#gwindor angst

[doodle-pops]

Hold Me Tight, I'm Fine

Gwindor x reader

A/N: My first Gwindor fic and it's angsty. I really am the worse. This is a fic which is based on these Gwindor headcanons I wrote a while ago.

Warnings: touch starved Gwindor, descriptions of his scars and brandings, hair cutting, mild angst/comfort

Words: 1.8k

Synopsis: No longer able to bear the shame of the floating memories from his traumatic days, Gwindor makes one request that only you can do for him. An act that defines your bond.

You could feel the air shifting deliberately the faster your feet paced to approach his room. The air was foul and musky, thick and foggy. It was nearly impossible to cut through and weave your way to his chambers. What was habitual became a burden…to him. You understood that he wished for no assistance, however, when he chose to stay out of the moving world, time was of the essence.

A simple gesture that held no animosity but rather sympathy, to him, all he saw was pity and felt helplessness. Pushing everyone away was the best intention to avoid the sorrowful eyes of the court and everyone else singing their heart at him. It wasn’t difficult to see that he wished to be left alone and wallow in shame; there was nothing left for him to achieve.

The last person he chose to push away was always the first person he humbled himself to reach out to. His eyes never met yours, wanting nothing more than to hide the ugly scars he attained and his no-longer beautiful eyes you once adored, as he requested your help. You offered to be at his side, but his response was silence. Now, here you were chasing towards his chambers after he reluctantly summoned you.

After three raps to his door, you were greeted with the sight of Gwindor hunched before his vanity. His grey hair scattered around his body like a snowy waterfall of silvery ice, and all he wore was his trousers. To the left of him was a discarded cream shirt and his robes and tunic thrown haphazardly across his bed. As much as his hair covered his back, it did little to hide the disfigured scars and brandings on his skin. All the marks of the Iron Fortress were etched into his fair skin and left him unpleasant. No amount of elvish medicine was able to remove all his scars, leaving the brandings tattooed.

Facing the vanity with his face buried in his hands, he was heaving laboriously. You weren’t sure if he acknowledged your presence since his senses were fluctuating, one minute he was aware and the other, he was unconscious to be alerted of anything.

Sliding across the thick carpeted floor, you made quick observation of the fireplace being out and the curtains down, blocking out all ounces of Anor’s rays. Ever since he returned with the loss of his sight, the glare had always been an issue, but this idea of coping with the strain was only making matters worse. It didn’t matter how many times you broke it to him; he would ignore it and continue.

“Gwindor? I’m here,” you called softly, standing no more than a foot apart.

His body froze and his breathing ceased. Lifting his head out of his hands, you noticed in the faintness of what little light invaded the room, he gave you a side eye before turning afront to stare at the mirror. This was the first time you saw him lock eyes with his reflection for more than five seconds without flinching in sheer and utter abhorrence. His right hand reached out to knock about the vanity and cause a series of clatters with different objects knocking into each other until he found his item. The glint of silver along the blades showed the tiniest reflection of his silvery murky eye and the revulsion he was feeling. Holding the pair of metal blades above his head while it hung, his broken voice echoed louder in the shrouded darkness.

“Cut it…please. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Exhaling silently, your eyes became saucers at his unforeseen request. There were so many things you had prepared yourself to hear from him, but this was an icebreaker. You weren’t sure if he was silently asking you to talk him out of his suggestion or go through and commit to his demand. Nonetheless, you approached and inaudibly removed the scissors from his hands and held them to your chest. Standing behind him and staring at his silvery strands that appeared brittle, even in the faintest of the light, tears were eyes prickling the corners of your eyes the more you gaped.

“Gwindor, are you s—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, just cut,” he begged. His voice choked on the last syllable, fearful of the newfound change he was about the make. While everyone else who suffered like him came out of most of their traumatised state, he had no one. Doomed to be alone and his heart clenched.

Reassuring yourself that this wasn’t drastic or life-changing, with shaky hands you lifted the first portion beside his chin and brought the scissors down to clip away at the long strands. The dryness of his hair felt as though the scissors would have broken. All the life had been sucked out his fёa and it reflected with the physical. The buzz in the room grew substantially as you hovered like a bee to a flower. The loud snips of the pair of metal blades against his dull hair sounded like nails on a board. You assumed halfway through the process; he would shoot out of his seat and halt your actions. At least snatch the scissors out of your hand and awake from his maddened nightmare, but he sat like an obedient child sparing no glances at you in the mirror.

The more you cut, the more his skin revealed and the angry fading red zig-zag lines across his skin became pronounced. The brandings of Angband on his left shoulder and the centre of his back became visible. It glowed red with its black hue; one was grotesquely carved and the other was stamped. You still remembered the first time you saw them; you spent weeks crying over them whenever you needed to dress his wounds.

“Is this suitable for you?” you asked sorrowfully. It was impossible to hide the tears in your voice and he heard them.

Still standing behind him with the blades in hand, you noticed his eyes slithering like the curtains were being peeled off his eyes to reveal the task he assigned you. You saw the winces when his eyes fell on his reflection before they opened wider. His nerves riddled his entire body shaking like a leaf endlessly as he raised a hand to touch the shoulder-length hair. “…It…looks better,” he confirmed.

“Gwindor, why did you want me to cut your hair?” the question never left your tongue when the corners of his lips raised. Instead, you smiled with him in return and placed the delicate instrument down to brush his hair out of the way. The serenity he experienced at that moment as your fingers tenderly curled into his hair and massaged his scalp, he visibly sagged deeper into the seat. Lips parted and soft groans escaped.

“Do you want to skip the meeting today and stay indoors? I’ll keep you company,” you suggested with the slight hope that you weren’t overstepping your boundary. It was a hot and cold game with him where his mood was concerned.

For the entire week and more, Gwindor was slipping in and out of his tranquil display and you had reason to believe that it was due to the approaching anniversary of his captivity. Missing a few meetings this week was irrelevant when his health was on the line; you only hoped that he saw the situation the same way you did.

Turning his body away from the vanity and sitting perpendicularly to it, he stared at your longingly at your flowing robes; the small gold embellishments on the teal-coloured material. While his vision fell on the fabric, his line of focus shifted and his mind glided past space and time until he ended up in the void. He buffered before your eyes and it wasn’t the first time, you knew and understood that it was done with overwhelming volumes of emotions attempting to be displayed but was too much for him to handle. While they occurred frequently, they were short-lived.

“Gwindor,” you called and fumbled to place your hand upon his naked skin, knowing the ickiness he suffered.

Snapping his head upwards, his mismatching eyes fell on your concerned face. “You…You would neglect your duties to care for me?”

It did not matter how many times he repeatedly threw the question; you would answer it with the same vigour and genuine affection would always feel towards him. An unconditional love that journeyed beyond the heavens and the earth. Love that could fill the void and melt its coldness enriching it with life and warmth. Continuously providing eternal peace and being his serendipity; fulfilling the undying and unspoken promise of a lifetime. “I will do my very best to always care for you Gwindor…my love.”

You saw it. The world saw it. The heavens and all above and beyond saw it.

The shivers.

Forcing himself to stand from his seat, he easily stood at a height comfortable to prevent the craning of your vertebrate. Actions that were foreign upon his return and filled without warmth were reciprocated. Perhaps it was too forced and hurried, lacking care and gentleness but its symbolisation was the important factor. A squeeze that ignored his strength and your fragility but encompassed you with contentment and the unspoken ‘thank you’, prompted you to return the said action. Your hands fumbled, any touch could shock him out of his tranquil state and send him into trepidation. But you were reassured when he liquefied against your body. 

“My love…I haven’t heard you call me that in a long time. Felt nice.”

Resting his chin in the crook of your neck, you fragilely lifted your hands to stroke his hair and cooed into his ear, “I’ll always call you my love, my dear sweet Gwindor. I’ll always be here for you, please don’t push me away.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but you don’t deserve me like…this,” he breathed, “you should love someone else.”

You felt anger and ache as he spilt his words. They were his contemplative thoughts, but it was agonising to hear them. “W-…Would you be happy if I loved another?”

There was a pending silence as he fought falsehood but caved into his honesty. “No. I’ll be heartbroken if you left me, but—”

“Then I’m not departing Gwindor. I’m here to stay at your side. Before, after and until the end.”

