#glorfindel should have been here too

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Bilbo was taking surprisingly well to Valinor. Of course he’d been expecting it to be an adjustment, elves were very different creatures to hobbits after all, but he was certainly in fine comfort here. He’d always got the impression that elves had very- well for want of a better word elven ideas about what constituted a home, it was not his place to criticise but sleeping in trees seemed to lack a sense of cosiness to be perfectly honest, but Elrond seemed to have gone to a heartwarming effort to make his surroundings more familiar.

He and Frodo had been given spacious yet hobbit proportioned chambers in the building (practically a castle really) his wife had made for their household, a display of generosity that he should have come to expect yet still took him off guard. The rooms were filled with lush wall hangings, rugs and throw blankets, each pieces of art, and there were ever so many places one could sit and work away at whatever took their fancy or simply gaze out at the stars or waves crashing against the rocks.

Despite the seeming peace and tranquillity of his surroundings he was not oblivious to the fact that there was tension in the halls. He was proven right when Elrond came in one day after going down to the city, somewhere the hobbits had still not quite worked up the nerve to go themselves as they knew they would stick out like sore thumbs and were not fully prepared to be bombarded with questions and stares.

The Lady Galadriel’s brother Finrod had become familiar company however, when he was not too busy teasing his sister that is, and seemed genuinely eager and impressed with all they had to say. He even seemed enthusiastic about Bilbo’s attempts at poetry, though when he heard a reinterpretation of an ancient romance ballad about the flame haired princess being freed from her tower by a valiant elven prince he had to cover his mouth politely before bursting into a fit of laughter when he met Elrond’s eyes. He apologised profusely afterwards, though Bilbo was still trying to discover what had been so funny.

On this day however Finrod was not in attendance, it was just some of Elrond’s household, his wife and Bilbo in the corner writing a new poem about Beren and Luthien (a little overdone perhaps but still an incredible story). Elrond hung his cloak on the stand by the door and adjusted some invisible flaw in his braid work before picking up a book and silencing all the numerous proceedings in the bustling communal area with one casually uttered sentence from the window seat.

‘I decided to invite my parents over for dinner.’

Glorfindel dropped the plant pot he was holding with a crash, the only noise in the stifling silence. Everyone seemed to take that as their queue to leave whatever they were doing and walk calmly, run like their lives depended on it for the doors, some even for the windows. All except Bilbo that is, he wanted to hear what it was that made all these dignified and battle hardened immortal beings scatter like young hobbits pillaging Farmer Maggot’s grounds.

Glorfindel spoke and his voice was definitely trembling, goodness what could this be about? ‘Which- which parents would these be Lord Elrond?’

Elrond didn’t look up as if he hadn’t noticed the panic he’d unleashed and twirled his bookmark about his fingers while replying absentmindedly. ‘Hmmm? Oh, well I really didn’t want to start off on a note of picking some over the others after so many millennia apart so I thought it best to meet them together, clear the air and all that rather than leave things fester. I’m quite done with letting things go unspoken you know.’

‘You what.’ The Balrog Slayer trembled and shook, he who had laughed in the face of the Nazgûl.

‘What in all the lands of Arda could have possessed you to- Elrond! Are you trying to get us all killed?!’

‘Oh, peace Glorfindel, my family aren’t going to kill each other or you.’

‘Elrond your families killing each other is how you got one of them! Which is still severely fucked up by the way and so ridiculously unhealthy I don’t even know what to do with it.’

Elrond huffed at Glorfindel’s hysterics, ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s just dinner. They’re hardly going to sour their first meeting with me since before the destruction of Beleriand just to be petty.’

Bilbo privately thought that there was very little certain family members wouldn’t do to be petty, especially where ill advised family dinners were concerned. Tonight should be entertaining at least. He wondered if the elves, with the wisdom of many ages would be able to restrain themselves.

Glorfindel sighed and leaned forward onto his hand muttering something that, despite Bilbo’s incomplete fluency in the language, sounded suspiciously like swearing. ‘Well I suppose there’s nothing we can do now except send as many to safety as we can spare and pray to every Valar we can think of.’

‘And hide the breakables,’ Elrond chimes in lightly seemingly unperturbed by the very dangerous individual who was looking gradually more and more murderous. ‘Naneth used to throw things at the wall after receiving letters from Atya. Best hide any weaponry as well. Maybe serve something that doesn’t require sharp cutlery?’

Glorfindel inhaled slowly several times while staring down his significantly younger lord. ‘I hope you know Elrond, that the only reason I am not throttling you right now is that I do not want to upset the Lady Idril by causing injury to her only grandchild. She terrifies me, perhaps more than you and your parents but it is a fine fucking line.’

As Glorfindel headed out to try and pull the house into some semblance of readiness for the seeming impending disaster Elrond lifted his gaze from his novel and stared out at the rolling ocean before him. While only moments ago he had seemed light and teasing, as if he were secretly aware of and enjoying the turmoil he’d caused, something Bilbo had become more and more accustomed to seeing from him since their arrival on these shores, now he appeared every inch of his years, an ages long loss lined in those bright eyes and a trace of hesitance that was even more alarming.

 ‘Are you quite alright lad?’ Elrond’s mouth moved into familiar expression of amusement at being referred to as such by one so many times his younger and that was something at least though his eyes didn’t change.

 ‘Everything’s alright, it’s only just- well it’s been so long Bilbo. I know coming from me that may sound unusual to you, but I’m talking about things that happened in the First Age of the world, in Beleriand for goodness sake, that entire continent hasn’t existed for over seven millennia. So it’s just hard- I’ve spent so long imagining this day and I truly have no idea how it will go. It’s been so long since I’ve had parents and now- I might finally get that connection again but what if it fails? They haven’t seen me since I was a child, some of them anyway, what if they don’t like the person I am now?’

 ‘Any parent would be proud of having someone like you for a child, Elrond. I’m sure it will go splendidly, why they must have missed you dreadfully, I can’t imagine being separate from Frodo for so long.’ He was touched deeply by this elven lord opening up to him about such worries and resolved to try his best to make tonight go without a hitch. Glorfindel must have surely be overreacting after all, it couldn’t be that hard, could it, to prevent a few people (he was admittedly still unclear on the circumstances that led to Elrond’s parents being referred to as seemingly distinct groups) coming to blows at a reunion with their son?

#silmarillion #tolkien #elrond peredhel #glorfindel #bilbo baggins #valinor #fourth age #kidnap fam #elwing #earendil

[doodle-pops]

Love Scenario

Ecthelion x reader

Request: Hey! Can I request a dating fic between reader and Ecthelion? How does he woo/court her? What about their engagement? Wedding plans? Especially if this is set in Valinor after the FoG, and he’s just come back to life, and like, omg, now I have this lady I want to check out when I’m fresh out of soul prison. He probably relies on Glorfindel a little bit because he’s been more established since the late Second Age and comes from a “house of princes.” - Anon

A/N: As mentioned, I absolutely enjoyed writing this piece for Thel.

Warnings: fluff, humour, Egalmoth and Glorfindel helping their dear best friend, a bit of a sentimental moment, indirect confession

Words: 2.5k

Synopsis: With his return to Valinor and the desperate call to take action, Ecthelion has made it his purpose, day and night, to construct the perfect future for you happily ever after.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since he returned.”

“…That’s over five months, Laurë!”

A weary side-eye glance at Egalmoth from Glorfindel and the former folded his lip to refocus his attention to their dear friend who was fretting over the right colours to paint the interior of your future house. Ask him if he had plucked the courage to speak to you upon his return and he’d throw swears at his friends. But he was already envisioning his life with you as though the most important action was completed. Dream on.

“Cream, bone white or ivory cream?” Came the steady voice of Ecthelion. In his hands were strips of the colours he suggested and on his face was a panicked expression as though he was running out of time.

Frowning and ready to calm his dear friend, Glorfindel stretched his palms outwards and gently waved them up and down to soothe the madman or rather, elf. “Thel, don’t you think this is all too much? You haven’t even asked—”

“Yes, I just did. What colour should I choose?” Ecthelion enunciated and widened his eyes further to emphasise his point.

At this point, it was Egalmoth to the rescue as he placed the vat of wine down and exhaled, ready to appear as the saviour to most, since all was impossible, of his stress. “What is the purpose of the colours, Thel?”

“Balusters for the balcony,” Ecthelion responded calmly as though you and he were already living together—in his head, you were—and he was tasked with the décor, both interior and exterior.

The room fell into silence as all three Lords were left at one another, or rather both Glorfindel and Ecthelion were left gawking at Ecthelion’s seriousness. Not a stutter or flatter in the batting of his lashes did Ecthelion show any signs of uncertainty when it came to answering their questions. He was indeed picking out the colour of the balusters for the balcony, so when you wished to hang your baskets of flowers or sit in the evening and gaze at the setting sun, whatever you wore would be highlighted by the colour the balusters were.

Tongue in cheek, Glorfindel closed his mouth and flashed an awkward grimace before cutting the silence with an answer. “Bone white, especially if you’re choosing to paint your house in blue, it would mesh well with each other.”

Grateful for the say, Ecthelion wasted no time in returning to his colour scheming and designing of your future home with a small ‘thank you’. However, Egalmoth was beginning to find confusion in this entire dynamic since they were both against feeding into their dear friend’s delusions. The look of disgust plastered across the silver-haired male’s face as he scrutinised Glorfindel grew intensely as the second ticked by.

