#home; lindon

[aseaunsettled]

tag dump

[scion-of-kings]

//Tag drop

[sarascamander]

Yerin and Lindon's tent scene >>>>> "I love you"

[sentaco]

Metal - Contemporary Exterior

Huge trendy white two-story metal exterior home photo

[theoppositeofprofound]

How much more deranged would Middle-Earth be if Tolkien was given access to modern scholarship re:the ageless depth of trees?

It’s true that by the end of the Third Age, no trees in Eregion remember the elves that walked there. But there’s an ancient yew in Rivendell that Gil-Galad planted, a clone of one of the old trees of Lindon, that’s still thriving when Elrond leaves his home. It’s seen elven kings and laughing lords and harried messengers. Though trees don’t care about such things, it’s nice to be seen.

There’s a golden aspen grove between Lothlorien and Fangorn. The elves say Nimrodel planted it before her name was Nimrodel, before continents sank, when the forests were home only to a handful who loved them more than paradise.

By the shores of the Mirrormere is another yew. In a little known tradition, kept by one dwarf alone, every Durin plants a few of its seeds, and one of those trees always lives long enough to see his next self.

There’s a cypress in the port of Umbar. Locals say the lord in Mordor planted it the first time he visited (he was still in the habit of planting trees back then). It lived past several of his deaths but faltered, finally, beneath the ashes of his last, worst destruction—more than four thousand years later.

On a tiny island in the sea is a little cluster of spruce trees—some scrap of drowned Beleriand too holy, for one reason or another, to falter. It’s the same tree—when one falters a new coppice comes to take its place, growing out of the same root system. There’s a betting pool among the deep sea fishers of the Falathrin about whose grave lies beneath.

Much is made of the White Tree of Gondor, but on the hillsides in Ithilien, dangerously close to Minas Ithil, are gnarled olive trees that witnessed the Last Alliance. Faramir is inordinately fond of them without knowing the reason why.

Ulmo keeps a garden of sea sponges. The oldest didn’t just see Númenor founded and drowned, it saw the bones of the very first second-comers. (Ossë collects many things.) It’s been… 10,000 years? 12,000? Sponges don’t keep time, they just remember.

Ulmo also keeps a bed of sea grass older than the destruction of the Lamps, but he doesn’t mention that to other people; it’s just for him.

[doodle-pops]

Foreign Hearts

Gil Galad x modern human!reader

A/N: At last, the final piece for the event of this year is out! I wanted to go out with a bang but I didn’t expect to write so much (ノ_･､). Enjoy!

Warnings:modern human reader, fluff, humour, modern reader in Middle Earth, relationship talk

Words: 3.7k

Synopsis: Reflecting on the secrecy of the love you’ve shared with the High King, turned into another romantic and heartwarming moment between you two.

The sun had just begun its slow descent, casting a golden hue over the serene landscape of Rivendell. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of leaves. The melody of a distant waterfall filled the air, mingling with the song of birds that flitted through the trees. Rivendell was a place of peace, of beauty that seemed untouched by time, and it had become your sanctuary since that fateful day when you had mysteriously appeared in the forests nearby.

It had been months since you found yourself in Middle-earth, a place you had only known from the pages of books and the whispers of legends. One moment, you had been living your life in the modern world, surrounded by the familiar hum of technology and the bustle of city life; the next, you were wandering through a forest that seemed to belong to another time, another world entirely.

The elves who had found you, clad in their silver and green, had been as shocked by your appearance as you were by theirs. You were an anomaly, a puzzle they couldn’t quite piece together. Lord Elrond, the wise and kind ruler of Rivendell, had taken you in, offering you shelter and care as you adjusted to this strange new reality.

Living in Rivendell was like stepping into a dream—everything was so ethereal, so perfect, that you often had to pinch yourself to make sure it was real. Yet, despite the beauty around you, it was hard not to feel out of place. The elves, with their flowing robes, graceful movements, and ancient wisdom, seemed like beings from a different world altogether. Your modern speech, your casual mannerisms, even your sense of humour—things that had been perfectly normal back home—stood out starkly against the elegance of elven customs.

There were times when you caught the elves watching you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, their ageless faces betraying their thoughts more than they likely realised. You had tried, at first, to conform to their ways, to adopt their formal speech and graceful etiquette. But it was exhausting to maintain, and eventually, you had accepted that you were simply different. You were a visitor in their world, and while you respected their ways, you couldn’t entirely change who you were.

It was during one of these quiet, introspective days that you first met Gil-galad.

The High King of the Noldor had arrived in Rivendell on a visit to consult with his Herald, Lord Elrond. You had heard of him in passing—the Elven king who ruled over Lindon, a figure of great authority and wisdom. But you hadn’t given it much thought, assuming that someone of his stature would have little reason to notice someone like you.

You were wrong.

The meeting had been as unexpected as everything else in Middle-earth. You had been wandering through one of the many gardens of Rivendell, lost in thought, when you nearly collided with someone. Looking up, you found yourself staring into the most striking pair of blue eyes you had ever seen. He was tall—taller than any of the other elves you had met—his presence commanding and regal, yet there was a warmth in his gaze that immediately put you at ease.

“Forgive me,” he had said, his voice smooth and deep, though the amused glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t at all displeased by the encounter.

You had stammered out an apology, feeling flustered and out of place in front of someone so imposing. But the King had only smiled, intrigued by your manner of speech—so different from the formal, melodic tones of the elves. His curiosity was piqued, and instead of continuing on his way, he had engaged you in conversation.

At first, you had been nervous, unsure of how to speak to someone of such high status. But as the conversation flowed, you found yourself relaxing. Gil-galad was different from what you had expected. He was charming and kind, with a sharp wit that matched your own. He seemed genuinely interested in your world, in your experiences, and you found yourself laughing and talking more freely than you had since you arrived in Middle-earth.

Over the course of his stay in Rivendell, you and the High King crossed paths often. Each encounter left you feeling a strange mixture of excitement and confusion. He was a King, after all, and you were… well, you weren’t even sure what you were anymore. Yet, there was no denying the connection that had begun to form between you. It was as though he saw past the strangeness of your situation and was drawn to the very things that made you different.

It was during one of these visits that he had gifted you the music box. A small, intricately carved thing made of mahogany, it played a melody that was hauntingly beautiful. You had been surprised, touched by the gesture, and from that moment on, the music box had become one of your most treasured possessions.

Now, as you sat on the stone bench in one of Rivendell’s many gardens, you found yourself once again lost in thought, the music box cradled in your hands. You had come here to find some peace, to escape the swirling thoughts and emotions that had been troubling you ever since your feelings for Gil-galad began to deepen.

The gardens were quiet, the air cool and filled with the scent of blooming flowers. The sun was low in the sky, casting a soft, golden light over everything. It was a perfect evening, the kind that made you forget, if only for a moment, that you were far from home.

“Does it not trouble you?”

The familiar, smooth voice pulled you from your reverie, and you looked up to see Gil-galad approaching, his expression curious and gentle. He was dressed in his usual attire—garments of silver and royal blue, the colors of his house—his presence as commanding as ever. He sat down beside you on the bench, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, but not so close as to make you uncomfortable.

You blinked, trying to shake off the fog of your thoughts as you focused on him. But your gaze was drawn to his lips, and for a moment, you couldn’t think of anything else. His lips, curved into that familiar teasing smile, held your attention, and your thoughts muddled together into a jumble of emotions.

He noticed your gaze and, with a smirk, leaned closer, his voice laced with amusement. “Is there something on my face, or rather, my lips, my love?” he teased, drawing out the moment, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, focusing intently on the music box in your hands. Your fingers traced the delicate carvings, desperate for something to distract you from the fluttering in your chest. “Your teasing is going to get you into trouble one day, My King,” you muttered, your voice a mix of shyness and annoyance—though the latter was directed more at yourself than at him.

Gil-galad’s expression softened as he leaned back slightly, giving you a bit more space. “How many times must I remind you? You may call me Ereinion,” he said gently, though there was a hint of playful reproach in his tone.

You kept your eyes on the music box, refusing to look up and meet his gaze. “Once more…I suppose,” you replied quietly.

Silence settled between you as he continued to watch you, his eyes tracing the movements of your hands and the way you muttered softly to yourself in a language he couldn’t fully understand. Your mother tongue, ancient and melodic, was a lexicon from a world and age far removed from his own. Yet, despite the differences, he found comfort in these moments, in simply observing you in your element, even when the words escaped him.

“You are unhappy, are you not?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with an undertone of certainty.

A smile tugged at your lips, as though his statement amused you, and for a brief moment, a crackle of energy filled the air, as if the very atmosphere responded to your unspoken thoughts. Setting the music box aside, you turned to face him, giving him the full weight of your attention. “Why would you come to such a conclusion, or rather, how?” you asked, disbelief coloring your tone. “I don’t recall ever giving the impression that I was.”

His expression softened, though there was a shadow of hurt in his eyes. “You do not address me by my name as lovers do,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that pained you to hear. “It is almost as if you were embarrassed or uninterested in being with me. Is it because of our secrecy?”

And as the question hung in the air between you, you realised that this was a moment of truth, a moment when the feelings you had been trying to ignore could no longer be denied.

The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing against your chest like a heavy stone. Gil-galad’s expression, so often the picture of composed regality, was softened by the sadness in his eyes, a sadness that you had never intended to cause. But the truth, like the stone in your chest, was complicated and unyielding.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand, warm and comforting as always. “Ereinion,” you began, the use of his name deliberate, a balm for the hurt you had unknowingly inflicted. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed or uninterested in being with you. Far from it.”

He turned his hand over to grasp yours, his thumb gently tracing circles on your palm. The simple gesture was comforting, grounding you in the moment as you searched for the right words. Words that would explain what you felt without causing him more pain.

“You have to understand,” you continued, your voice soft but steady, “I’m a human, Ereinion. A mortal. And that means…well, it means that I’m different from the people you’ve ruled and loved for centuries. I’ve seen how some of the elves speak about humans—like we’re nothing more than a fleeting thought in their minds. I know that not all of them feel that way, but enough do that it will make our relationship…complicated.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt, simply listening as you voiced the thoughts you had kept buried for so long.

“You’re their High King, their leader, and their symbol of everything that is strong and eternal about the Eldar. And if they knew that you had chosen a human, someone who will live for only a blink of an eye compared to their long lives, to stand by your side…” You trailed off, shaking your head slightly. “I don’t think they would accept it. Not easily, anyway.”

