillow on the headboard. 

The older elf sits back upon it and reaches out for his fair lover. With loving hands, he guides Elrond to straddle his hips. He leaves one hand on his waist and takes his cock in hand with the other.

“Ready love?”

Elrond nods eagerly and Celebrimbor slowly guides him down onto him. Both moan at the first shocks of pleasure that assault them. The younger one wraps his arms loosely around Celebrimbor’s shoulder and sighs as he bottoms out. He had forgotten what it felt like. How it felt to be so full, so filled with another. How it felt to have someone else so close.

Celebrimbor guides him at first, setting a slow and gentle pace until Elrond adjusts to the intrusion. But soon enough it is Elrond who raises his hips and lowers himself down. He sets a much harsher pace than Celebrimbor had, causing both of them to cry out at the feeling. 

Celebrimbor takes his chin as he thrusts, kissing him. “You wish me to come undone so soon?”

“That is not my intention.” Elrond gasps out between the thrusts Celebrimbor had started. “But surely you can hold out for longer. You are not that old.” He teases.

The hands on his hips grip tighter. “You will regret that.” Celebrimbor laughs, before thrusting as quickly as he can up into the body. Elrond throws his head back in pleasure and shuts his eyes.

“Celebrimbor…” He whimpers.

“Aye, I know.” The thrusts gentle some but do not lose their pace.

Elrond eyes fly back open at one particularly pleasurable jab at his prostate. He holds tight to the older elf, and buries his head in his neck. 

He wants me too. I am not alone. He thinks with a smile.

Elrond rolls his hips down onto Celebrimbor, trying to find even more pleasure in the act. The room is mostly quiet then, the only sounds being their quiet moans and sighs of pleasure. Though the thrusts between the two alternate between harsh and gentle, all other touches remain soft and sweet. Celebrimbor strokes Elrond’s cheeks with reverence and Elrond trails his fingers through the soft hair upon Celebrimbor’s neck.

Eventually, the younger elf tires of rising up and down upon the thick cock inside him and all but collapses on top of him. The elf-lord takes over for him, bracing his feet upon the bedding and thrusting up into him with earnest.

“My lord….” Elrond whines.

The older elf takes his lover’s cock in hand and begins to stroke.

“Celebrimbor, Elrond. Celebrimbor.” He corrects.

He strokes Elrond quickly to completion. The half-elf releases with a cry of the other’s name. The spasming of Elrond’s body around him throws Celebrimbor over the edge just as quickly. Both come down from their highs with happy laughs.

Celebrimbor lays them both down, still nestled inside his lover, and wraps Elrond up in his arms. “May I stay like this for a while?”

“Of course.” Elrond snuggles into the warm arms around him and closes his eyes.

“Celebrimbor?”

“You will not throw me away in the morning? You will have me for more than this night?” He asks hopefully.

“No, you will still be mine come tomorrow.”

[thelien-art]

A bit different kind of crown for Elrond than last time. I like this one better, I think.

First idea for star crown

[eccentricmya]

I had this sudden thought... What if the bits about kidnap fam in the silm were added because Elrond is actually delusional and desperate for parental love?

Nobody found the twins in the cave. They grew into this feral eldritch abomination, cut off from civilization and given up for dead by everyone. During the war of wrath, they stumble out of their nomadic dwelling and are discovered by the host of Aman. They are told of the third kinslaying (after they learn spoken language, since they communicated mostly through images and feelings sent via osanwe) and the fate of their kinsmen and ultimately, taken under Gil-Galad's wing.

Years later, when Elros has chosen to masquerade as a normal mannish creature and swanned off to his island, Elrond encounters a wandering Maglor. He recognises the lament he sings, the Noldolantë, and the ruined hand he connects to the Thieves of the Silmaril he was told about. Elrond is tempted to punish this kinslayer for all the grief he has caused him, but pity stays his hand. They spend some months together, Elrond trying to bring back Maglor to his right mind. But the Noldo speaks of nothing but his overwhelming guilt — for the ones he killed, for the ones he orphaned, and for the brothers he could not follow in death. Elrond feels like they are kindred spirits, forsaken by their family, doomed to a lonely existence.

Yet one winter eve, Maglor disappears in the dead of the night. Leaving behind a song of apology whose notes linger in the air long after he is gone.

Elrond is devastated. He cannot survive another leaving him. So he builds this fantasy in his head. Where he and Elros were found by Maglor in their little cave, years ago when they still wished to be found. And Maglor would take the twins with him to Maedhros, the brother whom Maglor loved like Elrond loves Elros, yet still lost to death, just like Elrond would lose his own. The four would dwell together for long years to come and love would grow between them.