“Are you serious? No, no, no, don’t cut me off. I’m being serious here,” he protested at Glorfindel’s attempt to sway his mind. Dropping his voice and octave and inching his head closer to bridge the gap between him and the latter, he whisper-yelled, “Are you serious?! We were asked to help him finish his confession letter so he could serenade Y/N, not indulge in his delusionary fantasies that cannot exist until he confesses! Why are you helping him?!”

Amused at the sudden outburst from his comrade, he released small chuckles at his concern for their ‘puppy love’ friend. “But weren’t you—”

“No, no, no, no, no. Do not categorise me as an accomplice when I am not!” Pinching his brow, Egalmoth flung his back against the cushioned chair a little too hard, defeating the cushioning purpose. A quiet yelp slipped out before a series of exasperated sighs followed and a single eye roll. “I’m here to help lover boy get his lover, not keep him looking like a sick puppy.”

Unable to respond, Glorfindel watched with laughter as Egalmoth rose from his seat and trudged over to Ecthelion to pry the sheet of paper out of the ebony-haired elf’s hands which almost sparked an outburst.

“Alright, I’ve had enough. You summoned us to aid you with wooing Y/N and here we are aiding you with picking house colours. Well no more! Get me your best rendition of your confession Laurë helped you write. Get up!” With a wave of his hand, Egalmoth ushered Ecthelion to his feet to recite his poem. Unfortunately, Thel was able to cast a sheepish expression which spoke volumes and made both Lords groan.

Holding his palms upwards to surrender, he defended himself as best as he could. “In my adversity, I was overcome with excitement for our future each time I sat down to finish the poem, so I have an excuse.”

This time, it was Glorfindel who turned on the heat and cast his dear friend a look of disappointment. With his arms and legs crossed, he bore holes in Ecthelion’s head, creating possible solutions to help his helpless friend without launching his harp at his head. Needless to say, Glorfindel sighed heavily with the pressures of another person’s burden on his shoulders. “Where’s the parchment with the poem? Let’s see how well we can impersonate the great Elemmírë and create a masterpiece for you to profess your undying love for Y/N. Only this time you’re alive and not dead.”

Ending his joke with laughter, accompanied by Egalmoth, he rose from his chair to grip the parchment from Ecthelion’s hands as he produced it from inside his robes. With another disappointed shake of his head, he requested a charcoal and soon, all three were—rather two since Ecthelion kept interrupting to discuss your future—slaving away to create a poem worthy of your name. Nonetheless, after the first hour and a half passed, he managed to get into the flow of creating words from his mind and very soon the poem was halfway completed.

“Okay, so we have the first two stanzas down—thankfully!” sassed Egalmoth as he threw an unbiased glare at the ebony hair Lord who did not hesitate to return one with common courtesy. “I think one more stanza could be added; try fitting in a line that confesses his love?”

Sharply reading through what was already written, Ecthelion had found everything to be perfect, yet still missing something. Prying the parchment from Glorfindel’s fingers, Thel paced up and down the drawing room muttering to himself about the things he could include about you.

Your eyes? Your voice? Your beauty—no, that was already included. Perhaps…

And so, he began to recite the poem in hopes of conjuring the rest.

“In gardens fair, where roses bloom,

A beauty found, defying gloom.

Like you, fair one, a bloom so rare,

With an elegance that fills the air.

“Yet in this garden, one may find,

A soul as lovely, gentle, and kind.

Each delicate curve, each gentle hue,

Reflects the sweetness found in you.

“Oh, delicate rose of whispered sighs,

In your presence, the world complies,

For your grace outshines the floral art,

A masterpiece of tender heart.

“So let me liken you, my dear,

To roses blooming, ever near.

For in your grace, in every part,

You hold the essence of my heart.

“I lo—”

He froze as though the words were stuck in his throat. At the tip of his very tongue, he knew the next syllable to whisper to you whenever he got the chance. Yet, it refused to fall off his tongue as though something held it back. The trembling of his hands gave it away, though his slight stubbornness pushed his fear away and replaced it with confidence.

False confidence. He scoffed and stared at the ivory cream carpet.

What was he to be afraid of? He was the Great lord Ecthelion of the Fountain who slayed four Balrogs and great tales were sung of him. He stared death in its eye, confessing to you would be as easy as walking through the silvery streets of Gondolin once again. Yet something held him back.

The day he left you in the city of Tirion that day he departed, gnawed at his memory. It was easier to picture being with you than working up the courage to share his heart knowing that you might reject him. You had every right to since he floundered the opportunity ages ago. It didn’t matter how many forms of encouragement came his way; anxiety lurked overheard. His only wish was that he had confessed to you before departing to reduce this turmoil.

“Thel?” The soft whisper of Glorfindel’s voice woke him up and returned him to reality. “Is everything alright?”

There was a deafening silence before the crumpling of paper followed by a sigh. “Who am I fooling? I can’t bring myself to do this anymore.”

“Oi, mate! What are—What are you doing? We’ve come so far,” Egalmoth reasoned as he shot from his seat with his hands outwards. “You can’t back out now!”

“Well, I am!” Ecthelion responded curtly, whipping his head around to shoot a tired look at his friends. “All this…All of this I’m doing, and what if Y/N rejects me? I had the opportunity aeons ago and I didn’t—”

“And yet Y/N stayed without loving someone else. Isn’t that enough to let you know that they’re waiting for you to still try? Imagine if you didn’t have this chance, and they found someone else, you would blame yourself, right? Then don’t! Come on, Thel,” Egalmoth encouraged as he took steps closer to his friend, bending down to retrieve the balled-up parchment off the floor. “Don’t let all those months of designing your future home be for nothing! Picture me as Y/N; what would you say if you had the chance?”

The glare he threw at Egalmoth was enough to make anyone else scurry away. The temper and fury behind his eyes; water brimmed his lower lashes as a barbed wire found its way around his neck. The first inhale he took burned his lungs. It was better to be left in the fantasy world.

Parting his lips, his silver-grey eyes burnt with passion as his heart cried a symphony of love. “I would say that I’m sorry, and I love you.” he began with a feathered whisper, “I have loved you morning, noon and night, even in death. My soul yearns for the very essence of yours for I cannot exist without you; I do not think that I can. I wish to be at your side in this life, hereafter and the next; I never wish to be parted from you from this moment onwards. I only wish to cherish you…if you would forgive me and accept me as I am.”

The silence in the air was thick. A pin could fall to the carpet and a sound would ricochet. Both Lords were caught by the throat from the rawness of the confession, a stark contrast to what was originally discussed. Flowery words.

Heaving as though a burden was lifted from his chest, Ecthelion felt tears pooling his low lashes from the anxiety he suffered from his mistakes. He just wanted to be with you. Not go through this turmoil of overcoming his f—

Clap! Clap! Clap! “Oh, that was beautiful!”

The sound of three necks snapping simultaneously reverberated clearly in your eardrums as your sudden voice and clapping startled all three Lords. However, once all three pairs of eyes were locked on your figure standing gracefully as ever in the doorway, you froze mid-clapping and stood at attention, eye darting from left to right. You felt like you were unintentionally being scolded by your old buddies.

Shuffling on your feet, you offered a wolfy grin with an awkward chuckle. “Sorry, the worker informed me that Lord Ecthelion was in the drawing room relaxing with familiar company and I was permitted to enter. If I’m obstructing, I’ll come back another time.”

“Oh no, no, no, no!” exclaimed Glorfindel with a beam brighter than the sun as the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself on a diamond platter. He wasted no time in flying out of his chair and grabbing Egalmoth by his scruff to head towards the exit, leaving Ecthelion standing confused in the centre of the room. “You can stay and chat with Ecthelion, we were just heading to the kitchen for condiments since he enjoys starving us. Farewell Y/N, we’ll catch up another time!”

You stood aside as both Lords brushed past your figure to rush down the hallway in the opposite direction of the kitchen as far as you could remember from your childhood. Pinching your brows with a whimsical expression, you remained standing in the doorway, not wanting to appear any more intruding than you had already proven to be. There was a curt nod from you in the ebony-haired elf’s direction, an awkward action which made no sense, yet proved to ease your nerves.

Tongue in cheek, you eyed the interior of the room before returning your focus to the statue of an elf at the centre. “I liked your words, the declaration of love, I meant. Is it for a play, not that I knew you to be the type of person to engage in those activities, or a song or poem?”

“Yes,” he curtly responded. The most unmanageable response to escape his silvery tongue slipped out. In Ecthelion’s head, he was screaming and attempting to drown himself for his foolish display. In his mind, his day was going from great to good to terrible to I-don’t-know-if-this-should-be-counted. Where and when did you spawn from?

Awkwardly nodding your head at his reply, you raised your brow. “Nice, um, I wanted to personally come here to give this to you,” you murmured and crossed the floor to stand a foot from the centre to hand him an envelope with his name written. “It’s a banquet and my family told me to invite a plus one, so—”

“You thought of me?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Your face fell at the suddenness of his low confidence. The Ecthelion you knew from yesteryears would not have doubted anyone’s decision to have him as a first choice; this was not your Thel.

“You don’t wish to attend? My apologies, I’ll just take back the invite then.” Your hands made a grab to pry the envelope from his fingers, but he was quicker to move it out of your grasp. Deflating at his actions, you huffed. “Do you want to attend the banquet or not?”