The buzzing increased once silence fell between you both. His breathing evened out so did his grip around your waist, yet his body did not disjoint from yours. This was the most physical contact aside from healers probing his body. This was the first time he experienced physical contact from the one who loved him the most since his return. He forgot what it felt like to be physically loved and cherished. The touch-starvation was clawing from within to never let you go, to bask and relish in the affection.

“…Yes, my love.”

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[searchingforserendipity25]

Just to be a little mean, how about Gwindor/Finduilas with #34 for the Ship and a Number game?

Thank you for the prompt @eilinelsghost! This was a tricky one to pin down, but here it is, and I suspect it is also a little mean.

To Pretend

Gwindor's fingertips brushed near the flowers of a carrot, not quite touching; Finduilas saw that they shook with fine tremors, the strain upon his nerves making him ever unsteady. 

“I had forgotten,” he whispered. “How great your work is, lady. Or perhaps I never did know it, as I ought to.” 

“I am certain you did,” Finduilas said confidently. That much she had never doubted, for all of Gwindor's flattery had been sincere, and in that laid its charm.

But Gwindor did doubt - his mind, as well as his body, had been wounded in the horror of defeat, and captivity, and thralldom. “You it was who often came and sat by me as I sang the seedlings into growth, and brought me many seeds when your duties with the guard took you outside the city.”

Gwindor sketched something like a smile. “That I do recall. Felagund teased so when I made friendship with the growing herbs so they might gift me some seeds to bring you.”

How strong his voice had been, once! Finduilas had warmed through and through, curled her toes in her slippers when she heard him across a wide room. 

He spoke without passion. And of Finrod he spoke without effort, or even grief, though they had been friends, once, and rode often together. Grief was a privilege of the free, and Gwindor did not trust Nargorthrond, or Finduilas, or much of anything.

Finduilas could see it was a bravery even to share the name of the dead, to him; she knew it. If only that courage were enough! Her heart was moved, but not towards love renewed.

He was so changed. Finduilas' laughing champion had grown grim in captivity, and the shadow through which he saw the world did not relent, though his mattress was soft and his plates were full, the halls filled with the song and voices of his kin. If it were but the injuries - 

Finduilas felt herself to be selfish merely to think it. What kind of faithless wretch would she have to be, that her heart and ardour should wither coldly in her chest? Her betrothed was returned from horror. She ought to hold him constantly - to be wed already in the joy of relief, to be a tender bride. 

But Gwindor was changed. He walked through the rows of her saplings, his face shadowed still with great weariness, though the green nursery was well-lit by many and well-made lanterns, to coax life from the many rows of water-fed plants.

Among the watercress and spinach, the tall shelves where clever engines fed and watered the loving pantry of the city, Gwindor's gaunt cheeks were no less smudged with weariness, but at least he reached out, sometimes, and touched a damp leaf.

He looked at the plenty of Nargothrond with a foreigner's eyes. Finduilas did not wish to feel it as a betrayal in her heart.

It might have been easier, perhaps, if he spoke resentfully of the dark and boiling air of the thralls where many who had walked these carved walls crawled now.

Or perhaps it would have been worse - certainly it would be cruel to speak of it when he did not. Finduilas did not know. How strange, not to know what to say to him, her dear quick-speaking friend!

It felt like a cruelty even to stand so near, when Gwindor was stiff with the terror and discomfort of proximity, and ashamed of his own fear - but he had offered his good arm to her, and for an instant it had been the easiest thing in the world to slip her own through his, the most familiar comfort.

And then she had seen the white of his cheeks, felt the tautness of his shoulders. But it might harm all the more to step back, and neither of them, in the end, wished to harm the other.

So it was, the first time they met again by the great stairs for a walk, after Gwindor’s - return. And the day that followed, and the one afterwards. As had been their habit - as if the their warm companionship were a thing that could be picked up, a love to be raised up like an artist’s work, set aside for a moment and picked up again in time. 

Finduilas had thought it might be so; had longed to hold the arm that cringed form her now. Gwindor was grown fearful of intimacy, but even more so of great gatherings, of anything like too much nearness; the closest to pleasure Finduilas had seen in him since his return was in the green nursery.

Finduilas had the duty of the cave-gardens and the green nurseries, the long galleries where the grasses and vegetables and flowers and fruits of Nargothrond grew in many high shelves, down many wide corridors. Felagund had trained her for it; there were times now when she wondered at what manner of premonition might have lead him to it. 

But in truth Finduilas after Tol Sirion had been restless and imperious, eager to make her own place and have her own will, though she knew not where it might be and what exactly her heart willed. She had been covetous of every parcel of knowledge all through apprenticeship with the singers of the city, followed the gardeners of the city in their singing rounds through the green nursery before she was strictly allowed to be there. 

How many times they had spent there, in their courting days! The lanterns of Finduilas' domain were wrought to compel growth and vigour, and in their gentle light they had laughed their way through courtship, kissed for sweet eternities, overfull of delight in each other.

She would take his arm, smile down at him from her tall height, show him her seedlings, the new crop rotations, speak of - O, everything. Their friends, their people, the year’s harvests and the upcoming recitals. Their dead, and their memories of the dead. It had been such a balm to Finduilas, Gwindor’s slow and careful attention as she spoke of Tol Sirion; such a gift, to receive his stories of Lord Aegnor and Dorthonion in return. 

They had wept, together, on occasion - laughed together far more often, at things that seemed impossible to smile at by one’s self, as seen through the mist of grief.

They spoke very little now. Gwindor had nothing joyful to say, and enough heart not to darken her with his thoughts. Finduilas' thoughts were dark enough on their own; she slept ill, these days, and rarely for long. 

At the end of the circuit he bent, as ever he had, and kissed her hands chastely. That much he remembered well - bitter, bitter chance, that Finduilas wished he did not, and did not raise up the illusion of the past in kindness!

Gwindor hesitated afterwards, for a moment. Finduilas almost dreaded it. With every daily farewell she felt the distance between them grow, an inevitable winter with no thaw; and though she trapped the despair inside her rib-cage, and let none of it show in her face, still it grew keener with every repeated meeting.

The stranger whom she had loved looked at her. For a moment she thought to hope he would say "Lady, I release you. There is another whom you love, yet that is not why you love me not as once you did."

She wished not to wish it. But neither did could she linger so, on and on, walk upon walk through the false greenery, pretending at liberty, and love, willing herself not to feel as bitterly alone and bereft as she had been when she wept in hiding between the fruit-bearing trees for her lost betrothed.

Finduilas took her hands away. Once, she would have lingered, would have stepped nearer, and bent down to kiss Gwindor's scarred, gentle mouth. As she had, yesterday, and the day before, since they had sought each other out to start once more the habit of love.

He never did not flinch from her, bound tight to the same pretense, and that was always worse.

Finduilas could not bear to feel his dutiful stillness once more; she was not so kind, nor so capable at guile. She, too, had her own kind of small courage - enough to step back, for once, for the last time.

His eyes were weary upon her face, more weary than sorrowful, and not for a lack of sorrow.

We will never try this again, she thought, and a chill swept through her all the way through her. That was their farewell; and nothing else needed to be said between them.

"O, let us go away," Finduilas said instead. She touched her own cheek, but she knew she was not weeping. "Let us leave the sapling to their slow business, and the flowers to their beauty, and make for somewhere less damp. There is nothing new of much worth to show you here; and we would do better to rejoin the rest, or find ourselves a quiet respite."

"It would be sweet," Gwindor said quietly; but not as if he accounted the sweetness for himself. 

They did not touch as they went; not even the swishing skirts of their robes, not even the corner of a careless elbow. 

[lamemaster]

Made of Dreams (Gwindor x Gn Reader)

Pairing: Gwindor x Gn Maia Reader

Summary: Gwindor almost wanted to question the foolishness of the gesture as he emptily gazed at his own hand held by an unknown but imposing hand. But he kept quiet, following the command of the voice he did not know.

(AN: I believe Gwindor deserves his healing and all the love. Here is my healing after finals. Hope you like it!)

"Shhh," Gwindor barely resisted the urge to flinch and run away as he felt the warmth of contact behind him. Only the absence of his hroa had prevented him from sprinting to the other end of the room.