He started to speak, but you held up your hand, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked at him, your heart swelling with affection. “It’s not just that, Ereinion. It’s also…well, I’m happy with things the way they are. Keeping our relationship a secret, it means I don’t have to deal with the expectations and judgments that would come if I were known as your chosen one. It’s a relief, honestly.”

You shifted slightly on the bench, feeling the smooth, cool wood beneath you as you gathered your thoughts. “When I first arrived in Middle-earth—when I was suddenly…here—I was lost. Confused. I didn’t understand your world or its customs. And despite the kindness I’ve been shown, especially by Lord Elrond, I still struggle with it. I’m not like the others. My behaviour, my speech, even the way I think, it’s all…different. I’ve spent over a year in Rivendell, learning and adapting as best I can, but there are times when I still feel like an outsider, like I don’t quite belong.”

The grip he held on your hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he understood. His eyes, so often filled with the weight of his responsibilities, now held only concern for you, his secret love.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty,” you added quickly, seeing the flicker of guilt cross his features. “In fact, it’s the opposite. I’m grateful that we can keep our relationship private. It means I don’t have to deal with the pressure of being a ruler, of trying to prove my worth to people who might never accept me. I’ve heard how some of the elves speak of humans—how we’re seen as lesser, as irrelevant. I’ve witnessed the way they look down on us, dismiss us.”

You paused, meeting his gaze with a steady look. “There’s no way they would accept me as their leader. And that’s okay. I don’t need them to. I’m happy with my freedom, with not having to live up to impossible expectations or navigate the treacherous waters of court politics and finding myself crying in a corner every day of the week, anxiously. I’m content being your secret lover, someone who can love you without the weight of a crown on my head.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, making his expression softened further, the sadness giving way to a deep, abiding affection. “You are remarkable,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of awe that made your heart skip a beat. “To find contentment in such circumstances…it’s not something many could do.”

You chuckled softly, the sound breaking the tension that had built between you. “Well, I’ve always been one to adapt, but not this time. Maybe if it was another human instead of me, they might enjoy the idea of being a royal more than the problems it bring,” you teased lightly. “Besides, I’ve never been one for grand titles or public adoration. I prefer the quiet moments, like this one, where I can just be myself with you.”

He nodded, a small, grateful smile crossing his lips. “It’s those quiet moments that I cherish most as well,” he admitted. “In all my years, with all the burdens of leadership, it’s rare to find someone who sees me not as the High King, but as Ereinion—just an elf who loves and is loved in return.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. “And that’s exactly how I see you,” you said softly. “I fell in love with you, not for your title or your power, but for who you are—the elf who listens to my ramblings, who teases me when I’m being too serious, who finds joy in the small things.”

The weight of your conversation still hung in the air, but with it came a sense of relief—a feeling that you had finally voiced the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for so long. Gil-galad’s expression had softened, his eyes still holding that deep affection, but now there was an understanding between you that hadn’t existed before.

You broke the silence first, a small smile playing on your lips as you leaned back on the bench, your fingers still intertwined with his. “You know,” you began, your tone lightening, “I never imagined when I first ended up in Middle-earth that I’d be sitting here with the High King of the Elves, having a heart-to-heart in a secret garden.”

He chuckled softly, the sound a deep, warm rumble that you felt as much as heard. “And I never imagined that I’d fall in love with a human from a world I’ve never even heard of,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes. “But life has a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, a laugh escaping your lips as you thought back to the strange journey that had brought you here. “That’s an understatement. I mean, one day I’m sitting in my apartment, minding my own business, and the next thing I know, I’m in Rivendell, surrounded by elves and trying to figure out how not to embarrass myself with every other word I say.”

Gil-galad’s smile widened, and he leaned back beside you, the tension between you dissipating like morning mist. “I remember the first time I heard you speak,” he mused, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You were trying to explain the concept of a ‘microwave’ to Elrond, and he looked as though he was trying to decipher an ancient riddle.”

You groaned, your cheeks heating at the memory. “Oh, don’t remind me. I must have sounded like a complete lunatic. I’m still not sure he believes that microwaves aren’t some kind of magic.”

“Well,” Gil-galad said, his tone mock-serious, “you have to admit, it does sound rather magical. A box that cooks food in mere moments? Even I have trouble wrapping my head around it.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to keep the grin off your face. “It’s just science,” you replied with a playful nudge. “But then again, in a world where magic is real, I suppose science might seem a little…mystical.”

He chuckled again, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “That’s one of the things I love about you,” he said, his voice warm. “You bring a perspective that’s entirely different from anything I’ve known. You see the world in a way that none of us do, and it’s…refreshing.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “So what you’re saying is, you fell for me because I’m weird?”

He laughed, the sound full and genuine, and you couldn’t help but join in. “Well, if by ‘weird,’ you mean unique, then yes,” he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And besides, I think you’re the only person who can make me laugh like this.”

You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Oh, so I’m your court jester now? Should I start juggling or learn to ride a unicycle?”

Shaking his head, his laughter fading into a soft smile. “No, you’re much more than that. But if you do learn to juggle, I’m sure we could arrange a performance at the next feast.”

You playfully swatted his arm, your heart feeling lighter with each moment you spent in his company. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Only with you, my love.”

The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you felt your resolve to keep things light slipping away under the intensity of his gaze. But before you could lose yourself in the moment, you caught yourself and leaned back, a smirk on your lips as you tried to regain the upper hand.

“You know,” you said, your tone teasing, “if this is your way of convincing me to move in with you, you’re going to have to try harder. I’ve grown rather fond of my little room in Rivendell, and I’m not sure I’m ready to give up my bach pad just yet.”

His brow raised and lips quirking into a smile. “Oh? And what would it take to tempt you away from your ‘bach pad,’ as you call it? A private suite in the palace? Endless bouquets of flowers delivered daily? A personal chef to prepare all your meals?”

You pretended to consider his offer, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, those are all tempting…but I’m not sure. I mean, who’s going to teach Elrond about the wonders of modern technology if I’m not around?”

He laughed again, a deep, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter. “You make a good point. I’m not sure he’s ready to tackle the mysteries of the ‘microwave’ on his own.”

“I don’t think he’s even ready for to learn about the internet or the blender. However, he did take learning the TV, fairly,” you laughed.

“When you do, inform me for I would be interested in witnessing his utter confusion,” he replied with equal merriment.

You grinned, pleased with your little victory, but before you could bask in it for too long, Gil-galad leaned in once more, his expression suddenly serious. “But in all seriousness,” he said, his voice gentle, “I want you to know that wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Whether it’s in Rivendell, here in my palace, or anywhere else…as long as we’re together, I’ll be happy.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were at a loss for what to say. You had always known that he cared for you deeply, but hearing it spoken aloud, in such a simple, heartfelt way, made your chest tighten with emotion.

After a beat, you managed a smile, though it was softer now, more vulnerable. “I feel the same way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And as much as I joke about it…I know that wherever you are, I’ll always feel at home.”

His hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Then that’s all I need,” he said quietly.

The moment stretched out between you, filled with a warmth and understanding that words couldn’t fully capture. It was in the way he looked at you, the way his hand fit perfectly around yours, the way the world seemed to fall away when you were together. Here, in that garden, under the stars of a world you never expected to call home, you found something you never knew you were searching for.

But even as you basked in the comfort of the moment, a flicker of mischief returned to your eyes. “But just so you know,” you added with a grin, “if you ever try to get me to wear one of those elaborate court attires, we might have a problem.”

Launching into another round of laughter, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night, he shook his head. “Noted,” he said, his eyes shining with affection. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But I have to say, I think you’d look stunning.”

You wrinkled your nose playfully. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Your Majesty. I prefer my sweatpants and t-shirts, thank you very much.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. “And that’s exactly how I like you,” he murmured, his voice filled with a warmth that made your heart grown warmer.

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[mahtariel-of-himring]

When Elrond stepped upon the ship that was to take him, Galadriel, Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and a few others to Valinor he was nervous. So long had imagined what it might be like, and for some time even questioned if he would ever sail.

But here he was, stood upon their ship with the undying lands finally in sight after months of sailing across the unending ocean. He might be a mariners son but he certainly had no great love for boats, he didn’t have a problem with them, but the knowledge of not having ground beneath his feet still made him uneasy.

At their arrival many awaited them, to welcome the newcomers into the blessed lands.

High King Arafinwë, in Middle Earth better known as Finarfin, and his other children had come to welcome Galadriel.

Gandalf reunited with some old Maia friends of his and then escorted the hobbits that had joined them to a nice little cottage for them to spend their days in.

He himself recognized many of the faces in the small crowd. First he spotted Gil-Galad, who welcomed him with open arms. Then his beloved Celebrian, who pulled him into a hug the moment he saw her, she was much better now.

A few soldiers of Rivendell were there as well, happy to see their Lord again.

Elrond ended up settling in Tirion with all the others and moved into Celebrian‘s home. It was a nice house with a good view and easy access to the marked and other nearby shops and market places.

Tirion was flawless. The white towers with their pointy roofs, the elegant guards with their silver spears, the marked place with its various stalls and merchants.

He met many of his ancestors, some he got along with and some he didn’t.

The first he met was Turgon, it took half an hour for them to end up in an argument about the moralities of handling delicate situations within one‘s own city and when to help those in need.

Luckily his second meeting went much better. His great grandfather, Fingolfin, was much more sensible and they got along quickly due to their shared knowledge on leadership and experience of hardships throughout their lives. Though the late High King did comment to his wife Anairë later about how he was sure he‘d bite his teeth out on Elrond eventually, comparing his stubbornness to someone else’s.

When he at last met Fingon it took the elf exactly five minutes to ask if he had been raised by Maedhros. To this day Elrond didn’t understand how he did it, for he himself wasn’t aware of the small details. Like how he did his hair exactly like the fëanorian had or that he held himself with something of Valinorian regalness he definitely didn’t pick up in Lindon.

But as time went on Elrond began to realize something.

Tirion was truly perfect.

Too perfect.

Everyone seemed to have collectively decided to ignore any pains and hardships experienced in Middle Earth or Beleriand and live their lives as if everything was perfectly fine.

When bringing this up to Gil-Galad he just said that they preferred it that way, even if it wasn’t perfect, not everyone had made the journey and seen war, and those who didn’t weren’t comfortable of discussing or displaying it.

The more time Elrond spend in the white city the lonelier he felt. It seemed as if he was the only one prepared to speak of or even mention anything of the things that happened to so many of them.

The more he realized that the more he felt out of place.