“Yes! But why?”

“W-…Why?! Thel, I haven’t seen you in ages,” you angrily laughed and felt a wave of emotion welling in your throat making it difficult to meet his eyes. “I missed you and I did miss your return because I was busy preparing for the banquet hoping that I could spend the night with you. Chatting, drinking, dancing, or finding a secluded spot away from everyone. I miss you, and I know you miss me too. So come, please.”

You missed him. You missed him. You wanted to spend time with him alone. No better words were spoken from your lips to convince him to stay away. A moment the doors of opportunity opened; this time he was not ignoring it.

Clutching the envelope firmly between his fingers, he smiled. Gingerly nodding his head before breaking into it vigorously, he gave you a look of affection he could not resist. “I’ll be there in my finest wear.”

“Lovely!” you beamed and stared into his eyes. The tears were still brimming your lashes, only in smaller quantities which was less of an issue now that the problem was resolved. “And perhaps you can recite the confession you gave to Egalmoth earlier at the banquet, I’d love to hear it once more, in private.”

Understanding the meaning behind your words, he gave a gentle, yet stiff nod. “Of course,” he breathed with a look of anxiety. “Of course, a confession for you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @mcwentfandomtraveling @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster

#ecthelion #ecthelion fluff #ecthelion x reader #ecthelion imagine #ecthelion scenario #ecthelion of the fountain #house of the fountain #lords of gondolin #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fluff #silmarillion fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[searchingforserendipity25]

Brainstorming on the Maglor = Lindir concept for @funwithfanon and here’s a list of different takes, in no particular order:

Lindir does not exist. It’s more of a temporary, honorary rank, a job description - anyone can be the Lindir of Rivendell if their application is accepted. Duties include diplomacy, welcoming guests, playing the harp, singing beautifully, babysitting and being able to remember all the Dúnedain’s names. The usual contract goes for fifteen summers, which is much less than the regular yéni. Whatever you do, do not ask why Lord Elrond is very particular about having an open call for minstrels going on regularly. The Lindor of the book events is just some guy who is here for the steady pay to save up for a fancy dowry to take on his Ship to Valinor. It’s not that he has a sweetheart or anything, but he fully intends to nab himself a hot, rich, and influential Calaquendi once he gets to the West, and Elrond’s court is a good place to practice. I, for one, respect Lindir’s hustle. 

The same, but the current Lindir is Maglor. This is never discussed. If you recognize him, no you don’t. He shows up for the fifteen years, and then goes away, and then comes back. It’s fine. They don’t talk about it. It’s definitely fine! The job interviews have gone from dramatic to downright farcical. Neither of them is willing to be the first one to crack. The first time, Elrond gets to ask for a portfolio and watch Maglor draw a blank on anything that isn't a lament. By the fourth time, he has a long repertoire of new works inspired by Imladris ready, all dedicated to its gracious and most generous lord. They come up with ridiculously complicated linguistic crossword games and then swap them to play over morning tea. Again, I cannot overstate how much they do not Talk About It. 

Lindir is of the Falathrim of Sirion and he will fight you if you ask whether he’s secretly Maglor Fëanorian. He will hit you with his gigantic gold-and-ivory harp and you will deserve it.

Lindir is Maglor. Ish. Maglor-ghost. Maglor's remaint. If you look at him too hard the edges of him start to blur, like an old crosshatching drawing left to blur in the sun for too long. The shadow he casts upon the wall rests over his shoulders like a cloak. He is also rather misty. Somewhere by the sea, a body has been eaten by the fish, but the fëa wandered far inland and found refuge in the valley where all those in pain are made welcome. One day Elrond woke to a faint song. He followed it through the stairs of his house until he found - the smouldering embers in Hall of Fire stirring, and a darker darkness singing. Lindir has been part of the household ever since.

Lindir is Daeron. He loves the line of Lúthien more than all things, except for the Lady Celebrían, who was the one who found him, once, by the still dark waters of the North, and brought him home to the valley where the guards sing nonsense and the air in the twilit starlight smells nothing at all and very much like Melian’s kingdom in the days before the Sun and the Moon.

Maglor did not defend himself, whenever anyone found him wandering by the sea Maglor never defended himself, with words or Song, steel or harp. Not from wolves, or orcs, brigands or avengers, from the wrathful sea or the elements. Varda's Hallowing had scorched him through, a maddening and encompassing pain, the sort of continuous justice that left very little space for anything that was not regret. He could not defend himself from it, or the absolute, star-bright knowledge that its horror and ugliness should not and could not be denied. By the time he came again among the elves, there was very little left to recognize him by. He was so plainly beyond the ability to do harm - getting him in custody was less a matter of containing him than making certain no one went and killed him. It is imprisonment, in the sense that he’s in custody. There will be no Kinslayings or executions in Imladris (Glorfindel's passionate defence of Turgon's precedent aside), and even if it were allowed - no one could put him on trial presently. Elf parole gets invented eventually, after he is in the healing halls for half an Age, and slowly readjusts to society again. Much has his countenance changed, in grief and pain, and from wounds besides; few people recognize him outright. It takes him a long, long time before he touches a harp again, and longer still before he can be certain enough of himself to sing before an audience. 

You would not have caught Maglor Fëanorian admitting he could not identify a poem’s authorial contributions, be he dead or damned or deranged. Luckily, local musical prodigy Lindir, born and bred in Imladris, does not have weird First Age perfectionist hang-ups. Elrond’s students all have a perfectly non-traumatic apprenticeship and are very well-adjusted, thank you very much.

Lindir is a nightingale Arwen accidentally turned into an elf. Listen, it's a thing, it happens with Peredhel sometimes. He’s - adjusting. Focused on playing the harp to develop finger coordination and ended up enjoying it a great deal, after the first challenging yéni (Fingers! Tiny bony bits! What a notion. Lindir misses his beak sometimes). He does still trill sometimes; his old friends answer him during their afternoon songs, it is quite a sight. Mortals are very strange and they have the bad habit of dying fairly often just when he’s started to recognize them, but he likes the way the scruffy one makes his lady smile so he does not chirp in with comments on his poetry. Not many comments, anyway. 

They take his harp away, at first. Glorfindel, who had seen him in battle, wanted anted a geas of silence. But that would be a waste, in its way. His voice is bound to the valley instead, to the protection of it, and the working of its purpose as a place of safety and succour. Eternal servitude to the line of Earendil is not, objectively, the worst punishment that could befall the last Kinslayer. If Elrond is not entirely easy with having him in Imladris, neither is he able to countenance the idea that he might go free, and unaccounted for. The might in him goes away from his mouth, and beyond his mastery. He sings, sometimes, when it is for the benefit of the valley.  That he must be of use is a just demand, and a kinder end than exile. A grace, in its way - and it is not as if he has any reason or right to have any wish in his heart that is not to serve the line of Elwing. It is not, Maglor knows well, the cruellest captivity a soul has ever suffered. He can even speak, if he wishes; and in time, among the long Ages, he does gather enough nerve to ask leave to sing in the Hall of Fire in company, on those moonless nights when he is not needed to sing enchantments of protection. A minstrel can have many duties, after all. There are many ways to serve, in small and deedless fashion, without doing any harm. Pity is not torment, for all it is difficult to withstand, and difficult the making of a gift rich enough to answer it. Well, and he is an excellent minstrel; that much he can offer still, and he does it willingly. They call him Lindir, and that is fair, as well - it is only that Lindir does not and must not and cannot sing laments.

Maglor the Kinslayer is the minstrel Lindir. Everyone knows this. It's not clear whether Lindir, who cries when the cooks behead the hen and hums to the horses and loathes the silver sound of a drawn sword, does know this. 

#maglor #lindir #elrond #funwithfanon #rivendell

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 11d

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

While Glorfindel talks further to Eluréd-and-Elurín/Alphsîr-and-Alphlîn and Celeborn hovers awkwardly to the side, everyone else finishes setting up camp and tries not to gossip too obviously.

A top matter of discussion is why Eluréd and Elurín are using different names.

Risyind figures they wanted to use different names to suit the different lives they were taking.

Khitwê suggests they might have thought someone would react to the "Elu" negatively, as he gathers their namesake is somewhat… contentious?

Legolas says Thingol isn't that contentious… but if they didn't want history and politics following them everywhere, well…

Zuste says she was just assuming they couldn't remember their original names.

Oh right peredhil may not experience elvish clarity of childhood memory.

Elladan and Elrohir (and Arwen) actually have very elf-typical early childhood memories, or at least feel like they do. How much that's organic and how much that was helped along by family and community patching up any holes is impossible to say at this point.

Which is to say, both Celeborn and Glorfindel know about the peredhil childhood memory thing, but they don't know know about it. It may not have occurred to them. Elladan figures someone should probably remind them later.

(Sharlinnu thinks automatically forgetting infancy sounds like a pretty good deal at this point but elects not to bring it up and inevitably derail the conversation.)

Gimli as well as the Hirnedhrim had no idea that elves did remember their infancies. Gimli and Zena would like to be able to remember; Zuste and Dyn would not.

"—And I'm surprised you do, Zena. What are you expecting to remember that you would want to?"

"Maybe I want to know if Dielina is telling the truth about baby you biting everyone you met."