A lithe hand with slender fingers held Gwindor's hand, or whatever semblance of a hand his fea had managed to construct. "Relax," a husky voice sounded next to his ear. A voice that rang with the sonority of ancient times. The hand that dwarfed his own guided his hand up to face him. Gwindor's world narrowed to the warmth of touch he felt after ages. It burned greater than any fire yet soothed better than any salve.

Gwindor almost wanted to question the foolishness of the gesture as he emptily gazed at his own hand held by an unknown but imposing hand. But he kept quiet, following the command of the voice he did not know.

He had not expected to encounter anyone in the unfrequented path he had found in the gardens of the halls of Mandos. It was not the most spectacular existence in the halls. It did not hold soothing fountains or graceful willows that swept in a mellow breeze, but it was a path that Gwindor kept to himself.

He felt the warmth of a steady breath next to the column of his neck. So alarmingly close. But the existence next to him did not alarm him like most had for the longest time after his death. No... this person held the stillness of mountains and the depth of oceans.

"Look," Gwindor snapped out of his stupor as the voice whispered so gently that for a moment Gwindor doubted if it was ever said out loud. A flutter tickled his hand.

Gwindor found a glowing butterfly perched on his hand. The undaunted creature on his hand fluttered, and its luminous silver wings kissed Gwindor's hands.

For a moment, Gwindor felt grateful for the hand that supported his hand. He was thankful for the hand that held his trembling one as the most delicate of creatures rested in his palm.

Gwindor sucked in a sharp breath as another butterfly landed on his hand. "They traveled a long way from Lorien to get here," the quiet voice added, and Gwindor remained still, afraid of scaring the butterflies that lingered on his hand.

He wanted to turn around and take a look at the owner of the hand under his own hand. He dared not speak anything as he observed the papery wings and intricate pattern of veins that lay between them.

In those moments of his transfixion, Gwindor did not fret about the scars that lined his features or the stretch marks spread across his arms and neck.

With all his courage gathered, Gwindor turned to look back at the hand still holding his. His eyes found yours. Deep voids of black stared back at him. You did not move away from him.

Not even the marks left behind by Morgoth scared you. Not many had the courage to look at the face that the fallen Vala had taken his time to twist into one of his cruelties. A marred Quendi who went against everything that the firstborn were. Maybe if Morgoth had broken his mind and made him into a complete creature of darkness. Perhaps if he died an orc rather than a detested and scorned elf. It could have been better.

Gwindor did not protest when you freed your hand from his. Surprisingly, the butterflies still stayed huddled on his palm. "They truly wanted to be seen. It was getting really noisy with all of them whining about it in my ears," another butterfly flies in and settles on top of your head. Gwindor continues to watch as another decides to rest on the bridge of your nose.

"Forgive me for scaring you," you bow, and by some miracle, the butterflies on top of you remain seated in their position. "I am Y/N, a Maiar of Irmo. I am not familiar with the rules of Mandos' halls." You speak without an inkling of doubt.

The more Gwindor looks at you, the more he finds himself entrapped by your looks. The Maiar of the deepest of sleep, sleep that heals the mind and body.

Gwindor wonders if the usually solemn path he frequents glimmers so much with the twinkling butterflies or the light that seems to originate from your every pore. With every passing second, more and more butterflies gather around.

"What are these?" Gwindor asks, intrigued by the fluttering creatures surrounding him. "These are charms made by the Maiar of my Vala Irmo," you reply and watch as Gwindor plucks one from your hand and places it in his hands. "They help ward off stray nightmares or traumatizing memories. My Vala wanted it delivered in the halls of Mandos." You add, and Gwindor feels acutely aware of the butterfly that rests in his hands.

It is only fair to let it go, he reasons with himself. It belongs to another aggrieved soul, he thinks, but the butterfly in his hand feels like his companion after so long. A companion who would not mind his scarred face.

"It really likes you. You should keep it around," you speak as if you hadn't just heard his internal dilemma.

"Do you understand it?" Gwindor asks, and you smile, a subtle yet mesmerizing smile, free of any blemish or marring, so different from his own horrid face.

"I do understand them. I have looked after them since their birth, so their words come easily to me. Would you like to learn it as well?" You offer with ease, someone unbothered by the world. You do not detest Gwindor like most do. You don't seem bothered by the mockery of Morgoth that his face is.

That day Gwindor finds not one but two companions. Maybe this was his path to healing.

That is how you first meet Gwindor, the ellon who loves selflessly, the one who has been denied his right to heal due to the scorn of the society that breeds vanity.

You meet him and find yourself frequenting the halls you seldom visited in the past, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Quendi who walks on unfrequented paths and carries with him a silver butterfly.

Maybe someday, you will be allowed to love him under the Sun and the Moon, but until then, you visit the hall of Mandos, hoping to talk to him.

You find yourself talking to him for hours on end. You talk more than you ever have, more than you talked in your Vala's halls. You fill the silent garden of Mandos with your words. And as the days pass, you listen to Gwindor.

He speaks of Middle Earth, of his brother, of Turin, and his curse. On some days, he speaks of Morgoth, and on those days, you end up staying back to guard against the nightmares that plague him.

As days turn into chilly nights, you sometimes catch his gaze lingering on you. There are days when your hand finds his, and you find it hard to let go. There are also days when your elf refuses to see you or look in your eyes. Those are days when his hair remains let down, covering most of his face. When that happens, you find your thumb rubbing patterns in the center of his palm as silence fills the air

So, you sit there and wait. 

One day you would teach him to love selfishly.

[animatorweirdo]

“I do not want someone better,” with Maedhros, Caranthir and Gwindor.

(Here you go, hope you like it. My mind wandered off in the end, so excuse my lack of humor with the special credits at the bottom,)

Requested by anonymous

Warnings; angst and depressive thoughts. Fluff and kissy kissy. 

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

Maedhros 

-There was no doubt that Angband had blown Maedhros's self-esteem into smithereens. 

-He suffered from nightmares and had scars as a reminder of what he went through. 

-He also lost his right hand when he got rescued. It didn't help his self-esteem a lot. 

-He managed to get back on his feet and resist Morgoth, but things didn't get better for him even with his kin. 

-His brothers caused unnecessary chaos and ridiculed his choice to give away the crown to Fingolfin. 

-His family was a mess. The bond between his people was a mess. Everything was a mess. 

-It was a lot of work, but he managed. 

-He stood like a proud prince, but it didn't mean he didn't get tired. He self-loathed himself in silence. 

-You tried to be there for him. Assured everything was going to be alright and that he was doing a good job. 

-But sometimes he would doubt himself that he wasn't worthy of your love. 

"I do not deserve you," Maedhros said in a low tone of voice. "You deserve someone else, someone better," He added. You frowned when you heard that. "Mae," You said, making him look you in the eye. "I do not want anyone better. I love you the way you are, and there's no need you to change for it," You explained. "You have done excellent work, and all will be good in the end," You added, touching his forehead with yours.

"And besides," You kissed him on the lips. "No one else can ignite the passion as you do," You said with a smile. "So, how am I supposed to find anyone better when you're already the best, hmm?" You asked, which made him smile in amusement a little. 

Caranthir

-Caranthir always had a hard time standing beside his family. 

-He wasn't the most favored like his elder brothers or the most talented like his younger ones. 

-He didn't gain much favor from their father, and because of that. He felt like an outcast. 

-He had done many bad things when coming to middle earth, and he often gets ridiculed for his decisions. 

-Because of that, his self-esteem was low, and he hated himself. 

-He felt lucky to have you by his side and sometimes doesn't think he's worthy of you. 

"You know, you deserve someone better," caranthir suddenly said. You looked at him confused. "And's why's that? I'm perfectly happy with you," You questioned, walking up to him. "You're kind and help others, unlike me, who only knows how to be cruel and kill without mercy," He said. "I had done nothing right in my life," He said with a blank expression. 

You frowned and gently pulled him into a hug. He didn't do anything, so he allowed you to do it. You held his head against your chest. "You have done good things, and I don't want anyone better because they wouldn't be you. Your family might not see it but in my eyes. You're one of the best people alive, and I love you," You said, then kissed his forehead. "Don't ever forget that," You whispered. 