Because he wasn’t perfect, he was far from it actually.

He had gone through things most couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares and had seen horrors he wished he could forget.

He had seen his city attacked, had been kidnapped, even though that did turn out positively in the end. Had witnessed war and bloodshed from young on, had served as Herald and later taken on the mantel of Lord. He had seen so much that he just couldn’t ignore.

So one day he mounted his horse and rode out of Tirion. He didn’t have a destination or any idea where he was going but he just kept riding until he was exhausted.

When he looked up he saw a large city with high towers, but no pointy roofs were atop them, instead there stood guards. The walls weren’t made of white stone and marble but steadfast and resistant cobblestone and tall pillars.

The front guards let him in after he explained his situation, and the moment he stepped through those gates it was as if he had entered another world. No excessive jewelry was worn, but rather detailed braids and head dresses or simple circlets.

Scars of all types were openly portrayed instead of covered up and hidden as if they were sometimes to be ashamed of.

Elrond saw elves with walking sticks and missing limbs and crippled bodies. They were warriors, they were survivors, they were the ugly but real truth, and it felt so relieving too see them.

He had no idea where he had ended up in, but he already knew it was much better than Tirion.

No one was putting on a fake mask of perfection and instead just acted as they truly were.

Elrond walked through the streets, talked with some of the locals and listened to their stories.

He heard everything from ex soldiers to healers like him to guards and even some escaped thralls of Angband.

It was so much better than the flawlessly perfect white city. It wasn’t fake.

Elrond ended up in what seemed to be a throne room. At the end of it stood a elf, dressed in a long robe, his hair littered with many braids and a elegant silver hammer in hand.

His eyes were of piercing grey and his hair as black as the night, but his gaze familiarly gentle.

Elrond knew before he spoke.

Elrond knew before he looked up.

Elrond knew before he stepped closer.

Elrond knew before he even acknowledged him.

He knew where he was, and he knew he would stay.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

My headcanon is that Elrond has PTSD from being held captive. Because for all they say that Maglor "cherished" Elrond and Elros, can you imagine what that must have been like for the twins? They were taken in by the person who murdered people they knew and destroyed their home.

It reminde me of a quote from Hannibal: "Capture bonding. It's a passive psychological response to a new master. Been an essential survival tool for a million years. You bond with your captor, you survive. You don't, you're breakfast."

The twins would have learned very early to be attentive to Maglor's every mood, and they would have modified their words and behaviors to keep him as happy as possible.

The thing is, Elrond doesn't fully realize how messed up the situation was until years later. That was his "normal" for years. It's only after he leaves for Lindon that he starts to realize things he accepted as normal were actually incredibly fucked up.

[elrondweek]

Elrond Week Prompts

Hello everyone! Here are the official prompts for the upcoming event Elrond Week (July 10th-16th)

Day 1: Childhood and Peace - Sirion, Family, Lifestyle, Elros, Elwing and Earendil

Day 2: Grief and Growth -Sack of Sirion, Maglor and Maedhros, Abandonment, Forgiveness

Day 3: Mortality and Immortality -Lindon, The Choice, Learning, Separation from Elros

Day 4: War and Leadership -Sauron, The Rings of Power, Leadership, Battle, Establishing Imladris

Day 5: Family and Love -Marriage, Fatherhood, Celebrian, Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen, Rivendell

Day 6: Darkness and Loss -Siege of Imladris, The Necromancer, Losing Celebrian

Day 7: Sanctuary and Departure -Third Age, The Hobbit, The One Ring, Legacy, The Undying Lands

Bonus Prompts: -Relations with Men vs Elves -Artifacts -Healing -Home

[valkyriepirate]

Elrond x Reader- Always Been Yours

Summary: You and Elrond have been close for many years because of your positions on the council. When an army of orcs unexpectedly attacks Lindon while Elrond is away in the dwarven kingdom, you become near-fatally wounded in battle. Elrond rushes home to find you barely alive, calling the name of your lover in your sleep. Little does he know you are dreaming of him. 

Word count: 4.9k words

Warnings: Battle violence, fluff <3

#1- Always Been Yours

Spring had finally arrived in Lindon, and the air was thrumming with the promise of life. A fresh, warm breeze gently swayed the trees of the forest like a rebellious eddy on the open sea, lifting your long sleeves and carrying your voice to the sky. It wasn’t often that you sang on the palace grounds; while you had a beautiful voice, you never prided yourself in it, but the day was far too beautiful not to let it fill your heart with joy through song. You could almost sense the flowers readying to break the surface of the soil and taste the dew that would settle on their leaves.  

You knelt next to a tree by the river, caressing the dirt with your fingers. Your mother had always said that the forest should be greeted as your dearest friend, for it was your greatest protector. As you ran your hand through the crystalline water, you could imagine her voice intertwining with yours, just like how you two would sing together all those years ago. Being here amongst the trees and the earth made you feel closer to her, as if her spirit lived on in the forest.  

“I didn’t know you sang,” a familiar voice from behind lurched you from your thoughts. You turned around, already feeling the tips of your ears heat in embarrassment, to face your longtime friend.  

“Anyone with a voice to speak can just as well sing, can they not?” You brushed loose dirt from your dress as you stood up.  

Elrond smiled, glancing politely toward the ground. “Many can speak, but not many can sing like you. Please- don't stop on my account.”

“I’m afraid that is a song for the wind and water, not for the ears of well-meaning friends,” you teased.  

“Then it would be best I said nothing at all,” said Elrond.  

“And leave me to go on with silent listeners nearby? I think not.”

You stepped out onto the main path, Elrond falling in step beside you. Even though you were reluctant to let him hear your voice, you felt comfortable in every other way around him. You couldn’t help the little spark of gladness that flickered in your chest whenever he was near.  

“What are you doing out here in the forest?” you asked, glancing sidelong at him. The sun was casting amber hues through his hair, making him look like a crowned prince.  

“Looking for you,” he folded his hands behind him. “The High King Gil-galad is sending me to Forodwaith to establish terms of trade with Durin and the dwarves of Khazad-Dum. He expects me to leave in the morning.”

“So soon? It feels as if you just returned from your last journey,” you said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Seeming to hear it, he nodded regretfully.  

“Apparently I was specifically requested by Durin. The High King fears he won’t negotiate terms with any elf other than I.”

“Ah, I see. The dwarf wants another excuse to see you.”  

Elrond laughed good-naturedly. “I doubt that. I think I’m simply the one he wants to hit with his hammer the least.”

“You give yourself too little credit, Elrond. You have a spirit more kind and gentle than anyone I know. Even a dwarf can see that.”  

He pinked in the cheeks. “And I think you give me too much credit, (Y/N). Besides, the kindest heart in Eriador certainly doesn’t belong to me. I’m afraid that title is taken by a particular elf-maiden with a lovely voice.”  

A fluttering sensation enveloped your stomach, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. “When do you think you’ll return?” you asked evenly.  

“In a fortnight, perhaps. Though these trips always seem to take longer than initially planned. You know Disa’s hospitality.”

That you did. You considered the female dwarrow a dear friend. Your position as the general of the Sindarin army sometimes took you to distant lands across Middle-earth, and you had become acquainted with Disa in your travels long ago, before she had married Durin. Though you suspected you were in for a thorough scolding the next time you saw her, if Elrond’s account of Durin’s anger amounted to anything. Your kind were wont to lose track of the days, unlike the mortal races. It made you wonder how long it really had been since you’d seen Disa last.  

“Give her the warmest tidings from me,” you said sincerely. “I miss her dearly. How I wish I could accompany you.”

“I wish much the same,” said Elrond bashfully, not meeting your eyes. “The road travel can be quite lonely and tedious at times.”

“Here.” You bent and plucked a white-plumed daylily from a bush that was rooted in the stream, handing it to him. “Keep it with you. When you feel alone, you can pull it out and think of me.”

He handled the flower reverently, as if you had bestowed upon him a precious jewel. He looked up at you, the sweetest, humblest smile gracing his features. “I most certainly shall.”

The two of you talked far into midday, wandering the forest and ignoring the existence of your duties. Your heart began to ache the more time you spent with him, however, knowing that he was bound to disappear once more, and all too soon you bid him goodbye. There were several things concerning the Sindarin warriors to discuss with the king, and Gil-galad was not one to be kept waiting.  

You slept fitfully that night, Elrond’s face flashing in your mind every time you closed your eyes. You rose before the sun the next morning and raced as elegantly as possible to the road past the waterfall where Elrond was set to depart. Only the guards were awake, nodding respectfully to you as you passed. All of Lindon dutifully recognized your position as a war general even when you weren’t in your armor.  

As periwinkle streaks of dawn bled across the sky, you nearly began to worry that you had missed him, but your worries ameliorated when you caught sight of his robes by the front gates. Elrond was loading his supplies onto his horse, his face turned away from you. Silently, you approached him from behind, hoping you didn’t appear as if you’d rushed out to meet him in a frenzy.  

“Attempting to leave without saying goodbye, are we?” you said into the still morning air. Elrond looked up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tied one last knot around his knapsack. “I only wished for you to have as much rest as possible. It is early to be awake even for I.”  

“So you may say.” One side of your mouth quirked up. “Is everything prepared?”

“Yes. All I need is to collect my will to mount this horse and leave Lindon behind.” His voice caught as he said Lindon, as if he were about to say you.  

Your heart was buzzing inside your chest as if you were a restless bumblebee being separated from your flower. “Do not forget,” you reminded him softly, spotting the daylily tucked into his robe. You reached over and tenderly pressed the petals against his chest. “This flower means I am with you. You will be in my thoughts, Elrond.”

He held your gaze, his eyes filled with some deep emotion you couldn’t express. Gently, he grasped your hand and grazed your fingers with the barest of kisses. Physical affection was rare among your kind, particularly in public, though you sensed the only bystanders observing your interaction were the dandelions beneath your feet and the forest critters slipping between the trees.  

“And you will be in my heart, (Y/N),” promised Elrond. He was the embodiment of a dulcet predawn dream, the kind you wanted to get lost in forever, to never wake up from. Yet you knew both his duties and yours were to the kingdom before they answered your own desires.  

You gave his fingers a slight squeeze. “You will give Durin and Disa my best, will you not?”

He smiled. “I shall.”

“Do be safe. You have duties and friends to come back to, you know.”

“I will do my best,” he bowed. “I am sure my heart will ache with every step I take away from you.”

You parted, feeling as if you were forcing yourself awake from a pleasant dream, and watched as he mounted his horse and trotted away from the front gates. At the end of the path, he halted and turned to face you one last time.  