(Dielina is five years older than Zena, who is three years older than Zuste. The goblin-men of Dunland mostly came in runs like that — three to eight inside a decade or two, then longer gaps. …While the Fair Orc was busy being dead, apparently.) (There were, of course, a number of older yet siblings around to raise them, at the time. They're just all dead now.)

Elladan steers the conversation onto safer (if irrelevant) ground by starting to recount all the biting Dúnedain children he had Elrohir have met over the centuries.

(The Sons of Fëanor do not say anything.)

(In addition to not wanting to attract attention, Celegorm really doesn't have anything to say.)

(Maglor knows knows about the peredhil childhood memory thing, having been witness to Elrond and Elros realizing they had lost things. They tried not to make a big deal out of it, especially in front of him, but. He knows knows.)

(He also knows that two small children focused on each other will not, necessarily, use each other's names enough to be well reminded of them.)

(Maglor is quite sure they don't remember whose name was whose.)

(He is saying nothing.)

*****

Elladan and Elrohir make the nightly palantír-call to Arwen as quietly and unobtrusively as they can, and report the confirmed arrival of their great-uncles. Swan-uncles.

"They don't seem to want to talk to anyone right now," Elrohir says.

"They don't seem to particularly want to be here," Elladan adds. "I don't think they would have come if Caraxitári — the Queen of the Geese — hadn't pushed them to."

"I think she's hoping they'll… re-acclimate?" Arwen offers.

(Re-imprint. The Queen of the Geese is hoping they'll re-imprint on the correct species.)

"I'm not sure whether there's any chance of that if they don't want to…"

When the conversation dies down, Gimli comes over to see if he can talk to Aragorn for a few minutes. He needs to share Celeborn not only calling Gimli a 'hero of the last war' but calling Gimli's people 'staunch allies'.

"Did he mean my people at Aglon? Erebor? The Line of Durin? Longbeards? He can't have meant all dwarves—"

"Honestly I think he was probably just trying to emphasize that they could trust you specifically…"

Meanwhile Zena is, by popular Zuste and Dyn's request, retelling the story of That Time Four Of Our Siblings Went Up To Those Marshes Where The Border-River Meets The Greyflood And Had A Survival Horror Experience Involving The Local Swans.

****

Glorfindel gets as far as showing Alphsîr and Alphlîn what it looks like when he gathers his power in order to apply it. He's starting to talk them through the process when one of the Geese circles overhead.

"That's Caraxitári," Alphsîr says. "She means it's time for us to sleep."

He still sounds very stiff and awkward but that is definitely disgruntlement.

"If you're living like swans that does make sense?" Celeborn offers. "Would you like to overnight here, or return to the Geese?"

"…We'll stay," Alphsîr says finally.

They turn back into swans, and settle themselves in the grass.

After a while they fall asleep.

Celeborn sits down right where he was standing. "What's the strongest thing we have to drink?"

Glorfindel: "…Sorry, but we didn't think this was the sort of journey that would allow for alcoholic indulgences."

Glorfindel is not saying: Also you and Maglor between you have polished off at least half of Imladris's remaining liquor stores since this whole thing started and I might want some of that at some point, did you ever think about that!

Celeborn: "Legolas Thranduilion. Do you or do you not have a few skins of Mirkwood moonshine somewhere in your baggage."

Legolas: had not realized Celeborn knows about that

Glorfindel: "If you're hung over tomorrow I'm not explaining it to the twins. Either twins."

#a tolkien tag #orc bank #orc bank unforsaken

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Soft Cuddles

Today is my wedding day, yes, really.

Whatever, here is today's Novemberstory because I am nothing if not obsessive <3

Characters: Glorfindel and a whole lot of other people

Words: 1 655

Warnings: many cuddles, little sad, cultural differences

Glorfindel had learned a good many things that others could never even imagine—he had wrestled a Balrog, he had known death and re-embodiment, and he had met the mighty Valar after the Great Sundering of the Doom of the Ñoldor.

Dark and terrible were many of his experiences and haunted his wisdom, but—on some days—he considered them a welcome price to pay for the immeasurably beautiful pieces of knowledge that were his own.

“Come here,” he whispered and slung his arms around Erestor who was in a particularly foul mood on this misty morning.

As soon as the solid warmth of his strong body seeped into the tender flesh and delicate bones of his lover, Glorfindel felt him relax against his chest and released a shivering, relieved sigh of his own.

“How did you—” Erestor murmured, ashamed now of a need he did not share with most of his peers.

“I once had the honour of watching over Eärendil,” the golden-haired revenant explained in soothing accents. “I myself was raised in a gaggle of elflings—kin and friends—and we grew too fast and were too carefree in our blessed serenity to ever cling to our parents overmuch.”

Picking his temperamental colleague up, Glorfindel carried him over to a window to cradle him on his lap while whispering his most precious confessions into his perfectly shaped ear.

“Eärendil was the first child I had seen in a long time, and he was different. He yearned to be held, carried, hugged, and Eru knows, I was eager and happy to comply. I seem to recall now that there must have been days when I did not set the boy down for a single moment—I’d even hide from his parents just so they could not snatch him away from me.” He gave a heavy sigh of regret and longing at the bittersweet memory of the soft hair and pealing laughter of his little protégé.

“Those were different times, and the safety of the Hidden Kingdom was a fraught, ever-threatened dream,” he went on in a voice that grew increasingly hollow with pain.

“Later, oh so much later, I came here to find that Elrond—my very own darling prince’s son—harboured much the same needs and desires as his father, and so did his children in turn.”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor gasped. “Are you telling me that you sneak around hugging not only children but grown Elves? Our Lord? His formidable sons? His noble daughter?”

Shrugging sheepishly, Glorfindel adjusted his hold on Erestor’s frame and settled his chin against the crown of his dark-haired head tenderly.

“I have the arms for that,” he said, a hint of insecurity and guilt sneaking into his tone. “You cannot imagine the relief and the joy I’ve drawn from the knowledge that the strong build that makes me an excellent fighter also allows me to offer comforting embraces. We all need redemption sometimes.”

“You are indeed very good at this,” Erestor mumbled sleepily. “I feel unafraid and soothed by the way you hold me tight. Maybe, we should make this a generally accepted behaviour, so you don’t have to do it in secret, and I don’t have to feel so embarrassed about enjoying hugs so much?”

“That is a stellar idea,” Glorfindel replied and smiled blissfully at the empty room.

“Safe travels!” Elladan and Elrohir stood at the gates, smiling brightly at Glorfindel as he led his horse by the reins.

“Erestor will be insufferable,” Arwen groaned, her beautiful face puckered with dread. “He always is when you’re away.”

Leaning closer to her until his cheek touched hers ever so lightly, Glorfindel whispered into her ear that she should try hugging him every now and then.

“Does he not smell like dust and death?” Elrohir joked but regained his composure immediately when a hard, unamused glare hit him.

Smiling wickedly, Arwen seemed to consider that new-found piece of information for a moment and then nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she said, “that, I can do. I remember quite well how you used to rock me in your arms, singing songs that were highly inappropriate but eminently entertaining for an elfling such as I was.”

“Don’t let your father hear you,” Glorfindel squeaked, and—sweeping the tall, graceful lady into his arms—he threw her into the air until she was breathless with laughter.

“You,” she wheezed, “are one of my best childhood memories.”

“And ours,” the twins added; they were checking Glorfindel’s pack and saddle like they always had, and he gave them the same serious, grateful smile they remembered from the time when he still had had to hold them aloft so they could tug at various straps and nod ponderously.

“Your childhood,” he replied as he hoisted himself onto the back of his trusty steed, “is one of my most cherished recollections as well. Be kind to Erestor, and I shall be back before you even have time to miss me.”

As he looked back at the proud descendants of his dearly missed Eärendil, his heart was full, and he whistled a wistful song as he rode out to honour a promise he had once given.

“Welcome to our—my father’s realm,” Legolas laughed, scratching his head sheepishly.

“Have you been back long?” Glorfindel asked, interested, and beamed when a burly, stout frame moved into view.

“The Lord of the Glittering Caves,” he exclaimed, genuinely happy to find Gimli in good health; they had conversed but very briefly before the Council in Imladris, but Glorfindel had listened to his tales with rapt interest.

At that time, he had also been invited to visit the Greenwood Realm—after the threatening shadow had been vanquished—and Glorfindel had ever been one to honour the word he had given.

The trees were different here, he thought, dark, old, and—if he was not very much mistaken—as ill-tempered as his very own lover could be at times.

“I shall have a small repast brought up,” Legolas cheered, excited to share the much-doubted and abnegated hospitality of his native kingdom with honoured guests.

Waiting in relaxed expectation, Glorfindel soon found out that Lord Gimli had as many questions about the Elven folk—he apparently only believed half of what Legolas told him on pure principle—as Glorfindel had about the elusive Khâzad.

“Are you all as stuffy as his father?” Gimli asked, jabbing a well-spiced drumstick forcefully into the quiet, fragrant night air. “I know my friend here is quite a jokester, but is the average Elf more like King Thranduil or more like Legolas?”

Glorfindel’s eyes grew round with surprise, and he cocked his head—making the small, festive bells braided into his hair jingle—and gave the matter some thought before answering.

“As you can clearly see,” he said, giving his hair another merry toss, “not all of us are very stern and dignified. As for the average elf—”

He fell silent and shuddered. “There—thankfully—is no such thing. I would say that King Thranduil can, at times, be the most formal and pompous of those who remain, but, then again, most of the High Lords and Ladies are undoubtedly very impressive.”