You heard sniffles before Caranthir wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this," He said. "Don't be. It's okay to feel vulnerable. You don't always have to remain strong for me," You said as you both spend the night in each other's arms. 

Gwindor

-After getting captured and escaping Angband. Things didn't look up for him, and he was constantly in a state of anxiety. 

-His scarred appearance reminded him of what those in Angband did to him. His missing hand left him more useless on the battlefield, and his kin mistrusted him for being a former thrall. 

-It all caused him to doubt himself and self-loathe himself for failing so much in his life. 

-You were one of the good things that happened to him, and he couldn't almost believe he could know love again with someone else after what happened with Finduilas. 

-he loved you with all of his beings. He did and sometimes thinks you deserved someone else, someone better and not someone broken. 

"You deserve someone better," Gwindor's voice reached you. You turned to look at him with a frown. "And why do you think that, Gwin?" You asked. "You deserve someone who's not so weak and broken. I don't even hold a beauty of an elf anymore. I'm scared and beyond repair," He said. "I can't even hold a sword properly with one hand, so how can I guarantee I can keep you safe?" He questioned. 

"Gwindor, my beloved," You said, holding his face between your hands. "You're not broken to me. You're strong because you still had will power to fight back Morgoth. Even after everything that happened to you. I don't need you to change or be strong for me. You're perfect the way you are," You said, kissing his forehead. "And if you feel helpless, I can hold the sword for you. I want to protect you with whatever I can, even from those dark thoughts plaguing your mind," You said, then kissed him on the lips. 

Gwindor almost gasped as you kissed him. Fluster dressed his face, and you looked at him in the eyes. 

"I love you, no matter what," You said. 

"Now, There's a bigger reason why I think myself unworthy of you.," Gwindor said, looking at you like marveling at a star. You smiled with a chuckle. "Not If I have anything to say about it," You said. 

Special credits

Mae; I feel so useless

You; b*tch, you better get that tone out of your mouth, or I'm gonna slap that low self-esteem into the void

Mae; *quiet and a bit terrified, saying no more self-deprecating things*

Caranthir; I feel so worthless

You; *Grabs him by the neck, kisses him, then punches him in the face*

You; Not anymore!

Gwindor; I feel so ugly

You; Honey, Do I have to fuck you right here to prove how you're the pretties dude in my life?

Gwindor; *Blushing like a crazy and kinda excited about the thought*

[gwaedhannen]

!!! celebrian in valinor fic!!! 👀👀👀

It probably won't be out for a while yet, since I still need to figure out what the heck I'm actually doing with it. Right now I just have pure angst. Which is fun! But I'd like to get to some healing eventually.

She cannot bear Gil-Galad, so altered by the release of his long burdens that she hardly recognizes his serenity. She cannot bear Celebrimbor, once her dearest friend, now forever overlaid by his dangling corpse and his accursed shackles binding her husband and her mother to his doom. She cannot bear noble grandmother Eärwen, who has never walked the far shore and known its inundating grief. She cannot bear kind grandfather Arafinwë, always with the correct words and actions to just for a moment, make her forget how marred she is. She cannot bear radiant uncle Finrod, for what are her scars against his? She cannot bear uncle Angaráto, nor aunt Eldalótë, nor cousin Orodreth, nor the absence where uncle Aegnor should be, for her story is of little note next to the tragedies and triumphs of their age. She cannot bear the dozens and hundreds of family, old friends, old acquaintances, well-wishers she has never known. “What a pity. What a pity. What a pity!” She doesn’t want to heal. She can’t heal. The scar tissue is all she is now, layer upon layer, down into the marrow. She should have stayed and persisted in that half-life among her true family. She should have faded into a memory of rain on silver glass. She should have laid herself down in Elladan’s gardens and let grief wash her to the Halls of Awaiting. She had to leave. She couldn’t let them bury her. Couldn’t let them see what she is. Queen of Ruination! Spoilt and turned, not even worth twisting into an orc. A footnote in a story nobody will ever read.

So it goes. Moping and wallowing in her deserved misery as the scars heal and start to fade. Until one day she looks up from the embroidery she is mangling and sees another footnote has seated herself across from her. “Hello, cousin,” says the once-Princess of Minas Tirith, of Nargothrond, of a sunken grave. “Gwindor and I have a third ticket to the Flinnrysc concert tonight. You’re coming along.”

Yes I know Celeborn has family too but shh, I'll think of how to integrate them later (and I'd need to come up with names for Galadhon and Galathil's wives).

[thelordofgifs]

I'm so sad Gwindor got cut. My poor tortured elf man.

I'm sorry too!! Here's the propaganda people submitted for him, if it eases the blow:

That elf went to avenge his brother, got captured by Morgoth and had to watch Turin steal his girl! POOR ELF MAN.

He's such a sweet guy, helping others despite having gone through so much in angband and he's ready to give up on the woman he loves to make her happy

So much angst can fit inside one character! He saw his brother dismembered in front of him, which is awful! Accidentally preemptively started the Nirneath! Was a thrall for years and escaped??? On his own??? Risked his life to stay with Túrin even though he risked recapture. Was betrothed to Finduilas - that relationship is immensely interesting to explore but almost not touched on at all?? Ends up drifting apart and she falls in love with Túrin instead! Comes back to Nargothrond, his home, and there is no place for him! Something, something, an escape that is not really an escape. The horrible but also entirely predictable reaction he receives on his return. The honour (ish) of being the only genre aware character in Nargothrond! As he’s dying the last thing he thinks of is Finduilas and her safety. And! So much headcanon potential!

pour one out for Gwindor everyone :(

[serregon]

beleg for the character ask game!

one aspect about them i love

he’s just a neat little guy. he’s devoted to the people he loves, and he’s a bright spot in a book filled with kinslayers and backstabbers. he’s nice, but he isn’t afraid to tell Túrin when he’s being a dummy. and archers are just inherently cool, doubled with the woodland elf aesthetic.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

so I love Beleg (obviously), but we also need to consider how he likely played a part in the colonization and extinction of the petty dwarves. Mîm’s people were destroyed by the Sindar, Beleg is a Sindarin warrior, do the math. even the nicest people can have a dark side, Beleg isn’t simply a wholesome gay blorbo

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

Beleg is a follower of Nessa (in my headcanon she isn’t just some goddess of dancing, she’s a hunting goddess whose domain represents the athleticism of the hunt, compared to Oromë who represents the carnage). she represents the speed and skill required for an archer, and Beleg attributes his strengths to her. he gets to join her hunt when he dies and ends up in Valinor

one character i love seeing them interact with

tl;dr for my mental 100 page thesis on Túrin/Beleg. they’ve got everything I love: immortals in love with mortals, a devoted warriors bond, a tragic ending, and for me they hit that perfect balance of angst and sweetness. like they can be pain and heartbreak but they can also be soft and domestic and both can be perfectly in character for their relationship

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

I want to know more about his friendship with Gwindor. they couldn’t have known each other for very long, a few days at most, yet Gwindor grew to love Beleg so much that he promised to take care of Túrin through everything

also there’s an early draft where Beleg and Haleth fought alongside each other. they’d be besties I think

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

he’s a lot older than Lúthien and he used to babysit her sometimes when she was a kid. he was her favorite babysitter and she called him uncle a few times. they didn’t meet as often once Lúthien grew up, but they maintained a friendship nonetheless

[polutrope]

for the shipping bingo: daemags of course, silvergifting and Turin/Finduilas?

Daeron/Maglor

I have written these guys in many different modes so I had to stop myself. Mostly they're thematically d e l i c i o u s to me: music, fate, regret, repentance, eternity, exile, singing beside water in which the Song resides, immaculate "I love him but what if he finds out I killed his people"/"I love him but the bastard killed my people and is going to do it again" vibes... they're lovers, they're exes, they're fluff, they're angst, they're Song-mates, they're OTP until the End of Arda... yes, yes they do make me feel insane.

Oh and if you're wondering who they're both fucking, it's Finrod.

Celebrimbor/Sauron

Just not invested in the characters or the time period.

Finduilas/Turin

I actually really like a scenario where this love is requited (which it is in some versions, though never acted upon). I still think it wouldn't end well because, well, Turin is involved. But I think it would be Neat and Sexy if they got to have a tender elf/human love affair. Especially if Gwindor got to be part of it (see top right).