And this fantasy is what history recorded. So that Elrond and Elros would grow up loved, and Maglor would still have family on the shores he wandered.

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (4/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

There isn’t anyone left who knows how to do Maglor’s Mourning Braids, but they are described in a lament for Fingon that’s still doing the rounds, so Elrond and Elros make their best try. That style is henceforth known as Elrond’s Mourning Braids (because Elros gets forgotten by the elves a lot after he dies, let’s not lie to ourselves).

A decade of nothing but Mourning Braids really hammers in that Elrond and Elros weren’t just hostages.

It doesn’t do a lot for their reputation, but they don’t particularly care.

Bit by bit, Elros adopts mannish customs after making his Choice, and even goes so far as to cut his hair above the shoulder. Elrond is pre-grieving his brother too much to be properly shocked about this.

(It’s still long enough to braid. It’s fine. It’s not like his brother is leaving him on purpose. Or rejecting him. Elrond knows that.)

Everyone thinks Elrond should wear his hair in the Sindarin custom but he refuses to give up his Noldor braids. Elros braids his brother’s hair until he leaves for Númenor.

Elrond and Gil-galad do each other’s hair through the Second Age. Because they’re the last of their family and the only ones to keep to the old traditions. Not at all because they’re close. Of course not. Wouldn’t be proper. (They spend two hours at it every morning alone in Gil-galad’s chambers.)

Elrond revives his Mourning Braids on his 500th birthday.

Celebrimbor learns about dwarven hair culture. It’s Very Different but kind of similar, in that fancy hairstyles are a status thing. (Or really, long hair/beard is a status thing and then you have to do something with it because otherwise it catches everywhere.)

Narvi isn’t in fact the first dwarf to touch elven hair, but that’s only because Finrod had a very extended concept of family.

Annatar magically braids his own hair, when he even bothers (his hair doesn’t even singe in the forge if it falls into the fire). This hurts Celebrimbor’s sensitivities, but he adapts to Annatar’s ways, and adapts again, and adapts, until he really can’t.

Sauron cuts off Celebrimbor’s beautiful dark braids full of dwarven beads and ties them to the spears of his personal guard. Elrond never quite manages to get that image out of his head.

At war again, Gil-Galad invents locs. Well, re-invents them really, because Silvan elves have worn them forever, but he’s the first Noldor to do it. (He has Fingon’s hair texture. Does that mean he’s Fingon’s son? Who knows. He’s not telling.)

It’s only after Gil-galad’s death that Elrond teaches himself how to braid his own hair.

He hates it.

But he won’t wear his hair loose.

(The first style he masters is Maglor’s Mourning Braids.) (It really shouldn’t be because it’s Intricate but Elrond is nothing if not stubborn.)

Imladris has a full salon, like the Noldor palaces of old.

It doesn’t get that much use, to be honest.

Erestor learns to braid really tiny braids into Glorfindel’s hair, so that he never wears his hair fully loose but it still looks like it’s loose. Everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. Glorfindel thinks it’s the best thing. Elrond watches them with a knowing smile.

Celebrían wears her hair half-loose in the Sindar style until she marries Elrond. It takes him several years to find the strength to ask her to do his hair, but she lets him do hers and he sneaks in more and more braids until they settle on a mixed-style. When he finally allows her to do his hair, Celebrían makes her mother grumpily teach her proper Noldor braids.

Elladan and Elrohir only wear practical Sindarin braids for the day to day, but they delight in doing each other’s hair in complicated styles for feasts and ceremonies. Elrond cries the first time they accidentally replicate Maglor’s favourite hairstyle.

Arwen is a little gremlin who squirms out of her parents’ lap when they try to braid her hair. She’s also inherited even more of Melian’s hair than Elrond, so even when they manage to do a braid, it’s gone in a few hours.

It takes years after Celebrían sails, because they’re all grieving, but eventually Elrohir offers to do his father’s hair, and Elrond lets him. They don’t do it every day, but it’s a large step in their recovery process.

By the way, Thranduil’s thing for flower/leaf crowns isn’t a Sindar or Silvan practice, it’s just that he wanted to be Fancy but Not In a Noldor Way, thank you very much. He’s also very vain. His servants do his hair.

Little Estel is very cute, has very silky hair for a man, even of his line, and makes a great doll for the twins to play with. He likes his hair touched A Lot.

Arwen learns about that early on. She’s a very good silver smith. Aragorn now owns a lot of hair jewellery. He can’t make a braid to save his life, but that’s fine, because Arwen can’t wear them anyway.

In the North, he wears his hair like Elros, cut above his shoulders. Once he becomes King, he lets it grow to his waist. He’s the first Man since Tuor to casually wear his hair in elaborate Noldor braids. He accidentally sets a fashion.