“Legolas—”

“Has time to become all that,” Glorfindel interrupted kindly. “At the same time, I’ve lived a very long time, and it has never happened for me, so don’t take my word for it.”

As the evening progressed, and the wine flowed, Glorfindel was soon overcome by a flood of longing when he thought of his loved ones in Imladris.

“Is he sad? Will he die now?” Gimli asked Legolas in a slightly alarmed tone.

“No,” Legolas laughed. “I dare say Lord Glorfindel is homesick.”

“Aren’t you pointy-eared tree-huggers always melancholy and yearning for some lost place?” Gimli commented dryly, scratching his beard and setting aside the wetting stone he had been passing over his axe in practised, regular movements.

“Can we help, Lord Glorfindel?” Legolas then inquired politely, ready to sneak into his father’s private reserve to fetch some of the rarer and more precious treats this Kingdom had to offer.

Startled by his words, Glorfindel was quick to wave aside their touching concerns.

“D’ya need a hug, Elf?” Gimli asked after having observed Glorfindel for a moment in contemplative silence. “I know your kind usually does not hold with that kind of physical affection—drastic, they’d call it, I am sure—but you look like you could do with one.”

To his surprise and delight, Glorfindel eagerly accepted that offer and extended his arms to welcome the strong, densely muscled arms that were slung around his midriff like ropes of braided steel.

“I…I find that I have been changed by the people around me,” he explained with an apologetic smile; even though he was not typically one to feel uncomfortable or even ashamed about the way he led his life, he felt nevertheless that he owed the prince of the realm an explanation for his highly unusual, nay even inappropriate, behaviour.

“Oh,” Legolas chuckled. “No need to justify this to me. After the tragic loss of my mother, my father would hug and cuddle me often, and I do not hesitate to admit that Gimli and I quite enjoy exchanging physical gestures of affection.”

“Skinny as a twig,” Gimli muttered good-humouredly. “All skin and bones.”

“Yes,” Legolas added, nodding wisely. “My dearest friend also insists on feeding me well—he is inordinately worried about my well-being.”

Eyebrows rising in bewilderment, Glorfindel wanted to object that—if anything—it was incumbent on Legolas to tend to the various vital needs of a being so woefully prone to illness and death, but his host almost imperceptibly shook his head.

“We all have our ways of expressing affection and support,” Legolas said and stretched out on the soft forest floor with a deep sigh. “And I, for one, think all of them are wonderful!”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November (by @cilil)

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #November #Nanowrimo2023 #Glorfindel #Elrond #Erestor #Glorestor #Elladan #Elrohir #Legolas #Gimli #Legolas x Gimli #Soft cuddles

[glorfindel-of-rivendell]

Spring Festival II: Part 4

@counsellorerestor

(Continued from Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3)

Despite their friendship, it was in fact the first time that Glorfindel would get to see Erestor's rooms. There have not been many chances nor reasons to see it; Imladris, after all, boasts the welcoming warmth of the Hall of Fire, and Glorfindel has not resided in the Valley long enough for there to be an occasion when they might need an alternate venue where their offices or the gardens did not suffice.

He therefore places the roses with near reverent care on the table Erestor indicated. Erestor's rooms suit him perfectly: elegant, organised, yet clearly lived in, filled with things that Erestor favours. Glorfindel would have wished for more time to look around, but he does not wish to appear too nosy when he is supposed to be merely passing.

Another time, Glorfindel thinks, hoping that now that he's come here, there would be reason again in the future to do so.

Sure enough, Erestor returns shortly, which Glorfindel welcomes with a smile.

They leave Erestor's rooms and cross the hallways. Glorfindel's rooms are a little more at the end of the wing, on the east where one can meet the Sun as it rises each day.

Glorfindel opens the door to his rooms, where immediately they are greeted by a large open window on the other side. While the room itself makes up the seating area of the place, complete with the simple fireplace that keeps the room warm and cosy on colder days, Glorfindel himself spends the most time on the cushioned nook by that very same window. The sill is lined with green plants flourishing in their pots, an ecclectic mix of herbs and small forest ferns, calatheas, flowering daisies, golden begonias, and a young bed of pansies. A delicate orchid hangs from one corner, yet to flower, while white morning glories peek from where they cling to the outside walls of the main house. Beside the pots are a humble row of books, there to keep Glorfindel company on days when he is at leisure enough to read.

“Please make yourself at home,” bids Glorfindel as he gestures Erestor to come inside. “I will not be long. I just need to wash off the grime of the fields and return to my festival robes, and I should once again be fit for polite company.”

#rp #closed rp #glorestor #erestor #rp: rose tournament

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

FInwe in the third age part ii

Over the next few days, the injured elf woke only briefly, saying confused phrases, or moaning in pain. Elrond considered whether it would promote peace in the valley if the only one present in the room who spoke no Quenya, so they could spread no rumors. But that would further distress the patient, and Elrond did not want him - whoever he was - to be upset, or to be tempted to go out and find answers. So there was always someone in the room who spoke Quenya, a nurse or a child of the Exile or a member of Elrond's family, with instructions to alert Elrond immediately if the patient was able to converse. (And to tell no one what they overheard, "for the sake of the stranger's privacy.")

It was nearly a week before Elrond was able to test his suspicions with anyway other than Glorfindel's sketches. Elladan had rushed to his study with the news that the patient was awake and impatient to know what was going on.

"Good afternoon, I'm glad to see you're feeling recovered. I am Elrond Peredhel, lord and chief healer of Rivendell."

"Yes, your son mentioned. I'm sorry, you seem familiar somehow but I can't think of any hall called Rivendell in Aman."

"I am not surprised you haven't, it's a long way from Tirion and we have not met before. I know you just survived a very stressful situation, but I have to ask you some questions to make sure you're oriented before I can explain."

"Even before you can tell me if anyone else survived the attack? The one in here earlier said it's been days, is there no word of my grandsons?" The patient began to push himself out of the bed as he said this.

Elrond pushed down on his shoulder, the weight too much for the injured elf to lift. (It's not treason to give your king medical care, and it's not like I ever pledged him my service. Elrond reminded himself. It feels like blasphemy, but when has that stopped me?) "Do NOT try to stand or sit! Your belly was torn open, and any further movement could tear it again. And as for your question, I could answer it better if I knew who you were."

"I'm Finwe! King of the Noldor and lord of Tirion - though currently Nolofinwe is ruling it. How do you not know that? Even the few Noldor I haven't spoken with should have seen me at festivals."

Elrond ignored the question. "It's good that you recall that. You were the only member of your family injured in the attack. Now, can you talk me through what you remember happening?"

Finwe sighed in relief. "That's good. I remember there was darkness. But deeper than I'd seen anywhere in Valinor, even in caves. Deeper even than a cloudy night in the forest beside Cuivienen. It was terrifying, and strange, and impossible. I told Maitimo to find his brothers and run, but something was coming. I stayed to fight it off, or at least buy time."

"That was very brave."

"What else could I have done? The attacker - surely you must know, your son didn't seem surprised when I told him to warn everyone - it was Melkor. The Dark Hunter has returned to his evil ways. He kept asking where Feanor was, and the Silmarils. I would not help him, but I have not fought since I hunted my meals underneath the stars. Melkor is a Vala, with all their might, and he overpowered me. The last thing I recall is seeing him walk away into the house. And then waking up here, among strangers."

Elrond nodded. "Thank you. Now, what I'm about to say will likely seem very shocking, but I must recommend as a healer that you do not make abrupt movements. Your body is still weak, far more so than your soul is accustomed to."

"What news could be that shocking, after being attacked in my home?"

"You are not in Valinor anymore, but instead are in Middle Earth. You can see for yourself out the window, that the stars are far clearer than they would be under the Trees."

"How did I get here? It must have taken months - did Melkor have me captive?"

"I have no more idea how you got here than you do; my people found you dying and half drowned on the banks of the river. You have been unconscious for nearly a week, and in that time we have seen no trace of anything that brought you here, nor any tracks leading from the site."

"But - if it's been a week, how has news reached you from Valinor? Even if Feanaro followed his plan to return to these lands, it would take months to sail."

"That is the second piece of shocking news, and the hopefully the last one of such magnitude. It has been over seven hundred years since Morgoth attacked Formenos, by the count in Valinor under the Trees. You were believed to be dead."

"That's impossible."

"And yet, it happened."

"Am I supposed to just take you at your word on this?"

"I do not give my word lightly, but I shall if you request it and will refrain from straining yourself trying to investigate shadows that aren't there."

"Do so, if you are not a servant of Melkor."

"I swear by Varda and by Ulmo that I have not lied to you, and that I wish for you to recover from your injuries. There is much I have not told you yet, as the tale of three Ages is long indeed, but I will tell you in time."

Finwe still lay there glaring at Elrond, but he made no move to get out his bed. "And how much time will it take before you tell me of my family?"

"There is little I can say for certain about how they are, as we do not have frequent news from Valinor. Artanis dwells on these shores, and rules Lothlorien with her husband. I married their daughter Celebrian, and so my sons and I are your family as well, but no one else is in Middle Earth."

"I am surprised Feanor did not come here, even after so long as you say it has been."

"He did, to avenge your death as much as to find a land where he could be free, but Melkor killed him as well."