“Goodbye, (Y/N),” he called.  

“Goodbye, Elrond,” you returned, and didn’t allow yourself to blink until he had passed over the hill into the far reaches of the forest, where the trees seemed to lean down and caress him with their branches as if he were not simply an elf, but a king venturing into a distant land, riding away with your stolen heart.  

*****

A harsh, screeching noise tore you from your sleep. With a jolt of panic, you bolted upright in bed, trying to collect your bearings. Liquid moonlight spilled through your leaf-paned window and leaked over the floor. You judged that it was a little over two hours past midnight. The horrible, dissonant noise seemed to come from all around you. You picked out the sound of Lindon’s warning bell from among the chaos, coupled with pained screams and the sound of something shattering.  

In a heartbeat, you leaped out of bed and grabbed your silver-plated longsword by the door. You burst out of your room and flew down the stairs towards the commotion. The clanging noises intensified as you ran to the royal courtyard. You deduced the source before you saw them- orcs.  

Dozens of the grisly fiends were pouring over the gates, brandishing crude, makeshift weapons and baring their black teeth. Several other elves had already arrived on the scene, defending against the attackers with deadly grace. Swords flashed and arrows flew under the silvery light of the moon, and blood the color of the night sky painted the ground before your eyes.  

You seamlessly entered the battle, lopping the heads off one orc after the other, not stopping to ponder how or why the orcs were leading this raid. Your senses clicked into the mode of war, as familiar to you as breathing. Within seconds, you had effortlessly picked out the opening points of the battleground that were most concentrated by the enemy, and called out regiment orders as more of your brethren rushed into the courtyard. The few elves donning soldier’s gear hastened to obey your command.  

You drove your sword into the gut of a nearby orc and sliced another in half at the waist. The rest of your thoughts fell away with every kill as you allowed your sword to become a part of you, as dexterous and fluid as an extension of your arm. Any sleepiness you might have felt was replaced by an acute focus of your surroundings.  

You worked your way towards the gates to quell the flush of orcs streaming into your territory. With a spin, you dropped three of the beasts at once, moving with all the poise and accuracy of an elven warrior. As you did, you spotted Galadriel at the far side of the courtyard.

You had to step over the bodies of your victims to make berth towards her in the rushing sea, as if you were caught in a dangerous dance between life and death. “Galadriel!” you yelled. “How did this happen?”

“Someone has left the anterior parapets unfortified,” she called back, ducking to avoid a swinging club. “These gates were open when I arrived!”

“How can that be? There are guards stationed here day and night!”

“I do not know. The Dark Lord must have found out about our affairs in Númenor. We are at half our strength. He senses weakness.”

“He won’t find any,” you gritted your teeth. You stabbed a nearby orc in the neck and spun to avoid the spray of black blood. If the Dark Lord thought catching you off your guard would give him the advantage, you were prepared to prove him wrong.

“There is something adrift about this attack. Something...foul. Within the kingdom.”

You raised an eyebrow, though it was doubtful Galadriel could see it in the dark. “You think there is a traitor?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or an intruder yet to be detected.”

This troubled you. You were the head of the Sindarin army. It was your job to keep the kingdom safe. If there was a spy under your nose, you would be the first to know about it. Yet with half the army stationed in the Southlands aiding the Númenorians, an attack could come from any side.  

Irrationally, you found yourself becoming steeped in worry for Elrond. It had been days since his departure, and if this orc army had advanced in from the south, it was likely Elrond may have crossed paths with them. While he was more than a capable warrior, standing alone against an entire army wouldn’t be easy even for you. You hoped he had already made it to Khazad-Dum...

Suddenly you cried out in alarm. While you were worrying about Elrond, an orc had approached on your left flank and slashed you across the shoulder.  

Focus, you reprimanded yourself. Do not forget the battle in front of you.  

You dispatched the orc quickly and kicked the dismembered helmet away. Then Galadriel screamed. You whirled around to come face-to-face with the largest orc you had ever seen.  

It was almost twice your size, and armed with a cruel-looking blade. Its armor was detached in places, as if it had outgrown its battle garments too fast for them to be replaced. Galadriel had taken a swipe at the exposed part of its hide, but her sword had lodged in its armor on an angle. In a blink, the orc slammed both its fists into her arm, emitting a sickening crack.  

Her sword dropped to the dirt. You rushed to her side, ferociously stabbing your sword through its calf. The orc roared in pain and slashed at you with its blade. You deflected and thrust upward at its chest, but its height momentarily gave it leverage. It swung again and you narrowly dodged what could have been a fatal slice to the throat.

“Archers, to me!” you yelled over the din of battle. Two elves equipped with bows and arrows raced toward you, taking aim. “On my count!”

You pressed forward, trying to prompt the orc to step into the open. Galadriel took position on your right, one of her arms hanging limply at her side. Together you attacked as fiercely as you could. You needed to wound it somehow and step out of range for your archers to have a clear shot. Any head shots would be futile against its obsidian helmet.  

You moved to the left, trying to keep it distracted, but the orc was swiping at you with its sword in one hand and swatting at Galadriel with the other. You ordered the archers to fire, but most of the arrows struck harmlessly over the thick armor. The ones that buried in its skin didn’t seem to slow it down at all.  

With a growl, the orc hobbled forward and shoved Galadriel to the ground. She cried out as she landed on her broken arm. Without hesitation, you lunged to put yourself between her and your attacker. It raised its blade above its head.

“Fire!” you screamed at the archers, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow down. Arrows flew. Your sword glinted in the light of the moon, sending the world up in a flash of white, and you swung.  

There was a thump and you looked to see the orc’s meaty arm lying in the grass, separated from its body. Its crooked fingers were no longer clasped around its blade. You blinked and gasped, suddenly hit with a wave of pain, and looked down to see that the blade was buried in your stomach.  

One of the archer’s arrows struck clean through the orc’s bare neck, and it was dead before it hit the ground. The sound of it rattled your brain. You felt blood gushing from your torso and trickling down the front of your white nightgown. Your hands grasped the hilt of the orcish blade, but you didn’t have the strength to dislodge it. Your knees gave out and you crumpled.  

Galadriel was frantically calling out your name, but her voice soon melded into the sounds of swords clashing and orcs roaring in the battlefield around you. Your vision went blurry, your lungs desperately searching for air; you were drowning, and all you could see was red before the night itself bled over the trees, overtaking your body completely.  

*****

Elrond rode on a steed of wind and rain. The sky over the next range of hills was darkening so quickly it was as if clouds of ink had been spilled from the heavens, leaking down to the earth in the form of icy droplets that stung his eyes and soaked through his cloak. His heart was pounding in tune with the beat of his horse’s hooves on the soil. Desperately, he pressed one hand against his heart, where (Y/N) had tucked the daylily. He had taken it out each morning of his journey and run his fingers over its soft petals, knowing that with every step he was farther away from her, but feeling her presence in his mind at the very thought of her face.  

He pictured her now and fervently prayed that she was unharmed. Elrond had only been in the dwarven kingdom two days when Durin informed him of the attack on Lindon. The report hadn’t come with many details, only word of casualties among the elves. Elrond was trying to ignore the fact that (Y/N) would have been on the front lines, leading the defense.  

He urged his horse faster. Lindon’s sunset-orange elm trees came into view. He sped into the kingdom, past the gates, and into the royal courtyard. The midnight battle occurred over a day ago, but Elrond could still see the bloodstains painting the ground, a canvas saturated with too much color. He averted his eyes as he dismounted his horse and rushed into the palace.  

Lindon’s exquisite halls, which usually shimmered with magic and light, were opaque and desolate, echoing the sound of thunder and rain pattering against marble. No one was about roaming the palace grounds. It almost seemed that the kingdom was deserted.  

He spotted Gil-galad as he turned the corner, standing in the hall outside the infirmary. The High King, usually so serious and serene, was gazing in concern at the inside of the room.  

“My King,” Elrond said as he approached. “I came as soon as I heard of the attack.”

Gil-galad nodded solemnly. “The Dark Lord sees too much. I’m afraid if he were to advance again, with double the forces, we may not be able to hold our position for long.”

“Our army. Is it...?”

“Intact? Yes. Yet not entirely stable. All we can do is wait and recover.”

“And the wounded?”

The King looked at Elrond and in his eyes was utter sorrow. “Perhaps you should go in.”

Elrond bowed, feeling as though his thoughts were laid bare. With his heart in his throat, he steeled his emotions and stepped into the infirmary.  

It was a wide, circular room, the far side bordered by an arched veranda that opened out onto a terrace with a view of the waterfalls. Curtains of leaves were draped over the arches to keep out the rain, cloaking the room in dim light. Cots layered with forest-green silk were placed evenly about the space. Nearly every one was occupied by a wounded elf. A handful of healers moved about the room, pressing cold cloths to foreheads and spoon-feeding herbal concoctions. A scatter of lit candles cast the place in a sleepy red hue like blood washing away in a river.  

Elrond walked among the wounded. Most of them were familiar faces. Some had sheets pulled over their heads. Others were so scarred and bloodied or covered in salve that he couldn’t recognize them. But there was one elf he was searching for in particular.  

He found her on a cot by the far wall. Her face was so gray that she looked on the verge of melting into a puddle of raindrops. Heavy gauze was wrapped around her navel up to her sternum. Her hands rested peacefully at her sides.  

Elrond’s heart broke at the very sight of her. (Y/N) looked so drained, so lifeless- the stark opposite of the lively elf maiden he knew.  

He lowered into the chair at her side and took her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he whispered, “I’m here, hiril vuin. It’s me.”

She didn’t stir. Elrond could almost imagine that she was a statue made of marble, carved by a delicate hand, framed in stormy light. Her breathing was so shallow it was hard to believe she was alive at all.  

Elrond didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her unmoving form. He murmured sweet nothings under his breath as he stroked her palm, as if his whispers would coax her from her sleep.  

A healer came by at some point to check up on (Y/N), but there wasn’t much to do besides dab her forehead with a cloth and make her as comfortable as possible. The healer hummed an old elven healing song over her before moving on.  

“Come back to me,” Elrond whispered as soon as the healer was out of earshot. “You are the light in my life, (Y/N). I cannot walk the darkness alone.”