Arwen also does Éowyn’s and Faramir’s hair regularly. The first time is for their wedding. Éowyn isn’t a fan of the unpractical Fëanorian styles, but the Nolofinwëan battle braids look incredibly good on her.

Wandering on the coast for two ages, Maglor no longer does anything with his hair. It doesn’t enjoy the salt at all.

When Elrond finally finds him, he almost has to cut it all off. Instead, he spends weeks carefully untangling and moisturising Maglor’s hair until he can finally braid it in the old style for him. Maglor cries.

Elrond cries too. He cries even more when Maglor sits them down on the floor and braids his hair like he used to.

They sail together with the other Ring bearers, and there’s a lot more crying when they find Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros waiting for them together.

Celebrían is wearing her hair in one of the Fëanorian styles that can be done one-handed.

Galadriel isn’t entirely happy about that, but she sees Finrod and forgets about it.

There’s some more crying.

Fingon is also there (the amount of gold in his hair is a bit blinding, not that Elrond will ever tell him) and also wearing a one-handed braided style.

There are some fights over who gets to do Elrond’s hair in the next few weeks.

Celebrían wins most of them, because she’s inherited Galadriel’s viciousness, but she lets everyone have a turn.

Elrond would like to know why he doesn’t have a say in it.

(He does. They would never touch him if he didn’t want to. They’re just very happy to see him.)

He does go to visit Elwing and Eärendil in their tower, and he goes with his hair down, because he’s a peace-maker at heart.

But in Tirion, he always sports the most complex hairstyles, just barely coming short of overshadowing the High King’s (mostly because his hair is still too silky for it to hold well), because his family all want to outdo each other.

He earns the reputation of being the most beloved of all the Noldor.

It’s not wrong.

Some visuals & more in my art tag

[sweetteaanddragons]

Quiet

Dust blanketed Maglor’s harp where it sat undisturbed in the corner.

Elrond had kept it clean while he looked for Maglor. Now that he had found him, he had not thought it would be necessary.

But the dust was, in the end, just dust. He was far more concerned with the man sitting on the balcony than the instrument sitting in the corner.

There was no dust on Maglor. As still as he’d been sitting, though, Elrond almost felt the need to check.

He wished the sun would come out. The clouds had been heavy since Maglor came to Rivendell, and their shadow had turned the normally cheery courtyard the balcony overlooked a muffled shade of gray.

The chairs were still comfortable, though, so he sat in the one Maglor had left free and gestured to a tree whose branches swept over the balcony railing. “Its blooms are beautiful in the spring,” he said.

Please still be here in the spring.

“It is beautiful now,” Maglor said.

He had not turned to look at it.

Elrond pressed forward as gently as he could. “I could not help but notice that none of the beauties here have yet moved you to song.”

It had not taken much to move Maglor to song, once. A small scrap of a flower in the war-torn land; the hint of an argument; a memory. Anything would do.

Even when the Oath had carved its deepest, he had sung; even when an orc’s blade had caught him in battle; even when -

He had always turned to music.

And now the harp gathered dust.

It wasn’t his hands. Elrond had checked those thoroughly. There were scars, but nothing that would restrict his movement. His voice, too, sounded fine, what little Elrond had heard of it.

Almost fine.

“I have been remiss,” Maglor said. At last, with aching slowness, he turned his head to look at Elrond. “What would you have me sing?”

“Anything,” Elrond said quietly. “Whatever your heart moves you to.”

Maglor’s mouth twitched. “My heart moves little these days.”

“Not even for song?”

“No,” he said, looking away again. “Especially not for that. It has been very quiet these past many years.”

Elrond’s heart twisted. His own past many years had not been quiet.

But they had not included all the voices he had longed to hear.

“As you say,” he agreed quietly. “Will you allow me to play for you, then?”

“You?” The surprise turned Maglor’s head quicker this time.

“I am told I had a very good teacher.”

“You had an excellent teacher,” Maglor said with just a hint of his old, fierce pride. “But if it is song you want, and you are the one doing the singing, there is not much good use in my being here.”

“Certainly there is,” Elrond said, already standing to fetch the harp. “You’re teaching. It has been a decade since I’ve had time to practice properly; I’m sure my skill has decayed abominably.”

“You know the techniques still,” Maglor said quietly. “You don’t need me here.”

“No,” Elrond admitted. “But I want you here. Is that enough?”

Maglor considered him for a moment.

“Call for another harp,” he said with a sigh. “You can teach me whatever horrible newfangled things I’ve missed.”

He still sounded like a shadow of himself.

But it was a growing shadow, and that was enough.