[sauroff]

Red Blood Flowing by @senalishia for this year’s @tolkienrsb​ (Full Picture here) Author Socials: Tumblr - Ao3  | |  Artist Socials: Instagram Ratings: T Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, animal death, suicide attempt. Relationships: Some minor Finrod/Celebrimbor (it isn’t platonic, but it doesn’t get romantic or sexual either) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood Drinking, Celebrimbor's daddy issues, cannibalism reference. Characters: Finrod, Celebrimbor, Gwindor, Curufin, Celegorm, Huan, Orodreth, Beren, Luthien, Thuringwethil, Sauron Word count: 36256

“ Finrod dies fighting a werewolf. But instead of walking with his father beneath the trees in Eldamar, he gets necromanced by Sauron and brought back as an unholy abomination by Thuringwethil. Once Luthien makes short work of his captors, he must decide how to deal with his new powers and frightening desires, and unknowingly sets the fate of Arda on a far different course than it would otherwise have taken. “

[ambarto]

I love arospec Finduilas! I’d love to read your thoughts on it if you’re interested in writing them! Your blog is great 💚

-@outofangband

Hi thank you! Honestly I see Finduilas as either quoiro or freyro (I do have a short freyromantic Finduilas fic I wrote for aspec arda week a couple years ago). Partially because I find it compelling that Elves are very big on monogamy and all and Finduilas is I think the only Elf we see actively fall out of love with someone. So I really like the idea of Finduilas either being unable to recognize romantic feelings, or having romantic feelings that come and go, it would add an additional sparkle of angst to her story to have her confused by her own feelings.

I also see Finduilas as being fairly young when she died, kind of the equivalent of 20 years old or so, and having not yet had time to figure out her identity entirely by then. I do think she cared a lot about Gwindor, possibly being attracted to him in some way, and him being captured would have been devastating for her. However, this also gave her... I don't want to say an excuse not to examine her feelings further, more like that grief is grief and she would have had no reason to pick apart if what she felt had been romantic or not.

Then when Gwindor came back there was Turin too. If we go with freyromantic Finduilas, her developing a crush on Turin could have been in her mind more of a reason for not loving Gwindor anymore than simply falling out of love. She could have told herself she hadn't just stopped loving him, she just had a new man she was attracted to. Plus for freyromantics feelings fade once you have established an emotional connection to someone, and we know what Turin was like, he was too busy running from his past and being secretive about it might have kept him from developing his relationship with others in Nargothrond. Despite technically knowing him, he might have remained the mysterious brooding semi-stranger for ages, and that could have meant Finduilas kept her feeling longer.

Now if we look at quoiromantic Finduilas instead, in that case she might have felt curious about Turin or felt a strong more platonic attraction to him, and not recognized what she was feeling. Maybe her interest in Turin, who was a new person she didn't know, could have felt more intense than her affection for Gwindor. She might have even felt kind of the same way about Gwindor before they had gotten engaged. So she just mixed things up.

And now I'm also thinking of lithromantic Finduilas that would be very neat too.

Anyways I'm also a fan of Finduilas finally getting the life she deserved once she comes back from Mandos. She can grow a bit wiser in Valinor, get to know herself better, understand her orientation. Not to mention, Finduilas was born and lived in a war, and I'm sure that also gave her a sense of urgency and of having to hold on to what she had while she had it. Getting engaged to Gwindor young because they both knew they could be killed any day and all of that. In Valinor she can get to relax and slow down, and that could also give her the chance of thinking more deeply about herself.

[uchihasasukeycurufinweatarinke]

Bleach Coyote Starrk X Silmarillion Curufin

Ok so I should be studying for exams and that didn't work out the whole day so let's put the most cringe worthy thing that has been in my head for a long ass time. Btw I'm a huge fan of crossovers but I'm also very picky towards them so yeah this is probably weird as fuck but here goes nothing lol. This is just a way to get my two current blorbos to interact 😄

So Curvo dies and instead of going to Mandos he goes to Hueco Mundo and becomes an Arrancar.

I kinda have this whole AU just so that a. Coyote Starrk and Curvo can be friends or ship them and b. so Curvo can eat Gothmog and haunt Finrod.

I'm always on the Finrod had no right to go for the silmaril and demand his kingdom to go on a suicide charge for a couple who could have just eloped side.

So Curvo gets killed by Gwindor. How it happens is that after Luthien gets taken to Nargothrond, she manages to tell Celebrimbor that Beren has been captured along with Finrod. Celebrimbor, who is friends with Finduilas tells her this and she cries to Gwindor about it.

Gwindor confronts Curufin about it accusingly. Curufin actually really likes and cares about Finrod, (but not more than his brothers and his Oath, so he's still bitter about the betrayal from his perspective, knowing that going for the silmarils is dooming his his family), but he answers Gwindor extra cruelly. Taunting him and going, " Why don't you ask the rest of Nargothrond to save him? Oh wait, they won't go on a foolish suicide mission with no chance of success. " Finduilas who's also there cries for Finrod's death sentence and Gwindor snaps. He kills Curufin, completely cutting his head of.

Then what he did dawns on him and he and Finduilas hide the body while feeling super guilty, cause kinslaying is still kinslaying no matter how much you hate the guy.

Keep reading for the Bleach part😆

Now we get to the Bleach part! This is where the fun Shonen stuff begins!

Honestly the concept of hollows, when read with the Silmarillion mood still there, is such a horror tragedy. In Tolkien language they're basically kinslaying cannibalizing wraiths. Like even Morgoth doesn't make monsters that tragic.

Like re watching the first Bleach episodes and it's like holy shit those hollows were so creepy, then so sad and tragic cause they were your family, they just wanna stay with you after death then they can't help but hunger for you. A silm character AU of going through the plot of Orihime's brother's episode, oh the angst! That's like the worst kind of kinslaying! Loving your family so much you wanna eat them so they'll never leave you!

So yeah rotating hollow Curvo in my mind😃

But I want this story to have two perspectives with wildly different genres of a fun action packed Shonen kicking enemy ass and a horror tragedy movie of being haunted by your dead kin.

And since Curvo is my fave I'm spoiling him. He gets cool Arrancar powers and kicks ass and gets revenge for Feanor and Maedhros like an overpowered isekai protagonist.

But everyone around him especially Finrod and including his brothers are in a horror movie and for once it's not even Morgoth's fault.

I like Finrod, but whenever fics and metas have him as an angel and bash Curvo and Celegorm I get super annoyed, so he gets maximum horror here 🤣

Gonna type part 2 cause this post feels too long.

[doodle-pops]

Hello everyone and welcome to this first time ever event!

As stated in the title, this event primarily focuses on the underrated and underappreciated characters in the Silmarillion reader insert community who I write for. The focus will be on the elves.

The event will run through the month of August. Over the course of the month, a mixture of headcanons (group and individual) and fics will be released for the following characters, in no particular order:

Curufin | Amrod | Amras | Turgon | Argon | Finarfin | Angrod | Aegnor | Galdor | Rog | Egalmoth | Thingol | Beleg | Gwindor | Gil Galad

Themes can range from angst to fluff to romantic and AUs, for the sake of providing a wider range of content. Furthermore, this event will feature SFW content with a sprinkle of suggestive themes, but no explicit content. Tags and warnings will be added accordingly.

This event is also opened to other reader insert writers who would like to contribute and boost the content. If you do participate, use the tag #underratedcharacterevent and tag @doodle-pops. I will reblog your work here and add them to the Masterlist constructed for this event along with your blog's name as credit.

[squirrelwrangler]

What silmarilion opinion or reading interpretation have you changed over time?

I did not start out as a Thingol stan

While I loved Indis from my very first reading I did not have the full-bodied Vanyar headcanons nor this deep concept of who Ingwë is and why he’s awesome until I really sat and worked on the monk analogy. For the longest time Ingwë was just sweet aloof cat dude.