He reached into his cloak and brought out the daylily. The tips of its petals were wilting, as if responding to the condition of its giver. He leaned over and tucked the flower into (Y/N)’s hair. “There was never a moment you escaped my thoughts,” he said. “You, nin lilui, my daylily, are my dearest friend. Yet you are also so much more.” A tear traced its way down his cheek and dripped onto her fingers. Elrond caressed her cheek, his voice breaking. “You are so much more to me.”

He stayed by her side as the night passed. Soon enough rogue streaks of dawn shone through the curtains. Weariness and heartache weighed him down, but he couldn’t sleep while she was like this. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids like she was trapped in a dream and couldn’t find the way out.  

Elrond pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dawn is here, nin lilui. Do not let the darkness claim you.”

(Y/N) made a sound in the back of her throat. Her brow furrowed in pain. “Nin onlui mel...”

Elrond sat up straight. He searched her face for signs of life. “(Y/N)?”

She mumbled unintelligibly in Elvish. Elrond’s heart raced. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Elrond. I’m here.”

“Nin onlui mel,” she muttered. “Mi van me, nin mel...”

Where are you, my love?

Emotions clouded Elrond’s mind in a swift blur. She was on the verge of consciousness. She was going to be okay. His daylily hadn’t left him. And yet a bitter taste filled his mouth.  

She was calling out for her true love. And it wasn’t him.  

*****

You ran through an endless forest. Black trees like twisting claws kept bursting from the dirt, redirecting your path. The hungry screams of your enemies echoed from all sides, and you spun in confusion and fear, unsure where to run. You had no weapon. Your nightgown was drenched in blood. Your heart beat frantically in your chest like you were a wild, hunted animal.  

You followed the line of trees, but shadows formed illusions in the darkness. The trees seemed to grasp at you, pulling your hair, tearing your clothes. Everything looked the same. There was no way out.  

The screams sounded closer now. You turned and ran, but the ground was wet and you slipped. When you got to your knees, you realized you had fallen in a pool of your own blood.  

Your vision was hazy, but you could see vicious shapes snarling and snapping out of the corner of your eye. You felt so weak, so tired. Looking up at the gray sky, you were ready to give up hope.

“Elrond,” you sobbed. You yearned for him with an aching you couldn’t express. The thought of him was like sunlight in this dark place. Your Elrond- kind as summer, gentle as a breeze. “Where are you?”

Your enemies howled, and the world was then no more.  

*****

You didn’t remember opening your eyes.  

At first, you weren’t sure what was a dream and what was reality. The shadows seemed to linger around your body, their wispy hands trailing against your skin. Your head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The gray sky had disappeared, and the light of day was pouring into the room from somewhere.  

You blinked, feeling like your eyelids were made of iron. Your entire body ached. An incisive pain ripped through your stomach as you woke, bringing your surroundings into focus. You laid on a cot in the infirmary. Sitting to your left was an elf with tousled brown hair.  

“Elrond?” you groaned. It was as if your throat had been charred with firewood.

"(Y/N),” he sat forward, holding your hand. In his eyes were a million emotions.  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

The sight of him was going to make you cry. “Oh, Elrond.”

He quickly poured you a glass of water and held it to your lips. “Drink this.”

You obliged, though just the movement of your neck set your torso on fire. You had been wounded in battle countless times, though never as bad as this.  

“You came back for me,” you said. Your voice sounded scratchy to your own ears.  

Elrond looked on the verge of tears. He smiled at you, and despite your pain, giddiness fizzed in your veins. “No sooner had I been in Khazad-Dum two days when Durin gave me word of the attack. I set off again that same hour. I came as fast as I could.” He looked down. “(Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“Elrond,” you reached out and cupped his face. “I am a soldier. Battles happen. Warriors fall. Nothing is your fault.”

He closed his fingers around yours. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were drawn and his hair was a tangled mess. You had the urge to run your fingers through it.  

“(Y/N),” he said carefully, “What were you dreaming of?”

You closed your eyes again, remembering the figures in the darkness, the gnarled trees moving you about the forest like a ghost, the way you were drenched in blood.  

“I thought I was dead,” you responded weakly. “There was darkness, and I was lost- there was so much blood...”

“You were calling out for someone in your sleep,” he said softly.

“I was? W-who?”

You saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. “’Nin onlui mel.’”

Silence like an ocean stretched between you two. You turned to face the terrace, where the curtains had been pulled back to provide you with a view of the waterfall. “My true love,” you translated, unable to look at him.

He let go of your hand, placing it at your side. He didn’t speak for a long time. The silence was devastating.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. “Elrond-”

“(Y/N)-”

You turned to face him again. He didn’t meet your eyes.  

“It would be a lie to say some part of my heart does not ache,” he said. “Yet the desire of my heart is for you to be happy. I will not get in the way of your devotion to another.”

You tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced you back down. “Elrond, I don’t understand.”

“I am sorry if I have been a bother. It was foolish of me to think...to think with such selfishness.”  

“What are you saying?”

He glanced at you. “Whoever he is, as much as I wish not to be, I am, shamefully, envious. I only hope that you can forgive me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, Elrond, you don’t understand. There isn’t someone else.” You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Nin onlui mel. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

His expression matched himself on the day you’d given him the daylily- as if your small kindness was as valuable to him as sparkling treasure. “Me?”

You nodded. “I cannot help it. You are the water to my soil; you have made spring bloom once more in my heart where I thought it not possible. You give me hope. My soul longs for you, nin mel. I love you as I love life.”

Tears fell from his eyes. He was beautiful. He brushed a stray curl from your face and murmured, “And to truly live is to love. Will you allow me to love you with all of myself?”

“My love,” you whispered, “I cannot live any other way.”

His lips were soft as he kissed your temple. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in that moment, you had the world.

Masterlist

[imladrisweek]

Here are the prompts for Imladris Week! You can find them written out below - feel free to let them inspire you, or do your own thing!

Day 1: Imladris in the Second Age

Imladris was founded in the Second Age after the Fall of Eregion, as a refuge from Sauron and an Elven stronghold in Eriador. What were those first years like, during the Siege and after? How did the people of Lindon and the refugees of Eregion come together to build their new home? What was discussed at that first meeting of the White Council? And how did life in Imladris continue during the remainder of that Age, up until the Last Alliance?

Founding and Siege of Imladris | Refugees and Survivors of Eregion | First White Council | Last Alliance

Day 2: Imladris in the Third Age

Throughout the Third Age Imladris stood as one of the last seats of Elvish strength east of the Sea. A refuge and sanctuary, a place of counsel and lore, of rest for the weary and shelter for the oppressed – a timeless haven with a long and eventful history.

Aftermath of the Last Alliance | Last Homely House | Fostering of Isildur’s Heirs |  War with Angmar | The Dúnedain | Council of Elrond and War of the Ring | Departure of Elrond

Day 3: Imladris in the Fourth Age and Beyond

It is said that after the departure of Elrond, his sons Elladan and Elrohir remained in Imladris for a time, and that Celeborn dwelt there with them until it was at last abandoned. What were those last years like for the last inhabitants of Imladris? And what became of it afterwards? Could it still be standing today?

Imladris in the 4th Age | Imladris Abandoned | Later Ages | Imladris throughout History and in Modern Times

Day 4: Imladris as a Place

A hidden valley amidst the foothills of the Misty Mountains – Imladris must be a beautiful place, judging by its real-world inspiration, Lauterbrunnen. Tell us of the animals that live there, the plants and fungi that grow in the valley and on the mountainsides, of the Bruinen river that flows through the valley, and of course of the houses and buildings, bridges and arches, gardens and courtyards that make up the Last Homely House!

Architecture and Buildings | Nature | Animal and Plant Life | The Bruinen

Day 5: Culture of Imladris

A place with a history as long and inhabitants as diverse as Imladris must have a rich and interesting culture – what is it like to live there, or to be a guest in Elrond’s halls? What traditions have emerged over the centuries, what cultures have influenced Imladris’ customs? What knowledge and legends of Ages past are gathered there? And what alliances and conflicts with the other realms and people of Middle-Earth have emerged over time?

Festivals and Traditions | Hospitality and Guests | Knowledge and Lore | Relations with other Realms

Day 6: The People of Imladris

Of course a house is nothing without the people that live there. We know and love Elrond, Lord and founder of Imladris, his family and all those background characters that fandom has lifted from the shadows, but certainly the Last Homely House has space for more. On this day all inhabitants of Imladris have a chance to shine; from high Lord over fan-favourite counsellor to your own darling OCs.

Elrond and his Family | Background Characters: Erestor, Glorfindel, Lindir and Others | Original Characters

Day 7: Free Space

Imladris, with its millennia of history and plenty of interesting inhabitants, contains so much more than one week of prompts could ever encompass. What do you love most about Elrond’s hidden Valley? What thoughts, headcanons and wild ideas do you harbour of the Last Homely House?

The Magic of Vilya | Passage of Time | Alternate Universes | Anything and everything you can think of!

[ofheroesandvillains]

New Purpose

Halbrand x elf!reader

Words: 4k

Request: by anon – “I have a Halbrand x reader request/idea. Where the reader is an elf and she and Sauron fell in love in the really early days of middle earth. Because of this Morgoth killed her because she made Sauron soft. She then goes through the whole elf reincarnation thing and reincarnated to be alive during the rings of power. She’s now Galadriel’s friend and jumps off the ship to Valinor with her, meaning she ends up on the raft and numenor with Halbrand and Galadriel. She doesn’t remember her previous life but falls for Halbrand still. The rest is up to you 👀”

Thanks for the request, anon! ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of death. Injury and blood (nothing major). Lots of pining. Maybe a little ooc, but he’s in love, and she makes him soft.

I have almost finished the second (and final) part of this. This one was getting too long, and it felt right to split them. Been a while since I’ve done this much writing, so hopefully it’s not completely awful. Also, not my gif – credit to the creator!

You do not anticipate returning to Aman so soon. Námo had been clear when you awoke in his Halls – you have a greater role to play in the shaping of Middle Earth. For whatever reason, the fate of the one they call Sauron is inextricably tied to your own, and it is that fact that brings you and Galadriel together in the beginning and keeps you together long afterwards.

Galadriel herself is a guiding light in this unfamiliar world. Beleriand, you learn, now rests beneath the sea, and your home along with it. Your memories of the place have yet to return – after all this time, you doubt they ever will – but the thought brings with it a sense of longing for all you have lost. Even if you don’t remember what that is, you know it is much.

Having perished early in the First Age, you also know little of Middle Earth and its peoples, but the elves of Lindon are still quick to welcome you as a herald of the Valar. Though the lands are foreign, there are people there who knew you once, and it isn’t long before you find your footing in this curious new world.