"How convenient that all the people I would recognize are far away."

"No, it's not, as if you worry less you will heal faster. I suppose there is one. Do you know Glorfindel of - of the Golden Flower?" of Gondolin would mean nothing to Finwe.

"I think Turgon has a friend named that, have they started coming up with fancy titles when out on the town?"

"You could say that. He is the captain of Rivendell's guard, but could be spared from his duties long enough to speak with you."

"Fine, send him in."

#finwe in the third age #silm #my fic #silmarillion #elrond #finwe #Elrond sent a messenger bird to Galadriel as soon as he confirmed that the sketch matched #''hey your dead grandpa just showed up looking like he lost a fight with morgoth - any tips?''

[counsellorerestor]

Spring Festival II

Continued from here, for @glorfindel-of-rivendell.

At the archery fields, Glorfindel does well enough that he has to remove his flower wreath and have white and gold victor's ribbons threaded through the delicate circlet.

"I should have chosen a lighter wreath for you; at this rate you will have more ribbon than flower by day's end," Erestor teases as they walk to lunch, the ribbons blending with Glorfindel's hair (though on the largely dark-haired Noldorin population of Imladris, they would have made a pretty contrast).

He tries not to be too conscious of the picture they make; he reminds himself that it would be a shame to let petty gossips ruin a festival day spent with a good friend. And so what if he wants more? He will appreciate this while it lasts.

Still, when they join Elrond in piling their plates with bread and meat pies and roast vegetables, still steaming and glistening with fresh yellow butter, the half-Elf's gaze flicks between them in amusement before Erestor sends him a very pointed look.

They eat and talk of nothing in particular, though at some point Erestor does grumble at length about some story he had recently read by a mortal writer; it was apparently hailed as a classic by mortals, but he had not been impressed by the writing. Other scribes and guards occasionally approach him to check orders, and at some point he has to duck over to the artisans' pavilion to check that everything is still running smoothly.

He is still nibbling on a piece of marchpane as they near the tournament list fields.

#RP #closed RP #Glorfindel #Glorestor #RP: spring festival

[noirbriar]

Fire & Stone AU: Bonds

The end of the Third Age, peace has come. Yet Glorfindel and Erestor find themselves in a bit of trouble with outdated customs.

In which elven high society, especially the line of Finwe, have rules and traditions to be followed for noble born elves. No exceptions.

An AU where the sons of Durin lived and Maglor resides now in Imladris some time before The Hobbit. OOC a high possibility, its all on me. Coughed out this random ficlet for fun and excuse for some family drama.

Things of note/warnings: none although maybe child acquisition? also, the writer's tolkien knowledge is rather rudimentary still so anything in here should just be taken as a pure AU. --- "Now this is a rare sight! A new age of peace and here you are, bested by an orc! My young commander, I see you have been slacking." Maglor strides in, his robes swishing quietly into the healing wing. "Don't antagonise the patient." Elrond prompts dryly from behind as he arranges his salves and bandages at the side to be cleared away by the other healers. "I would like to see you try to go up against a double ambush while trying to get the villagers to safety with a lean troop." Erestor grumbles from his spot in the bed, eyes closed, trying to focus in putting up his mental walls, blocking out the numb pain from his wretched shoulder from his mate. "A new age yet the foul damn creatures continue to be a pain in the ass."

"And I heard from Kili and Tauriel you picked up a gift along the way?" Maglor grins as he reaches out to pat the small lump buried into Erestor's better side. Only to be rewarded with a bite and a sharp cry as the old Feanorian quickly pulls his hand back to safety from the fiesty child on defensive.

A toddler who could barely walk really.

"And don't tease the elfling, Atya." Elrond admonishes softly though with a soft smile .The healer tries to brush away the messy silvery blond hair from the elfling's face, but pulls back when the child pulls away from his touch.The elfling resumes clutching onto Erestor like a baby squirrel.

"Unfortunately he seems to be an orphan long before the attack, being cared for by his fellow villagers all this while from what I heard. Still, the little one seems to have taken a great liking to his protector... I suppose its really a Feanorian trait to pick up little ones and be chosen by them." The Lord of Imladris slowly adds, his eyes alight with mischief much like his younger self.

Maglor chuckles under his breath at the statement with a shake of his head. Whereas the elfling simply stare at the father and son duo balefully, his eyes narrowed in a way that is reminiscence to a displeased Erestor. Before the little one huddles closer to the dark haired elf for comfort.

Erestor is quiet, as he lets the child do as he please, caressing the elfling's back before his eyes begain to droop, his body demanding for a healing sleep. Elrond leaves, leaving his adoptive father to watch over his old follower. Maglor then decides to sings a healing song for his old soldier that he have come to care for dearly. Its was too lovely a day to be without song anyway. and the weakened child could use some power from a Song after such an ordeal.

It was a while before the Singer notices Erestor trembling in his rest, almost in pain from what Elrond has deemed a normal wound.The elfling whimpers in worry. Maglor stops and sits on the bed instead to examine the clean bandages. Baffled, he puts his hand onto the younger elf's hand instead and tries to reach out with his weak fea to provide some comfort from the pain.

For a moment there is warmth, before something tingles, and pulls. Which causes Maglor jumps back in shock and the elfling to be startled in turn, before starting to cry. Its as if someone has dumped him into the Brunien before flinging his fea across the sea... So Maglor does the only reasonable thing in this situation- "ELROND!!" ---

Glorfindel is worried. Lately, he could hardly feel his mate through their young bond. (A bond! At long last, his beloved's fea melded with his own, singing ever so sweet. He have never felt so at peace and so complete with another heart beating with his own. ) As the escort of Celeborn, Galadriel and the Galadhrim to Imladris, the warrior had to be apart from his husband for a more than a few months, shortly after their bonding and their return from Gondor. It was a slow journey home, as he and his troops guided the elves awaiting to sail for the West to the last Homely House.

Last he heard before he left, there were news of stray orcs, stragglers along the borders. With all the administrative work delegated to others in the household and council, Erestor have taken upon himself to command some troops to check on the matter. Yet no messengers have come by with regards to any trouble and he felt no distress from Erestor, so there was some comfort in that. The Captain knows his husband is a master with his blades, the Chief Councillor skilled with his swords even after years of administrative work. However the lost of gentle nudges and touches from his mate is still concerning.

And if he had nudges Asfaloth a little faster upon spotting reaching the main bridge, no one was willing to call him out on it. What he had not expect was a pair of restless twins awaiting for their arrival at the end of it. "Greetings, Grandfather! Grandmother! We hope your journey has been smooth." Elladan greeted as Elrohir proceeded forward and they greeted their elders .Almost too formal, Glorfindel thought. "Elladan? Elrohir? I did not expect you both to greet us all the way out here. What trouble did you both get into this time?" Glorfindel grins at the twins.

"Ah ha! But its not us you should be worried about, dear Captain." Elrohir smirks while Elladan strides up and pats the Golden Elf wryly with a glint in his dark eyes.

"Its you."

-- In the twilight, Glorfindel grits his teeth as he is starting to be immensely annoyed that he is unable to at least find his husband first. Unable to even freshen up after days of travel, before he was whisked away by Elladan and Elrohir into the inner wings of the House. His bond with Erestor still quiet despite the proximity, even with the twins assuring that Erestor was in Imladris.

Following closely beside him, are the curious Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, both by the request of the twins' father.

"For support." Whatever that means. What greeted him at the large outdoor meeting chamber that Elrond favors, was the Lord of Imladris himself, sitting instead by the side seat of the long table. The head chair was empty. Further away, was unmistakably, though surprisingly, the second son of Feanor. As Maglor turns to greet the guests, Glorfindel sees clearly now. No longer dressed in his usual plain and unremarkable robes, but in elegant brocade and silk. Maglor's hair adorned with the style of old elves of a forgotten time with a beautifully crafted circlet adorned with small moonstones by a Master smith, marking his status as a noble.

Elladan and Elrohir gives a bow and steps slightly out by the corridor. Excusing themselves from this meeting. Something is wrong.

"My greetings, Laurefindil. You have finally returned. Now take a seat, I feel that we must have an urgent discussion." Maglor smiles and gestures to the seat on the opposite side of the table. Formal manners of court and Quenya. Not good. Glorfindel's warrior instincts are rising up.

"Galadriel, Celeborn, my greetings. As Glorfindel's cousin and family, please, pardon for a lack of hospitality but I'm afraid it must be done. Do take a seat as well beside your kin."

"What are you up to now, Maglor." Celeborn remarks flatly, trying to keep some basic civility with the Son of Feanor. plainly ignoring the use of Quenya entirely, and carefully leading his wife to her seat with Elrond guiding his in-laws.

Maglor does not grace with a reply but with a small smile, as he takes a seat at the head chair, hands clasps together before him. A warm air of quiet descends upon the noble born elves in the peaceful valley as time slows with only the sound of the waterfalls and music by the minstrels. A picture of serenity.

---

"So...what is the fuss for? Why is everyone crowding around the balconies and trees?" Kili asks as he observes the happenings around him, casually munching on an apple slice, and feeding Tauriel a slice as well.Being ever the doting husband.

The dwarven prince and his wife are perching precariously on a balcony railing with Thorin and Bilbo lounging nearby. The King Under The Mountain and his Consort both unbothered by the commotion.