Tying into that, I really didn’t like Cuivienen. The Unbegotten nonsense and that the only fanfic and fan focus I read until I started writing my own fic would focus solely on the linguistic aspect or a sexual freedom that gets suppressed by the Valar as framework for a Finwë/Miriel or Miriel/Indis fic. Deeply counter to my sensibilities and preferences. Once I started approaching Cuivienen from the angle I liked - namely the Teleri and the under-explored relationship of Elwë and his younger brothers and gave myself space to indulge in my Paleolithic speculative fiction joys (I delight when fantasy sets itself in the Bronze Age or earlier), that meant I could slide into what should have been a setting I loved but hated. The key then became decoupling the Three Prophets from the First Three, and once that full separation of character with its implications of deep generational psychological divide happened, the fairytale nonsense of the instant Awakening at Cuivienen became intensely interesting. Nine years later I’m sitting happy as a clam in mud with these OCs and the most developed worldbuilding of all my Silm fics bar the Tol Sirion/Nargothrond bunch of OCs.

Maglor I used to like and the whole ‘kidnap family’ was something I liked and read instead of despise on sight. Thankfully my tolerance of it withered away.

I never shipped Maedhros/Fingon or found either character remotely compelling, but their obnoxious fandom means my passive acceptance and nearly total ignoring that they existed as characters in this book plummeted to scornful rejection. They only interest me because of OC spouses and as foils to the far more interesting and sympathetic cast that overshadow them.

Biggest turn around? Túrin. Never hated him, am still not his actively promoting stan, but he is deeply sympathetic and lovable to me nowadays thanks to the evangelism of his fans. Also there needs to be more Túrin pining for Gwindor angst fics.

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Man, Elf, and the Sun, in Black

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/td7TRIV

by AAAStarboyAAA

Túrin and Beleg, in the sun. (or not.)

Words: 2851, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: M/M

Characters: Túrin Turambar, Beleg Cúthalion, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Gwindor (Tolkien)

Relationships: Beleg Cúthalion/Túrin Turambar

Additional Tags: túrin himself is already a dead dove warning, very tame implied sex, morgoth is only there in spirit, but he sure does some damage, up to interpretation i guess, exploration of cultural differences kinda?, fluff and then horrible angst, prepare for whiplash, Graphic Description of Corpses, Mentions of Necrophilia, (rather on brand for morgoth i think)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/td7TRIV

[animatorweirdo]

From beyond death

In life, you had saved him from the dragon, and now in death, you had done the same.

Warnings: heavy subjects, angst, mentions of a death of a friend, not getting along with a sibling, dying, sad, bleeding, dreaming, torture, getting shot with arrows, and surviving a river.

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

It started out as a little visit. There was a knock at the doorway to the forge, and you were there, popping your head around the corner. 

“Celebrimbor. I’m sorry to disturb you, but can I hide here for a while? Lady Finduilas is trying to encourage me to attend another feast, but I am not really feeling it today,” you asked. 

“Of course. Help yourself out,” Celebrimbor chuckled as you scuttered in after getting a confirmation, making yourself a spot at a nearby table covered with metals and stones. Celebrimbor glanced in amusement while trying to focus on his current project.  

You always had a less liking for social gatherings, maybe because you were more used to wandering outside, keeping your eyes out for dangers that could threaten the safety of Nargothrond. A lone wolf, his kin called you. Galadwen is what you called yourself, but Celebrimbor already knew your real name. 

“You know, you could always tell Gwindor and Princess Finduilas that you do not wish to attend the feast,” Celebrimbor stated as he continued his current project. “I usually avoid attending social events, but I didn’t want to appear rude this time,” you said as you made yourself busy, handling a small bunch of metal wires in your hands. 

Celebrimbor shook his head with a smile. “My friend, you won’t ever get rid of the fear of people if you don’t try to face them more often,” he said. 

“I prefer a solitary life. And besides, I’ve never been one for social life. I remember once attending a feast and getting angry with this one elven lord who insulted my people,” you explained.

“Oh yeah… what happened then?” Celebrimbor questioned since you usually didn’t tell a lot of your past.

“I purposely dumbed cake on him to get his tunic dirty. I don’t think he ever forgave me for that, and honestly, I still don’t feel bad about it. He was unpleasant even on regular days,” you said, making him grin at the thought while you were deep in your own project. 

You had a hard time opening up, so whenever Celebrimbor saw a chance to ask questions, he took it to learn more about you. 

He wanted to understand why you would name yourself a sorrowful maiden. He knew something terrible had happened, and you were a lonely soul, so he took the initiative to be your friend. Something his prideful father would had most likely shamed him for, and he did not regret it as you two had grown a close friendship. There was something that pulled him toward you, and one day– you trusted him enough to give him your real name and your past as one of the children of Hurin. 

When he learned about the tragic death of your close friend and the fallout between you and your brother, many things about you started to make sense, and it nearly broke his heart. He did not think you deserved to be alone for the things that happened. You even set yourself outside, thinking it would protect his people if you did not linger inside and infect the kingdom with the curse of your house. It resulted in your self-destructive habits as you were haunted by what happened, and Celebrimbor was glad he was able to talk you out of them and live more healthily. 

It was clear he had a lot of effect on you as you even started coming inside and visiting his forge much more to talk to him. His kin saw you and him as a peculiar pair, but since it helped you to stop most of your destructive habits and smile more, Celebrimbor paid no mind. He deeply cared for you, so it was worth it. 

You two talked in the forge. You shared certain things that happened in the feast, and Celebrimbor replied sometimes with an amused chuckle or another question to keep the conversation flowing. You then did something peculiar he would never forget. 

“Hey, Celebrimbor. Could you come here for a moment?” you asked. 

Curious, Celebrimbor left his current project and walked over to you. You then lifted one of his hands and slid a ring made from metal wires into his finger. Celebrimbor was surprised by the sudden gesture, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the new ring in his hand. You had somehow folded the metal wires into a single ring, and in the center, you had twisted ends together and folded them into a shape that resembled a spiky flower with roots wrapped around the ring. 

Celebrimbor felt charmed and impressed as you had made the ring with your bare hands. 

“It’s lovely. What is it?” Celebrimbor looked at you. 

“A spike ring,” you answered. 

“Not the fanciest name, but in my birth home, we used to make them to give our friends, families, and those dear to us whenever they leave as lucky charms, wishing them safe return and protection from evil,” you explained, “It’s even said if someone who wishes you harm touches the ring, the spikes will make them bleed, but I don’t know if that’s true. The spikes are not sharp enough to cause bleeding unless you push hard enough,” 

“I…” you hesitated. “It’s just suddenly came to mind. I’m sorry if that was too weird for you,” you shook your hands with an awkward look. 

Celebrimbor couldn’t help but smile. “Not at all. I appreciate the little gift. Thank you, (Name),” he said, and you smiled in return, happy to see him accept your little gift. 

It was supposed to be only a friendly gesture, but the more time he spent with you, the more you opened up to him. To his worry, he found himself in a similar predicament as Luthien. He had fallen in love with you. 

His father would have scorned him if he knew his son had fallen for a mortal, not that his opinion would have mattered. However, Celebrimbor should have controlled himself and avoided such an outcome since there is no way for an eldar and an edain to be together without tragedy. He doubted he could do the same as Luthien and give up his immortality to be with you. 

But, he couldn't bring himself to break your heart either. The very idea made him feel resentful toward himself. You would understand his view if he told you, but at the very same time, he wants to bring you that kind of happiness. 

King Felagund himself once thought an eldar and an edain could not be together, but then he changed as he willingly helped a mortal man who sought to marry the daughter of Thingol. If someone like him could change his mind, then maybe it's not so terrible. 

Celebrimbor never guessed he would feel so much more for you. He would have been happy just to be your friend and see you live a happy long life as you should. But now he had these feelings bothering him.

He observed you as you two went on with your usual outings and activities. He would visit you outside and listen as you talked and watched the stars on your favorite hill and he would sometimes watch as you visited his forge and started crafting something else with your hands at the table where he started gathering materials for you: to see if you would come up with something new. 

You looked so happy, but he did not see any signs that you might share the same feelings for him as he did for you. It was more favorable since it made it easy to control his feelings and accept that you only saw him as your friend. 

He was alright with that and made a promise to himself that he would stay and see you live a good life as your friend. 

But, oh, how he had underestimated the power of your family’s curse as one day. It had come in the form of your older brother, Turin. 