The High King Gil-galad doesn’t object when you choose to accompany Galadriel to the Undying Lands – in his eyes, the evil has passed and your work on Middle Earth is done. While you know this to be false, it is an easy decision to make. It feels right, and your instincts very rarely lead you astray. For reasons you can’t explain, you know you must follow Galadriel on this final voyage.

She is quiet when the ship leaves the dock, offering only a curt nod to the elves of Lindon when they bid her farewell, but behind her eyes is a maelstrom. It worsens the further you sail into the open sea, until there is finally a palpable shift in the air, an otherworldly radiance that can only mean you have reached the threshold.

The clouds part, and down shines the inimitable light of Aman, its golden rays warm and welcoming. To your left stands Galadriel, her crystalline eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the spectacle. And yet, despite her awe, despite her longing, there is also a great sorrow etched into her brow. It reflects a truth she has known since you departed from Lindon – she will not return to Aman until her own work is done. Seeing its light has not swayed her mind, only strengthened her resolve to return when she finally deems herself worthy.

She turns slowly, catches your knowing gaze, and with one look communicates all her words cannot.

You send her a reassuring smile. “To whatever end, my friend.”

The ship nears its destination, the light shines brighter than ever, she takes your hand into her own, and you leap into the water – into the unknown – together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Sundering Seas are unforgiving. Your limbs slowly lose their grace from cold and fatigue, and you know as well as Galadriel does, that your chances of survival are dwindling. These seas are too vast, and your only hope of making landfall once more is if you are carried there by ship. Through nightfall and daybreak you have yet to see one on the horizon.

You don’t speak, opting to conserve energy, but Galadriel’s guilt and doubt are palpable and rising with the tide. They have plagued her mind for months now, and Elrond’s words surely echo in her ears when she casts searching glances at you from over her shoulder.

Will you lead more elves to die in far-off lands?

The thought isn’t as daunting to you as it is to her. You have, after all, died before, but you would not have such a thing rest on her conscious if you could help it.  

The skies darken once more, but not with night. A fog descends on the water and grey clouds converge to hide the sun. Despite the unease that suddenly broils in your stomach, you swim towards the coming storm and pray Ulmo shows your mercy.

When salvation finally arrives, Galadriel is the first to see it, and you stop to float beside her as it draws near.

It’s a foreboding sight – a heap of broken beams that protrude like the prongs of a dark crown. But as it approaches, the sky seems to lighten, and you share another look. Anything is better than nothing, it says.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A strong hand grasps your forearm and hauls you up onto the raft. You rest there a moment, on your hands and knees, limbs shaking from exertion and breath ragged. When you look up at your saviour you can’t help but smile in a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“Thank you,” you say, voice thick with gratitude.

You must look a sight, because he stares, eyes wide and lips parted, for what seems like an eternity. Then his hands are on you again, wrapping gently around your elbows and helping you to your feet.

Distantly, you can hear Galadriel conversing with the others – you hope she remembers her tact – but you find yourself transfixed by this strange man who has yet to say a word, who has yet to even blink, whose breath is growing increasingly shorter the longer he stares at you. You wonder if perhaps the sun has made him ill, if dehydration has addled his mind, because he looks at you as if you are some illusion.

You flush under his unrelenting gaze.

“I–I’m alright to stand now,” you say gently to avoid startling him – or worse, offending him. You know little of these people, and there is no reason to believe they are your allies in this.

His brow twitches downward, but his fingers slowly, reluctantly, slip away. At last, he blinks, and it’s as if a veil has been lifted from his mind. Despite his damp hair, tattered clothing, scraped cheek, and possible insanity, he looks quite handsome when he smiles at you.

“Name’s Halbrand,” he says, and his eyes seem to soften when you give him your own.

You think to ask Halbrand just how he came to be stranded on this raft, adrift in the Sundering Seas, but you find out soon enough.

You are old; old enough to sense danger before it appears. It prickles at your senses. Was this the calm before the storm? The raft rocks beneath your feet as large ripples crash into it, and something moves through the fog, something you have never before seen.

When the sea serpent comes, you find yourself thrown into the waters once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When the sea serpent comes, it brings with it a storm.

There one moment, gone the next.

With his heart in his throat, he can only watch as you lose your footing. It is almost unheard of for an elf, but your limbs still tremble with exhaustion, and the raft rocks treacherously beneath your feet. You slip on its slick surface, your head strikes the boards with a resounding crack, and though he scrambles to catch you, you tumble into the frothing waves before he can.  

A blur of white dives in after you.

His mind reels, it has been ever since you looked up at him with those unmistakably kind eyes – eyes he would recognise anywhere. For a moment he thought he’d strayed into another of his vivid dreams, and even now he is not entirely convinced he hasn’t.

But there is little time to waste on speculation. If it is real, if you are here, then there is a very high chance he might lose you again in the space of mere minutes. And that is not an option.  

He has a choice to make when neither you nor your friend resurface after an agonisingly long moment. Does he abandon the raft and retrieve you himself, or does he trust that the elleth won’t get the both of you killed?

He doesn’t like relinquishing control, least of all when the fate of something so significant hangs in the balance, but what hope does he have of returning you to shore if he loses the raft to the storm?

Thankfully, It is a decision he does not have to make. A golden head breaks through the waves with a loud gasp, and the tension rushes out of him in a shuddering exhale when he sees she is not alone.

When he pulls you from the water a second time, your body is limp and there is a bleeding cut on your brow that will need tending.

“She isn’t breathing,” your friend pants, collapsing onto the raft beside you.

It’s not the way he imagines feeling your lips against his after so long apart, but she is right, and propriety is the least of his concerns as he puts his mouth to yours and breathes air into your lungs.

Your body quickly jerks beneath him, and he turns you onto your side as you hack up a mouthful of water.

“Easy,” he soothes, pressing a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades. You look so small and frail like this – two things he knows you are not – and his protective instinct surges. 

He pulls gently at your shoulder to help guide you onto your back once more, and you catch his hand before it withdraws. Your skin is icy cold to the touch, and your bleary eyes blink up at him sluggishly.

“Halbrand…” you manage to mumble before your eyes flutter shut and your fingers slip away.

He smothers an irritated huff as he glances at your friend. Were you alone, he’d rid you of your soaked smock and let his heat warm you, but even now, as her eyes droop and glaze over in exhaustion, your friend watches him warily. He’s almost grateful for her protective nature – it is a relief to know you have found an ally willing to risk her life for you. But it also grates. He is not a threat, not to you, and he is far more capable of protecting you than she is. She will learn as much, in time.

Sleep slowly but inevitably overpowers her, and the moment it does, he lies down beside you and draws you into his arms. 

It has been a long time since he’s held you this way – too long – and it reminds him of all he has taken for granted. It reminds of the times you would kiss the hollow of his neck and trace soft circles into the skin of his sternum; the way you would press your ear to his chest and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. Sometimes the warmth of you, the comfort of your presence, would coax him into the dreamworld as well, and other times it would keep him awake long into the night, so he could marvel at his own good fortune.

He holds your trembling body tight to his chest, careless of the sea water that drips from your clothes and seeps into his own. He is fire, in the end, and nothing has made him burn quite so brightly as you have. So, he guides your face into the warm crook of his neck and wills warmth into your bones as day fades to dusk and dusk to dawn. 

That is how the Númenóreans find him. And while they lift your friend from the raft and carry her below deck, they know not to touch you. It may be the look in his eye or the greedy way he clings to you still, but they make no attempt to part you from him and for that he is grateful.

In truth, he fears what he might do if they so much as try.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s barely had a day to come to terms with your appearance, or rather your reappearance, but he has plenty of time to think as he waits for you to wake.

Upon boarding the ship, the Númenóreans led him below deck and offered a spare hammock for your rest.

You lie there now, slightly swaying with each rock of the ship, and he just can’t take his eyes off you. Memories are never enough. They are ephemeral, and in the time it takes him to remember the curve of your jaw, he has forgotten the slant of your nose. You are never quite whole in his mind, not like you are now, and he is never quite whole without you.

Millennia have passed, and yet here you are. Why? And why now? Part of him doesn’t care for the answer, but the other part knows he must ask the question. The Valar never do anything without reason, and this is no small thing – not to him.

There is only one conclusion he draws that truly makes sense.

You are a sign; a peace offering. Stranded at sea with his ship besieged by a sea serpent, his path to repentance may have been hindered, but he had tried to do the right thing by returning to Aman, and perhaps that had been the sign they needed to show him mercy.

Your return is beyond mercy. It is a dream, a fantasy, a reward he doesn’t deserve but cherishes nonetheless.

But, he thinks.

There had been no hint of recognition in your eyes. No sign of the adoration you once gazed at him with. And though it hurts, he reminds himself that this human guise is not the fair form he donned in the First Age. It is not the form you had fallen in love with, and that brings new doubts to his mind.

Perhaps your return isn’t a reward at all, but a punishment. Perhaps you will never love him as you once did, and he will be destined to admire you only from afar, to pine and yearn and ache for you, and never be able to have you. Could he survive such a thing twice?

Even now, as he watches you sleep, face soft in rest, his fingers itch to hold you again, to stroke your hair, to trace your cheek. The last time he’d seen you, your body had been bathed in the fiery glow of a red dawn, broken and bloodied and empty of its soul. His Master’s mark carved into your flesh.

He forces the image from his mind with a clenched jaw. While he tells himself that the past no longer matters – that Melkor is all but dead, and you are very much alive – he has harboured this rage and agony and despair within him for millennia, and he will never truly be free of them.

He is pulled mercifully from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. They come to a slow stop beside him, and he tears his eyes away from you for a moment to glance up at the Captain – Elendil, he recalls. There is clear nostalgia in Elendil’s eyes as he looks at you, a mingling of tenderness and grief that makes it clear this is a man who has loved and lost – and that is a pain Halbrand knows intimately.

“For your lady,” the Captain says softly, holding out a pouch and waterskin. This too feels like a peace offering, one Halbrand accepts with a grateful nod and murmured thanks.

The cut on your brow is still tender and open, but it no longer bleeds. You will heal well, as all elves do, but he flips the pouch open anyway. He wets a clean cloth and dabs gently at the crusted blood on your brow as Elendil’s footsteps slowly retreat.

You don’t react to his ministrations, and he’s almost grateful to have a reason to touch you again – there’s no telling if he will ever be welcome to do so again.