They were simply enjoying the quiet afternoon with Bilbo's tea. Before dozens of curious denizens of the elven haven wandered into the public pavilion. From the maids to the council members, curious and eager about something.Their excitement and low murmurings like the rustling of the leaves.

And that something is happening right now.

---

Glorfindel's instincts are on high alert. But finally, impatience to reunite with his mate had won out. The Golden Lord chooses to strike on offensive.

"So, why have you called me here, Makalaure?" The Golden Lord of Gondolin begins. There was none of his usual humour.

"Long has it been since I must bear that name and even the responsibilities of a Lord. Though I care not but only for my family. My father and brothers no longer on these shores. Yet my sons and nephews were. I am ashamed to be a terrible Uncle and Father, unable to care for them until its too late." Maglor's voice wavers as he tries not to delve too deep into memories.

A careful strike has Glorfindel tensing up on defensive as he catches on to Maglor's words, but he remains silent. This is a problem.

"You were hurt and in sorrow, and you didn't know." Elrond reasons quietly, as he pats Maglor's shaking hands gently, as father and son share comfort in each other's presence for a moment.

"Alas, in this moment that I am able, I must do what is right, in place of my brother, or I shall not be able to face my younger brother and my family in the Void..."

Slowly, the old Lord turns back to Glorfindel, eyes alight. The last son of Feanor then demands-

"So tell me, Laurefindil. Did you think you can skip on tradition and wed my only nephew left without the proper procedure and rites worthy of the great-grandson of Finwe, grandson of Feanor? The son of Caranthir the Dark?"

The music goes silent, the air stills.

Celeborn and Galadriel sits higher at the revelation, with the Lord turning to his Lady in surprise and wonder. Only to receive a graceful shake of her head in silent reply by the great Lady of Lothlorien. So the two turn instead to the great Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, who is resisting the urge to show any reaction.

Well, shit.

---

Time froze before chaos breaks out in the Last Homely House. There were a range of emotions with gasps and confusion by the residents of Imladris, especially from the old Feanorians in the household.

A living descendant of Feanor? Son of Caranthir? Erestor? The youngest General under Maedhros and Maglor's command? Their Chief Councillor, the Tempest of Imladris? There were so many questions, one of the old followers had even begun to cry.

Kili looks around in confusion.

"Soooo context? Anyone?"

"Oh..oh dear." Tauriel murmurs quietly," I think I get it now and this isn't good." The elleth turns to her in-laws, "Also, Lord Maglor's circlet...did you both know about this?"

The elves all turn to the old King, who simply took his time to answer." As a friend and fellow uncle, it was the least I could do," and the dwarf takes a sip of his ale and left it as that.

"Why? I mean, is there like a problem here with Erestor being related to Maglor...or I dunno, something?" Kili continues, trying his best to wrap his head around this peculiar situation.

"Yes, and Lord Maglor is calling Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor's marriage into question as Erestor's elder. I believe he is displeased with the lack of a marriage contract in accordance to the Marriage Code."

He stares at Tauriel," We...Is this an elf thing? We didn't have that when we married?"

"I'm Silvan, dear. This only apply to the high born elves."

Kili blinks, and instead turns to Bilbo. Thorin sighs at his nephew pointedly and tiredly," Balin's going to flip if he hears this." His Hobbit chuckles at the younger dwarf's blank look before taking a moment to enlighten the younger dwarf.

"Its basically a procedure by both parties and their families.Before marriage and the binding of fea, nobles may undergo trials to prove the worthiness of their match. A terribly lengthy process."

"They are also assessed by their assets and wealth and status of 3 generations minimum. Before they dive deeper into binding agreements regarding their descendants, heirs, inheritance and the like. Down to even the minute details of scenarios like, what should happen if they fade or sail. Or if they reach Valinor should there be other lovers? Or any possible family feuds to address. Possibly even in unspeakable situations such as Separation, which what Men called a divorce. Something that dwarrow do not have as you all only have Ones. " Bilbo takes a quick puff of his pipe, "its a serious thing to the high born elves like those originally from the Valinor, and especially so to the line of Finwe."

There soon was some commotion down in the meeting hall where Maglor and Glorfindel's discussion were getting louder. The Son of Feanor has even gotten up from his chair to articulate something with a wide flair which the Golden Lord is trying to rebuke with obvious gestures. "Oh...It looks like the other party who is involved is here." Bilbo muses with an amused smile as he spots dark figure gliding by the corridors.

---

"-We have bonded with your's and Elrond's blessing have we not!?" Glorfindel tries to reason, the discussion now jumping back to Westron as he gets frustrated with the roundabout argument looping endlessly.

"That was without the knowledge that he is my blood kin! And how dare you keep this from us? Do you disrespect his roots?!" Maglor leans onto the table with both hands, unwilling to back down.

"We are almost in the Fourth Age, what use do we have any more of old redundant laws anyway?" Glorfindel shoots back, thinking back of all the tedious practices and rules from the Years of the Trees to his time in Gondolin, the stifling rules of nobility and how ridiculous it has gotten when he returned up till now.

"A Code that was implemented to protect the welfare of all involved! Remember the mess that involved my Grandfather and his wives! Even Elrond went through with the Code!"

Elrond hums in a detached sort of way as his eyes glazes over, not meeting his in-laws' eyes. He quickly pushes down the memories of the long and tedious marriage discussions and procedures before his marriage to Celebrian.

"Then I shall remind you of Thingol and Luthien and then look what that had nearly wrought as well!" Glorfindel snaps, his patience long gone.The Lord of the Golden Flower glowers back in fury, the balrog slayer’s eyes ablaze.

"Long has been our wish to be wed simply like any other eldar who are free from the bonds of duty and oaths that haunt us! We have beheld no other for several yeni till we felt we are free to live as we desire! Codes and Laws and Oaths all be damned!"

"My heart is Erestor's, as his is mine till the Remaking-Nay! Even after that! The only ones that matter in this relationship are myself and my mate! No other! May they be eldar or edain, maia or even the Valar themselves! I will not allow even you, Makalaure, to take away our joy simply for the sake of some out dated tradition! Our hearts are ours alone, is that not how it should be?!"

"OH! Then even if my nephew has your child? What then?!" the Son of Feanor waves with a flourish of his arm towards the entrance way. Glorfindel's mind grinds to a sudden halt as he then turns to Erestor who had arrived. Like a trickling dam, the warrior felt the connection to his mate burst forth and return with the lowering of Erestor's mental walls. A rush of warmth and fullness fill his fea before he felt his breath leave him in a rush. The yearning and love flowing down steadily while Glorfindel could only stare at his handsome mate striding in. The Chief Councillor ignoring the twin guards by the hall's entrance with a wave of his dark, loose robes in a flurry. His storm cloud, wild and fierce even with a tiny blond elfling in his arms, watching him with wide dark eyes...

Oh. Hold up.

"...What?"

---

A/N:Yeah I'll go yeet myself out now

#erestor #glorfindel #glorestor #tauriel #kili #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #maglor #elrond #ficlet #dont hurt me im soft #fire & stone au #lotr #silmarillion #the hobbit

[annoyinglandmagazine]

In Which War Is Safer Than This Family Reunion chapter 3

Bilbo was most decidedly not eavesdropping, people of his age didn’t eavesdrop that would be terribly undignified, for the likes of young Pippin and even he had supposedly matured. Whether he believed it or not…. well he himself had matured in some ways after his own adventure but in others he was bizarrely unchanged. So if when he was passing the library he happened to pass by the dining room and try to catch a glimpse of what all this drama could have been about, well he was a thief after all.

‘Oh I almost forgot,’ said in the tone of someone who had never forgotten anything in her life, ‘I brought some of my Naneth’s baking for afterwards, she’s very excited to meet you by the way darling, I thought you might like to try them,’ the elf maid that he was calling Woman Who Looks Disconcertingly Like A More Passive Aggressive Elrond In A Dress or Elrond Clone for short, said in a cheerful way that made it clear she was setting up to insult someone around the table.

Glorfindel however perked up slightly at this, ‘This wouldn’t happen to be some Doriathrim nut confection would it, my lady?’

She smiled back perfectly pleasantly as she took a polite bite out of the venison in front of her, ‘It would indeed, walnut and pear roulade to be specific.’

Glorfindel leaned over to Elrond and whispered in his ear, ‘Maybe I was too hasty, perhaps this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. The Sindar I knew in Gondolin certainly knew how to bake and I’d imagine Nimloth is no different.’

However he sent a look to Elrond afterwards making very clear that he took his words back when Elwing continued, ‘I on the other hand, as you might remember from any attempts at lembas during your youth, did not have a very thorough education in such matters due to unforeseen circumstances,’ she chuckled in a way that should have been self deprecating given the statement but with the way everyone in the room tensed and she made direct and ever so slightly manic eye contact with I Know Elves Are Tall But This Is Ridiculous who shot her a smile in return that was perhaps the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen and that included the giant dragon.

She did not stop. ‘You know I detect some Sindarin techniques in the dinner, Celeborn must have taught you, such a good influence and role model for you to have isn’t he?’ Bilbo saw people actually wince. That was even less veiled than all the jabs so far, if anything over this dinner had been remotely restrained.