He first believed it would be a happy reunion since you had mentioned that your brother went missing after an incident, but you were cautious for some reason. You did try to reconnect with Turin, but something felt amiss, and he felt more like a stranger to you than the brother you grew up within the safety of Doriath. 

You became cautious when Turin started gaining influence in Nargothrond. At first, you were all right with whatever he was doing, but then you started expressing concern when he began sharing his ideas with the elves of Nargothrond.  

Celebrimbor was there to support you, especially when you and Turin only seemed to grow more distant and unable to see eye to eye. Turin convinced Orodreth to build a bridge to Nargothrond’s main entrance, which in your mind was a terrible idea, and when Gwindor began to get scorned by the council for his past as Morgoth’s thrall, your distance from him only grew. 

You came to a realization that Turin was planning to reattempt to have revenge against Morgoth for your family’s suffering, which only created a deeper drift between you as you didn’t think going to war was the best option for your home. 

While Turin believed in a direct approach toward the enemy, you believed hiding in secrecy was Nargothrond's best defense. You two only got into an argument when you reminded him what happened last time when he tried to build an army to oppose Morgoth. You were there to support him back then, and it had cost the life of your best friend. 

Celebrimbor tried to be the mediator since the arguments between you and your brother were sometimes intense, but when Turin insulted him for his family’s actions as kinslayers, you lost your patience and punched your brother in the face. Celebrimbor was quick to take you away before things escalated, and you would try to fight your brother. You had incredible patience, but when it came to defending him or Gwindor, you would often go head-first and fight the offender. 

But this time. You were truly upset with your brother, so he had to calm you down. You vented your frustration about the matter, and Celebrimbor peacefully calmed you till you spoke more softly and expressed your concerns about how Turin was not listening to reason. 

Celebrimbor wanted things between you to be peaceful since you both were respected by his people, but when he saw Turin’s growing arrogance as his influence over the kingdom grew and how Turin was slightly too certain things would go his way. It reminded him too much about his father and uncle before things went wrong with them, so Celebrimbor couldn’t help but side with you. 

When Turin began encouraging the elves to go to war with Morgoth, you opposed it, but your voice went unheard as Turin’s speech to defeat Morgoth convinced King Orodreth and the council, and they began making preparations since Glaurung was sighted approaching from the north. You did not believe Turin and the elves could defeat the great dragon in direct combat. There were too many possible outcomes, and Turin did not have a plan if things went wrong. 

Celebrimbor felt awful to see you in distress, but when you told him it was up to you two to come up with a plan to keep the people of Nargothrond safe if your brother failed in his assault, he was ready to help.

You were familiar with Nargothrond's many caverns, and you knew some of them led outside. In the worst-case scenario, you could use the path to take Nargothrond’s people outside the city and to safety. 

Celebrimbor supported the idea and since he had some people who decided to stay with him rather than leave with his father and uncle when they were banished. You two managed to make quick work clearing out the secret path till the day you dreaded finally arrived. 

To your sorrow, Gwindor had decided to join the battle with Turin and King Orodreth. You begged him to stay as you knew he would die if he went with your brother’s plan. Unfortunately, Gwindor loved your brother as much as he loved you, even if your brother caused him trouble and the end of his relationship with Finduilas. Gwindor only looked at you sorrowfully and asked you to keep Finduilas safe if things went as you predicted. 

At that moment when you watched him ride away with your brother and the rest of the army as they left to confront the dragon, you hated your brother more than anyone. Celebrimbor only knew to hold you close as the tears fell from your eyes. He wanted to give you time to collect yourself, but since time was against you, he had to encourage you to get ready. You wiped your tears, controlling yourself, and you two started gathering the people for the worst. 

When you and Celebrimbor prepared for the possible assault on Nargothrond, for a moment, you had false hope that Turin’s plan might have worked and you were being overly cautious, but when you felt the earth beneath you crumble with something that sounded like a heavy earthquake and heard the horns of the orcs instead of the elven, you knew that your prediction of the battle had come true. 

However, Glaurung and his army of orcs had come quicker than you expected, and the doors were not strong enough to withstand the dragon’s power, so you and Celebrimbor were left defending Nargothrond’s people as they escaped through the secret path. You two tried to help as many as you could, but unfortunately, most of Nargothrond’s people were either killed or taken by the orcs. 

Glaurung then turned his gaze upon you, making you freeze in fear as you looked into those golden eyes once more. He looked surprised to see you but then laughed in mockery as he began taunting you, telling how your brother fled from the battle and made this chaos possible. You were utterly frozen as his voice echoed in your ears, your hands began to shake around your blades, and your body refused your commands to move. 

When Celebrimbor saw your state, he tried to run to you and take you away from the dragon, but then Glaurung struck him with his claws, making him fly into a wall and bleed from his now-open wound, the claws of the dragon having gone through his armor. The dragon laughed at his futile attempt and then opened his maws, ready to devour Feanor’s grandson. 

Celebrimbor prepared to face death, but then you sprung into action, having freed yourself from the dragon’s gaze. You plunged your blade into the dragon’s eye, making him pull back with a pained scream. You held on to the handle of your blade, pulling yourself over the dragon’s head and stabbing its eyes with fury. 

The dragon trashed and shook its head, trying to throw you off. Celebrimbor felt a speck of admiration for your courage and fear when he saw the dragon sprinting outside, taking you to the bridge. He followed and watched as Glaurung began breathing fire toward everything, destroying his forces, who scattered to avoid his blinded rage. You held on to your dear life as you couldn’t let go, or you would end up being tossed off the bridge. 

Glaurung’s trashing and firing began damaging the bridge’s structure. The well-built bridge began to collapse under the weight. Celebrimbor then watched in horror as you fell along into the river beneath with the dragon. 

“(Name)!” Celebrimbor screamed. 

You looked back at him one last time before the mist took you from his sight, and all he could hear was a loud crash and the one final scream of the dragon before it became silent. 

The assault was halted as the orcs could no longer cross the river to the city. There were some orcs inside, but enough for his people to handle. Nargothrond's people were safe to leave through the secret path. 

Celebrimbor heard someone approaching him and saw it was your brother. Turin asked what had happened since he did not expect the bridge to be destroyed, and Glaurung’s attack halted, but Celebrimbor did not care to answer. He left the bridge and began ascending into the river, where you had fallen. 

At the bottom of the bridge, Glaurung’s body had blocked the flow of the river, and the stones from the bridge were scattered around the riverbank. Celebrimbor found you lying beside the dead beast, blood flowing down from your body with the river, unmoving.

“(Name)!” he cradled you in his arms, finding several wounds, most likely punctured by the several rocks during your fall, and you hissed when he touched certain spots, no doubt having suffered broken bones. 

You looked at him, pale and shivering from the cold. You mustered the strength to glance at the ring you made for him on his finger before looking at him. 

“You’re not hurt, are you? Please tell me you’re not hurt?” you asked with a shivering tone. 

Celebrimbor would have shaken his head if you weren’t so injured. Even in your most vulnerable state, you cared more about him than yourself. But he could not deny answering when he saw your nearly desperate pleading eyes. 

“I’m alright. I’m not hurt anywhere else,” Celebrimbor said as he had managed to stop the bleeding from his wound moments ago. He inspected your wounds. He was struck with festering sorrow. You would not live long enough to receive help. 

You smiled even when blood was trailing down from your lips. “I’m glad…” you uttered, nearly closing your eyes. “Please stay with me…” Celebrimbor held you close, starting to shed tears. He knew you would not survive but couldn’t help but hold on to that tingle of hope. 

“I’m sorry… I want to… but I’m afraid I’m too broken to be healed even by elven magic,” you weakly said. “I’m happy, though…” you said, holding his hand where the ring you made for him still lay. “I didn’t screw up this time… and the beast of my nightmares is finally dead,” you said, glancing toward the dead dragon. 

“Please go… it’s not safe here,” you said, lying your head against his chest. Celebrimbor held you, unable to answer. “And leave you alone… dream on,” he uttered, making you chuckle. “Thank you…” your voice fell quiet as you enjoyed the warmth. 

“(I love you, my bravest),” Celebrimbor uttered the words he had kept to himself for so long. 

“(I love you too, my brightest star)” you uttered back before Celebrimbor heard your last breath, and your hand fell cold in his hand. 