No, he thinks stubbornly, that will not be his fate. He has not spent an eternity praying for this chance only to squander it. The familiar spark of ambition was lit the moment he laid eyes on you, and it is exhilarating. An old challenge; a new purpose. For the first time in a long time, he is not content to simply roam without direction. He can see his destination. What he doesn’t know, is how to reach it.

And so, he spends the next several hours imagining how he will woo his wife once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It doesn’t go entirely to plan.

He is forced from your side when your friend wakes. Galadriel, as he learns her name is.

She watches him with thinly veiled suspicion and asks more questions than he knows to answer about the ship, the crew, its Captain, and their destination. What’s more, there is no subtlety in the way her eyes dart between your still form and his, perched on the stool beside you. He is too close for her liking and too far for his own. A stalemate, one he has a feeling will become all too common from this moment onward. This time, he will concede.

He hides his irritation with an innocuous smile.

“I need to stretch my legs, and the Captain doesn’t want her left alone overlong,” he lies. “Would you mind?”

His words have the desired effect. The tension leaves her shoulders, and she gives him a nod.

He wants to be there when you wake, wants to be the first thing you see, but the need to worm his way into Galadriel’s good graces outweighs his desire – it must if he hopes to worm his way into your good graces as well.

So, he stands and retreats into the cool night air.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You dream of a man – the same man as always, but this time the image of him is clearer in your mind. Not by much, but enough for you to realise he is tall, his arms are strong, and his hair resembles silken strands of white gold. His face, however, remains a mystery.

You try to discern his features; the smile you hear in his voice, and the eyes you feel lingering on your form. But they are just beyond your grasp and obscured by a light that rivals that of Aman. He must be so beautiful.  

If not in face, then in soul, because you have never felt this way before. It is only in these dreams that you know love, and joy, and peace, and comfort. The waking world is for everything else, and much of the time you rue returning to it.

How you wish you could remember him. How you wish you could learn of his fate and perhaps find him once more.

Would he remember you? Would it please him to see you again? Or had too much time passed?

Gentle fingers grasp your chin. A gold band glitters on the index finger of his right hand. It is beautifully crafted, by what must have been the greatest of smiths. You know what it signifies, and so, you aren’t entirely surprised to find a matching band on your own finger – somehow, it even eclipses his in splendour.  

“You are troubled, my love.”

You can’t help but huff a soft laugh, it’s watery and distressed, and enough to prompt him into action. He pulls you into his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, and the other tracing soothing lines along your spine.  

“I fear I’ve lost you,” you mumble into his chest and feel it vibrate beneath your ear as he hums.

“Then I will just have to find you again, won’t I?” He says it so simply, so absolutely, as if there is no doubt in his mind he will do so.  

“Would you?”

“Would I?” Now it is his turn to laugh. Your eyes slip shut at the press of soft lips to your crown, and you wish to hold onto this moment forever. “Always.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s reluctant to admit it, but the fresh air does him good. Thoughts of you still swirl in his mind – they have done from the moment he met you, so that’s hardly new – but he’s regained some of his composure. It wouldn’t do to be so obvious around the Captain, around Galadriel, as he has already been, so he pulls himself together in this brief moment of respite.

For now, he must pretend – pretend he doesn’t know you, pretend he doesn’t love you, pretend he is okay with pretending.

It’s something he’s come to be quite good at over the years.

He heaves a deep breath and braces his hands against the gunwale as he stares out across the seemingly endless horizon. The waves have calmed, lapping gently at the ship’s hull, and they reflect the pale light of the stars and moon.

He’s paid the night sky more attention in recent millennia than he ever has before. The stars seem to shine brighter than usual this night, and he suspects he knows why. He swallows thickly – his pride is a heavy thing – and his lips curve in a small and humble smile. Gratitude costs you nothing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the night.

The stars twinkle, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. The sudden sound of muffled voices comes as a relief.

“—costs you nothing. If you won’t thank him, I will.”

He peers over his shoulder in time to see you emerge from below deck. There is a disapproving frown on your weary face he is all too familiar with – and glad to not be on the receiving end of for once.

Galadriel walks at your side, her lips set in a thin and equally disapproving line. You communicate without words when you realise you’re not alone – a pointed look, a raised brow, an exasperated huff.

He tries to ignore the swell of envy he feels at your familiarity with each other but takes solace in the fact that he still knows you better than she does. You have not changed, as he has, in your time apart. Unfortunately, that only makes him crave you even more – makes him yearn for that same familiarity, that sense of belonging and completeness he’s gone so long without.

He feels more like himself when he’s with you.

But one thing he has always been – then and now – is patient.

Your face brightens when you meet his eye, and he greets you with a charming smile as you approach him. “Awake at long last.”

“Yes,” you laugh lightly. “Galadriel tells me I owe you great thanks for overseeing my recovery.”

“Does she?” He can’t help but glance over at Galadriel dubiously before meeting your eye. She hovers in the background, fists clenched and jaw tight, and he almost smirks at the sight. If she is this unsettled by mere gratitude, she’ll surely be furious when you come to him with love instead.

“Well,” you smile, and it's wide and knowing and achingly familiar. “Not in so many words. But I am grateful nonetheless. Thank you.”

You give his forearm a gentle squeeze. It’s nothing to look into, a subconscious move to emphasise your appreciation, but his fingers still tighten around the gunwale at your touch.

Patience, he reminds himself.

“Happy to be of service,” he quips light-heartedly, and you share a smile.

No, he thinks, admiring the light in your eyes and the warmth in your smile. Whether you were reborn for his benefit or merely your own, it did not matter.

This could never be a punishment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Almost done with the other requests too, so I’ll probably be posting them within the week! Anyway, I hope this was okay – let me know what you think!

[southaway]

The High King of the Noldor and some half-elven kids he found

Nolofinwë Week Day Five: Gil-Galad, Elros, and Elrond

This is maybe more headcannon? I don't think Tolkien ever nailed down the age Elrond and Elros were when Maglor and Mahdhros left/released them, but I always felt like they were still fairly young. I see a lot of interpretations of their complicated relationship with their captors, but not very much about their relationship with their rescuers.

Elrond at the very least seems like he must have been close to Gil-Galad. He was his herald, he led his armies, Gil-Galad left one of the three Elven Rings to him before his death.

I'm sure they missed their parents and Maedhros and Maglor, but I always imagine that being found by Gil-Galad and taken to Lindon was the first time they had really felt safe or home since the Sack of Sirion.

[deus-sema]

These two specific lines of Golden Leaves being pictured on Adar before it transitions to Lindon is masterful editing while driving home a sorrowful realisation. While Adar has embraced his identity as an Uruk ages ago, there must be a part of him that reminisces about the Elf he used to be and could have been had his existence not been uprooted and stolen by Morgoth.

[swanmaids]

Círdan’s lover comes to him without pattern or motive. He moves through Middle Earth as he pleases, there is no constraining him, and in this he never changes; whether Círdan makes his home in the Falas or Balar or the Havens at Lindon, where he rules these days. And Círdan would not constrain, nor seek to temper the same nature that he loves. He is content to wait for him when he is gone: after all, Círdan has plenty of time. Yesterday and today and tomorrow; he will still remain here. 

But his lover will come to him tonight - this he knows. So when Tilion hangs low over the waters, he walks alone to the jetty to wait. He waits, and listens to the sounds of the shipyard: the cries of the gulls and the creaks and groans of wood on water. 

He is not alone for long. The man who approaches is broad and weather-beaten, sun-bleached hair knotted in a single braid and the beginnings of a beard on his face. His image is both new and utterly familiar. Círdan’s heart rises like the gulls.

“Beloved,” Ulmo Lord of Waters says to him, and Círdan goes to him gladly.

[the-fiction-witch]

You Don't Know What You're Asking For

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (Daughter of Galadriel and Celebron, Basically taking the place of Celebrían) Rating - 15 Word Count - 3118

Elrond even to this day found immortality rather strange and somewhat uncomfortable. He watched friends age and wither while he still lingers. He watched castles turn to dust. He watched the peace he helped create be abused by whichever opportunist sought power and pride. Twenty years seemed to pass in a blink of an eye and all things seemed to fade away. But there were small joys to in immorality, the soft joy of winters end and the gentle blooms of spring, as well as the visits few and far between of those he cared for,

Today was such an occasion, the lady Galadriel was visiting, with her husband Celeborn and daughters, from their usual home of LothLorien,

He smiled, feeling his features ease into a relaxed and welcoming smile before waving towards the small party,

First to emerge was lord Celeborn, who then took the hand of his wife Galadriel to aid her down from the horse,

"My lord, it has been too many of these long years," she greeted,

Elrond gave a light laugh, "It truely has been long, too many years" he replied, returning the greeting with a bow and taking her hands, "You look as radiant as ever my lady,"

She smiled the two sharing a moment in peace after such a long friendship,

"Last I saw this place it was a barely pile of rocks and mortar," lord Celeborn laughed, "you have crafted her into a place grander than Lindon I think,"

Elrond laughed, raising one of his hands in a dismissive gesture, clearly proud of the work the elves and men of Rivendell had done, but humble enough to not openly say this at the lavish praise of his home, "I simply provided the groundwork, a place for the great people of middle earth to call home, and it bloomed into this" he replied,

"A second home for many I'm sure" Galadriel smiled just as three girls approached,

Last elrond saw them the two eldest where barely maidens, and the third didn't exist. Now three stood before him.

"May I introduce, Themyscira our youngest" she explained and the little girl no higher then a hobbit bowed in her little blue gown,

Elrond chuckled at the introduction, lowering down to kneel in front of the young maid, smiling as she bowed to him, "It is a pleasure to meet you, little one" he said, his voice warm and soft, gentle and welcoming as he took her tiny fingers into his hand giving her hand a proper little kiss,

"And of course, you will recall Mellimina" Galadriel nodded,

The last time he saw the middle daughter she was a meer child no taller then his knee, she now stood almost to his shoulder with long blonde hair like her mother in a soft yellow gown,

"It is a pleasure, my lord," Melimina bowed,

Elrond nodded remembering her as a little girl, He was surprised by how fast she'd grown and how grown up, "No need for that, mellimina" he said warmly, waving a dismissive hand, "I am simply a friend, no need for titles and formalities" he smiled taking her hand to give it a polite kiss too,

"And I'm sure you shall recall Y/n," Galadriel smiled,

And for a moment elrond was speechless, Y/n, galadriel’s eldest daughter, last he saw her she was barely a maiden coming into her own, she stood now at his shoulder, a bodythat would be a Syren call for any man, wearing a lilac gown with embroidered stars, with hair pins of silver stars gracing her locks, a elvish gem necklace around her neck,

She looks up at him with eyes like gems as she bows without a word,

Elrond stared in awe, his heart beating a little faster as he looked upon the woman who stood before him. She was not the girl he remembered, she was grown now, grown and stunning. All the air seemed to flee his lungs as he gazed into those emerald eyes, her image in front of him like a vision that he would gladly lose himself in for an eternity. He stared for a few beats, unable to speak as he returned from the trance and gave her a nod, praying to the Valar that nobody had noticed his stare or the pink hue creeping across his cheeks, he swallowed, trying desperately to regain his composure and force the words from his lips "I remember you well my lady," he smiled taking her hand and giving it a slightly prolonged kiss,

"I to recall you my lord, I admit such memories I am reminded of fondly, I hope such years have blessed you with good health since last we met?" Y/n smiled, she spoke like a proper elven lady, much like her mother

a warm, genuine smile played across elronds lips as he nodded in response. She was as poised and as elegant as he remembered, but now there was also a maturity about her, a beauty that he'd never noticed before. He would get lost in the sound of her voice had it not been for her question, "Yes- yes I am well," he replied, his mind suddenly blank as he found it near impossible to think of anything to say when he stared into those eyes of hers, he took a quiet breath, gathering his thoughts and composure as he prepared to speak. He was a powerful elf Lord and commander, and yet now, in front of this beautiful maiden all he could think of was the way her gown shone in the sunlight, the way her lips moved when she smiled and the way her necklace sparkled against her neck, "And you my lady.. you are well?" he asked, silently cursing himself at how awkward he felt in this moment. He sounded like a flustered fool, stumbling over his words

"I have been blessed by such peace," she nodded

Luckily Galadriel and Celeborn requested to prepare their room, the younger girls did also but,

“If it is all the same I would adore a walk of the Rivendell Gardens,” Y/n smiled, “The foliage this time of year is so divine,”

“Yes, yes of course I’d be happy to take you.” he nodded

Galadriel, Celeborn and the girls excused themselves, Elrond praying silently they would keep a safe distance. He turned his attention back to Y/n, now alone in the courtyard.

Elrond exhaled a breath he had been holding, a soft sound of relief, his nerves slowly fading as he smiled warmly at her and offered his arm to lead her down to the gardens, he walked slowly beside her, silently trying to come up with something to say "You've grown so much.. you were just a small girl last I saw you" he laughed softly

she smiled as they walked, her hands wrapped around his arm in a very lady like way,

"Yes, the years have been long since last we are one another. I believe it was when you came to visit lothlorien before the birth of Themescara, I was but a child then,"

"Just a small child yes," he agreed quietly, his mind wandering back to the memory. He could still picture her, running through the gardens chasing butterflies, her little dress covered in a dusting of dirt, he chuckled as a thought crossed his mind, causing him to look at the woman beside him "You did cause quite a bit of mischief as a girl"

"I suppose it is the blessing of all children, to be graced with such chaos" She smiled,

He chuckled quietly, the image of her small form tearing through the gardens still clear in his mind "Yes.. though not all children have quite the same level of chaos. I believe you were one of the worst"

"I suppose I was, but isn't that the job of a first born?" She laughed

he laughed with her, shaking his head and looking down at the ground, "No, my sweetling, the job of the first born child is to be a good example, good role to their younger siblings, not to cause chaos" he teased gently, his voice soft and warm

she softly blushed "I know, I straightened up of course, for my sister's and for the people of lothlorien,"

he smiled down at her, seeing the blush that had risen to her soft cheeks. He felt a strange flutter in his stomach, butterflies that he had not felt before, as he looked at her face. He swallowed a lump in his throat, his thoughts racing as he desperately tried to find something to say, "Of course.. and look at you now, such a proper elvish lady" he teased gently

"I do my best" she smiled "… Father says he must take me to Lindon" she said rather sadly

he felt a pang in his heart as she spoke, a soft frown on his face. "To lindon… why?" he asked, his voice quiet and sad. The idea of losing sight of her again, being unable to see her or speak with her left a sour feeling in his chest.

"To formally present me to the elven court, and the high king." She nodded "as daughter of lady galadriel and lord celeborn, I am to be formally presented at court, so I may be wed to a high elven lord" she explained sadly

his heart clenched at the sound of the last part of her words, a cold feeling forming in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth. His mind filled with cruel images of her being courted by high elven lords, her gentle laugh heard in the halls when she smiled at some young commander, her arm linked with another mans. It filled him with a strange mixture of anger and sadness. he tried his hardest to keep the anger he felt from showing in his voice "So.. you will be wed"

"I must do what my father commands of me"

he felt the words like a stab to his heart, a deep sadness filling the place where the anger had been. He had held her as a child, watched her grown into woman and now, after all these long years he was so close to losing her again "You could refuse" he said suddenly, his grip on her arm tightening. He stopped and pulled her to a halt, forcing her to face him

"I do not wish to upset them" she said "I must do what is best for my people, must I not?"

"But it may not be best for you" he said, gripping her upper arms now, turning her body to face him. "Being wed to some commander, some high elven lord, forced to live far out in lindon, is that truly what you want?" he asked, his voice quiet and pleading

"… I want whatever will make my family happy, whatever makes my people happy, whatever brings peace and tranquility is all I desire. And if my happiness is what must be the price then … So be it"

he felt a lump form in his throat, the thought of her sacrificing her happiness for others breaking his heart. He found himself taking a step closer to her, still holding her arms firmly, his fingers gripping the soft material of her gown "You can't possibly believe that. You deserve more than that, you deserve to be happy too"

"… I gave up many happinesses in the years since you last saw me. I suppose that's part of maturity, learnt to then away from that which use to bring you such joy…"

he stared down at her, his heart wrenching in his chest at her words. Without thinking, he reached up and cupped her cheeks, his fingers on either side of her face

she gasped her lips parted,

He swallowed, looking down at her. He noticed every feature now, the way her lashes framed her eyes, the rosy pink colour of her lips, the way her hair framed the soft curves of her face "You cannot give up on yourself" he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion "you cannot just accept that you will be unhappy…"

"… If I did what I knew would make me happy, I would have been cast out years ago" she whispered "there is… So much in this world I… desire. But my own pleasure and joy is not the life of a lady… Even if I so wish it could be"

he felt her words like a physical blow, his chest aching under the weight of emotion. Every part of him longed to pull her close, to hold her against his chest and assure her he could give her whatever she desired, to kiss those soft pink lips till he had taken all the air from her lungs. But he held himself firmly in place, his hands gripping her cheeks gently "And what is it you desire my sweetling…"

Without a single word, she moved to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, he lips soft and tender, she smelt of lavender flowers and tasted of strawberries, her hands settling on his chest as she pulled back enough to see his eyes

he froze in shock for a moment, unable to believe the soft feeling of her lips on his. For a moment, it seemed to him that the earth had stopped turning, that the world was no longer moving. The press of her lips against his own was like a jolt of electricity that shot through his body. It took an almost painful amount of effort on his part to prevent him from wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, crushing her body against his in an embrace, until she pulled back and he gazed down at her, his heart racing "that.. was what you wanted?"

"mhm," she nodded her fingers playing with his clothes a little,

he exhaled a shaky breath, his mind still swirling from the feeling of her lips on his own. The way she played with the material of his clothes sent a strange shiver down his spine, and it took a lot of effort to not press her back against the nearest tree and claim her for himself he gazed down at her, unable to look away from her beautiful face, her pretty pink lips "And what else do you desire, sweetling?"

she softly bit her bottom lip and pushed his arms to entrap her waist

he let her move his hands, the feeling of the soft material of her gown under his fingers like silk as he slid his hands down to her waist. He could feel her body under the fine material, every curve of her waist and hips, and it took all of his self control to not pull her body against his, "And what else?… Tell me, sweetling" he said again, his voice thick with desire and need

"hummm I think it's your turn to tell me something you desire, my lord."

he swallowed, his hands gripping the material of her gown, taking in the feeling of her body against his palms. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he ached from the want of her. He wanted to hold her, feel every curve of her body, to run his hands through her hair, taste her skin.. he wanted her so badly it was like a fire in his blood he took a quiet breath, trying to control himself "You.. I desire you"

she bit her lip a little harder, and she giggled a little as he pulled her against him, squeezing their bodies together, "as so I" she whispered against his lips

he swallowed a gasp as he pulled her close to him, the feeling of her body against his own sending a shiver down his spine. He could smell the scent of lavender and it filled his mind with thoughts, of tangled legs and the sound of her soft moans. He longed desperately to run his fingers across her skin, to find every sensitive spot on her body and claim it for himself, he lifted a hand to her chin, tilting her face so they were only inches apart "How am I to keep my hands to myself if you do that"

"I do not wish you to keep them to yourself" she softly giggled

a smirk slowly formed on his face as he heard her words, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her chin as he gazed down at her, "Oh sweetling" he whispered, his heart racing, desire and need filling his body like liquid fire "you don't know what you're asking for"

"I have had years to know what I am asking…" She whispered back

he exhaled a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he tried to control himself. The feel of her body against his own was driving him insane, the sound of her voice in his ear sending his heart racing. He knew this should stop, that he should pull away from her before it was to late, before he could no longer control the fire in his blood. but her words, her breath against his ear, her body so close to his, it was like a drug that he could not resist, "You don't know what I want to do to you, sweetling"

she softly Giggled "I do not, but I'd like to know."

he felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of her laugh, her voice like sweet music to his ears. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin of her neck, just below her ear "I want to touch you. I want to hold you… I want to bury myself in you" he whispered quietly, his voice thick with desire

she blushed hard craning her neck to allow him more space to kiss

he pressed a line of soft kisses down her neck, his hands gripping her sides as he whispered against her skin "I want to hear you moan" he purred, his voice like velvet "I want to taste you, make you come undone in my arms" he continued to kiss down her neck, his hands moving to her rear and pulling her body against his as he whispered in her ear "I want to take you to my bed and keep you there, so I can hear the lovely noises you make when I touch you"

she giggled once more as he pulled her as tight to him as possible, his hands on her ass, her chest pressed against his, heaving as she gasps desperately, "Then what is stopping you?"

he felt a shiver of pleasure run down his spine, the way her body was pressed against his own like sweet torture. Her voice in his ear, the feeling of her in his hands making his heart race, his blood burn, "Nothing." he whispered, his voice thick with need. He took her hand and pulled her towards his chambers…