The pain in his chest was intense. He lets his once proud self weep as he holds on to your now cold body. He did not know why he sometimes forgot you could speak his language fluently, but now learning that you had loved him in return all this time only made the pain worse. 

He did not even hear the voice of Turin or some of his people who had come to fetch him and witness your death. He nearly did not want to. 

His people had convinced him to come with them, but he could not bring himself to leave you alone in the river, so he carried you to your favorite hill where you liked to gaze at the world around you. There, Celebrimbor laid you to rest. 

His heart was left barren after your death. The regret of not telling his feelings for you sooner haunted him. 

He needed his people to guide him as he was still numb by your loss. Turin was grieved by your death even if he didn’t show it. He left to find Finduilas, who was taken by the orcs with other prisoners who didn’t manage to escape, and that was the last of him. 

Celebrimbor knew he shouldn't blame your brother, but since you knew the outcome and your brother convinced his people to build the bridge and face the enemy directly, he couldn’t help but feel resentment toward him. If he had listened, then maybe Nargothrond wouldn’t have fallen, and you would still be alive. 

Your death caused him immense sorrow. Each day he wondered what he could have done to change the outcome, and it felt like he was falling deeper and deeper into the dark depths that tempted him to let go and perhaps in certain hopes to join you in death, but your ring gave him strength to continue and live for the remaining people who had come to see him as their leader. And certain times, he would dream of you, and you would assure him, which gave him strength. 

The first age passed swiftly, and soon he had become the lord of Eregion and the last surviving member of his house. He never imagined himself as a leader after his father and the rest of his relatives, but he had achieved that. He still missed how you would suddenly pop into the forges to hide from attending feasts and simply talk to him. The forges never felt more empty to him before. He even made a spot for you where you would start doing one of your handcrafts even if it always remained empty. 

He protected the spike ring so it wouldn’t snap or get destroyed. And when he would notice a wire lose, he would try everything in his power to repair it even going as far as trying to imbue magic to make it durable, but he was always afraid of breaking it. It was his last memory of you.  

When Annatar arrived in his city, his friendship and guidance in forging the rings of power had helped Celebrimbor out of the sadness a little. He still thought of you but sometimes felt tired, especially when others began warning him about his new friend, which he did not understand. 

However, as time passed, the anniversary of your death arrived. It was one of those times when he would light one of your favorite scented candles and look into the starry sky. It was a moment where he wished to be alone and think in peace. However, Annatar had come to him and disturbed his peace. It was perhaps one of the only times he was not pleased with his friend’s inquiry and presence, but he remained polite. 

The two talked, Annatar curiously asking about his tradition of lighting up the candle and looking at the stars. Celebrimbor spoke about you and how you two used to do it together when you were still alive. He talked about you fondly while thinking of the memories you shared while keeping most private, not wanting to overshare. 

He shared how you died protecting him from Glaurung, and for a moment, he felt a change in his friend’s tone. It was subtle but not unnoticeable. 

Annatar spoke sympathetically and proceeded to touch his hand, only to pull back with a hiss. Celebrimbor was startled when he saw his friend bleeding from his finger, but when he mentioned that he poked it on the ring on his finger. Celebrimbor became cautious, remembering what you had once said about the ring — about how the ring would make those who wish him harm bleed upon touch. The ring was not sharp enough to cause wounds, yet it had made Annatar bleed. 

He remained worried till Annatar assured him it was just a wound. He wondered why he would keep such a sharp ring, and Celebrimbor told him off while finally starting to believe that his friend might not be who he claimed to be. 

Celebrimbor took heed of the warnings he had once received from Galadriel and Gil-galad and began observing Annatar, who still seemed like usual. Celebrimbor tried to figure out what was wrong, but his friend either had a convincing act or maybe he was overthinking it. The only suspicious thing he could find was that his friend would often leave for trips and not tell where he would go these times. 

He nearly believed he was simply overthinking it, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it either. Your ring making Annatar bleed felt like a warning. 

He finally got his answer when Annatar revealed himself as Sauron and destroyed his city. He was taken captive, and Sauron tortured him, trying to make him reveal the location of the three elven rings he had made in secret. Out of anger and pride, he refused, and each time his torture only got worse. 

His only comfort was your ring. They couldn’t remove your ring from his hand. Each time they would try, the ring would make their hands bleed, and they would pull back in pain. It gave Celebrimbor certain joy since it felt like you were still protecting him, but he could not help but dread they might take his hand next. 

When his exhaustion took a toll on him, he dreamed of you. You suddenly appeared to him in his cell. He did not first figure out that it was a dream, so he was scared and worried Sauron would capture you. You stubbornly refused and helped him out of his binds, taking him out of the dungeons. You lead him through the rocky maze and to a flowing river. You told him it was his way out, and the dream ended, making him realize what he had seen. 

He did not first comprehend the meaning of his dream till he saw a chance to escape. He escaped his binds and took down the guards before making it through a familiar maze and to the river he saw in his dream.  

He did not know what to do next as the dream had ended. He tried to figure out how the river was going to be his escape till he turned around and felt an arrow through his shoulder. Sauron stood with his orcs. Sauron expressed how disappointed he was before signaling his orcs to shoot him down. 

Celebrimbor felt the second arrow pierce him, and the third one was the final that sent him falling into the river. In his last moments, Celebrimbor watched as your ring glowed and then broke, making him watch in horror as he was then finally taken by the river. 

Yet death was not what he found in the river. 

Struggling to pull himself out of the water, Celebrimbor groaned as he crawled out of the river, having been carried miles away from Sauron and his forces. Exhausted, he then flopped down on his back on the rocky beach. 

He stared at the sky, wondering how he had survived. The arrows had left his bleeding wounds in the river, but they were not fatal enough. He could even survive them once he found help. 

He then turned his head toward his hand, where your broken ring lay. The twists had been untangled, making it look like a tangled thick wire. He held onto it tight, afraid to lose it. He broke down in tears, unable to hold down his sorrow. 

“Oh, my love… even in death, you had protected me,” he uttered as he held the broken ring close to his heart. 

[lockedloki]

Can I request Maedhros, Gwindor and Maeglin headcanon where Sauron tortures them with visions of reader dying and torturing. Reader however came with a surprise and saved them even though reader was supposed to be in a far away city, safe from danger.

A/N: Oh ho ho! this is gonna be so much fun😈 I love love love traumatizing these guys more

Maedhros

He is shooketh. And angry... And worried... once he realizes that you are, in fact, not another damned vision. You are the de facto queen/regent of the Noldoli, what the ever-loving fuck are you doing here??? He’s confused and relieved and really just a mess of emotions after all that he’s been put through these past few years. He tries to convince you to leave before they discover you and have you suffer the same fate as him. Having none of that, he acquiesces to your wish to fucking free him because I came aaaaall this way to save your freckled ass, and I am not leaving without it.

Gwindor

He can’t believe his eyes. Scared this is another false vision. First he was forced to repeatedly relive the loss of his brother, and now you? Haven't they tormented him enough? He is a mere lord, and he says this to vision-not-vision you. Only after you reassure him that hey, I am real and I’m gonna kiss you the prove it does he react and  has some fight return to his eyes. He still loses his hand escaping, but has a bit more hope with you at his side as you try to stem the blood flow and help keep him upright as you’re both stumbling along to safety, trying to avoid notice by further orcs.

Maeglin

He does not - no, can not - understand. He was convinced no one of Gondolin would come for him, they barely tolerate him outside of his House. He is speechless. But he is also in shock, so you help him out of his bonds, sneak out of Angband, and explain everything on your way to a safe haven. He did not even register that you could be caught too, he’s so out of it from the never ending pain - both physical and mental. Once he recovers to a level where he’s actually more coherent than a jellyfish, he freaks  o u t . Were you out of your Eru-given mind?!?! You could’ve been killed! He starts with some self-deprecating speech that if you were captured he would never have forgiven himself, you should have left him there like the outcast he is. He’ll be stopped if you interject and say hey, you dumb fuck, you are a weird dude but you’re my weird dude that I love more than anyone in this world, and I’ll be damned if I left you back there, knowing I could have saved you.  He’ll be stunned quiet after that, but will need your presence near him for a long time to come as he recovers from his trauma.