Still Too Tall But This One Has Black Hair chimed in, with that unique look of someone ready to finally let loose after one probe too many that he recognised from many an awkward party, despite the redhead shooting him a warning look identical and in sync with Elrond’s ‘Really? Because I believe that this meat is cooked exactly how I would have taught him-’

‘Oh you taught him to cook! I wonder how you went about that, everyone was so low on supplies from what I’ve heard of the state of things around then,’ Anxious Looking Blonde Who’d Barely Spoke So Far spoke quickly in a, very obviously to everyone who’d been paying attention so far, futile attempt to assuage tensions.

Cutlery scraped just a little too sharply across plates in the room as Ridiculously Tall smiled appreciatively at the change of subject, ‘Yes there was quite a challenge but we mostly tried survival meals, for in emergencies such as our own and such, we’d start by lighting a good outdoor fire-’

‘Oh of course you’d know plenty about that.’

Anxious Blonde rested his hand on that of Elrond Clone and said ‘Could we please try to be more pleasant? We’ve all come a long way and the important thing is that we’re here with our son-’

Maglor decided to go in for the kill, ‘Earendil, do you really think you ought to weigh in, you do realise the only reason you haven’t been attacked for your parenting style yet is that there isn’t any to critique?’ Well that was so blatant he could understand it without any of the seemingly centuries of context needed to catch the rest of this conversation, wait a moment Earendil-

‘Don’t you dare speak to my husband like that-’

Elrond placed his fork down delicately before slamming his hands onto the table to silence the argument and speaking with a soft fury that Bilbo would have thought him incapable of. It sent shivers running down his spine even knowing Elrond was as kind a person as you could find. ‘Alright, that is quite enough that. Can you not just get on for one dinner? I really didn’t think I was asking too much considering the fact that, if we are being fully honest here, none of you would win any parenting awards for the shambles that was first half century of my life.’

He raised an eyebrow as if inviting anyone to disagree. None did.

‘Oh and another thing. Don’t believe for a minute I don’t know what you’re trying to do,’ he looked pointedly at Tall Black Hair, ‘and it’s not going to work. I asked you to come here because I wanted to see you and I don’t appreciate you attempting to manipulate me into making you leave. I’m frankly insulted you think I’d fall for that, you didn’t raise an idiot; you’re not getting out of this that easily, you kidnapped me, you’re stuck with me now.’

What? Kidnapped- what in the world was going on?! The rest of the conversation barely registered, so great was his confusion, and he slipped back to his rooms in a daze. Several hours later he found Elrond alone in the room picking up shattered dishes from the carpet and his heart broke for him, he must have been trying so hard and Bilbo had tried to believe everything would be alright but it had been impossible to ignore the thundering voices in several languages even from the other side of the house. Elrond turned to greet him while picking a salad leaf out of his hair.

‘Well, that went quite well if I do say so myself,’ Elrond smiled, genuinely cheerful, as if what had just happened was anything less than a worst case scenario for any family gathering. Which was saying something because while the good family reunion was a rare and beautiful thing the disastrous one came in many shapes and sizes and Bilbo liked to think himself in expert in the latter by now but nothing he’d seen or heard before scratched the surface of whatever he’d just witnessed.

He thought of how to enquire tactfully and then decided there was no need to start now, ‘Did it? How did these all get broken then?’

Elrond chuckled, ‘We threw them of course. I think it did rather a lot for all our ease of mind actually, venting and all that. I’ve always said throwing things can help, though this is the first time it’s actually been at my parents rather than pictures of them pinned on doors for knife practice- don’t tell anyone I said that Bilbo. They seemed in a better mood when they left anyway, they all promised to return anyway.’

Bilbo was definitely not imagining the howl of agony he heard from Glorfindel’s chambers down the hall at this last remark.

‘Oh. Well I suppose your family business is your own but I have to say there is one thing that still puzzles me.’

‘Only one? Well go ahead Mr Baggins, ask away.’

‘Who exactly divorced who?’

He did not get an answer, in fact only more questions from the way Elrond broke into a fit of laughter and grabbed a pillar for support. He’d just have to ask Glorfindel then, he seemed to know something.

#silmarillion #tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #elrond peredhel #bilbo baggins #glorfindel #maglor #maedhros #elwing #earendil #Humor

[tiutale]

"Observe your opponent's full body, Glorfindel." Egalmoth called to his student as Rôg grinned, spinning the staff along his body. 

Glorfindel grunted, moving carefully foot over foot around the other elf. "How am I to watch all of him while he spins that stick?" He grumbled. His eyes traveled over Rôg's form not sizing up his opponent but watching subtle cues. The drop of his shoulder. The position of his feet. That tapping of his smaller finger on his left hand that ceases for one moment before he attacks. 

Swinging his staff out he grinned as he caught Rôg's sudden movement and pushed him backward pushing his advantage he shifted into an attack stance and moved Rôg several paces back. 

The other Lord laughed as he danced from his younger opponents reach. "And you were reluctant to these sessions. You have improved greatly." 

Egalmoth watched his eyes focused on every small nuance of the bout. Several months prior he had suggested to Turgon that they train their elves in different techniques. When in battle if one lost a weapon they were proficient in it was advantageous to be able to use whatever one would find at hand. Turgon had readily agreed if nothing else it would give his Lords something better to do than play pranks through the city. 

"Your footing Glorfindel." 

The golden haired elf slowed his movements enough to get his feet in order which let Rôg get in a solid hit to his arm. Glorfindel hissed but his eyes flared. He was one of their more accomplished swordsmen thus was unaccustomed to being so off balanced during a bout. It irked him. 

Rôg's eyes danced with amusement as he pushed his advantage, swinging faster and moving to closer quarters as Glorfindel danced back. He grinned in approval as Glorfindel moved around the stone he had intended to trip him over and brought his weapon to block several blows. "Much improved." He laughed panting as beads of sweat began to form along his hairline. 

"If you lovely Ellon are done dancing with one another we have a meeting to attend." Ecthelion's playful words sung above the clack of the weapons. "Or have you forgotten our dear Galdor's celebration?" 

Both elves stepped back from one another offering the salute of respect as they set their staffs at their sides. Egalmoth hopped gracefully down from the fence as his fellow Lord approached. The Lord of the Fountain smiled, crossing his arms and inclined his head toward the two. "I see they have improved."

Egalmoth gave a nod,his own smile lined with weariness. "That they have." He eyed the dark haired elf shrewdly. "And when may I have the pleasure of your company in this ring, Thel." Ecthelion had the decency to blush and avoid his eyes. Sighing, Egalmoth simply turned to gather the weapons he had laid out. "You cannot avoid this forever." 

Ecthelion cringed. "I know. I do not intend to be so difficult." 

Rôg approached slowly, his eyes understanding. "Thel none of us truly enjoys stepping from our comfort to do this. Nor do we wish to be reminded of what may occur here should we be discovered. " 

Ecthelion looked at him with a saddened gaze. "Aye. I know Rôg." He smiled self consciously. "Nor do I relish being tossed to the dirt by you as many times as our friends have been in learning these new ways." 

Rôg chuckled. "Yet I enjoy keeping you young ones from to many delusions of invincibility." 

Glorfindel came forward, his expression tired but confident. Placing a calming hand on Ecthelion's shoulder his breaths still coming in huffs from the exercise. "Young ones keep you ancient elves from being too rigid in your ways." He laughed dodging a swipe to his golden head. He wrinkled his nose. "I am far too sweaty to attend our beloved wood elves' begetting celebration. I need a bath." 

Ecthelion laughed. "You both need a bath. Go. We shall clean this up and wait for you." He ignored the look Egalmoth turned to him and moved to begin tidying the weapons and practice dummies. 

"Give him time, Mellon." Rôg muttered as he placed a hand on Egalmoth's shoulder in passing. Egalmoth sighed, turning to help Thel clean the area. Time as we have found is not always at our sides.

#Glorfindel #Rôg #Ecthelion #Egalmoth

[hirazuki]

I said I wasn’t going to do the thing, but, eventually, inevitably, (and I’m sure you’re all shocked) I did the thing. My curiosity is insatiable and will be the death of me.

Thoughts under the cut!

Okay, we’re going to bullet list this shit, because otherwise it’s just going to be a stream of consciousness nightmare.

Rights

So, first off. The decision to deal with content that they can’t talk about or show continues to baffle me. In what world can you successfully tell a story which is one hundred percent reliant on the setup (i.e., events and characters that preceded it)... that you can’t touch because of copyright??? Name dropping silmarils and Feanor and Gondolin or whatever the fuck, randomly, isn’t going to magically glue things together and make it work; it’s just going to irritate the people who are watching who have knowledge of the Legendarium, and simply utterly confuse everyone else. I still maintain that, had they wanted to play around in Middle-Earth, they should have just created a completely original story, populated with completely original characters, with a canon character popping in for a cameo here and there as Easter eggs for funsies. 

Adaptation

No adaptation is going to be exactly like the source material except some incredibly rare gems of anime, almost always produced by Studio Bones, so I don’t think most of us going in really expected to experience The-Silmarillion-On-Screen. But I feel like the audience expecting a good story -- even if the story breaks from canon -- is like. not irrational. The bar is so low. I would have been sufficiently placated with a good story. Not even an exceptional one; just something with solid characters, a sensible plot, and a sense of adventure a la Tolkien. Something, even, in just the spirit of Tolkien. That’s it. Apparently, that’s too much to ask for lmao.

Story

I have... So. Many. Questions. Primarily about the reasoning behind a lot of this junk. Buckle in.

That was the most bizarre and cursory retelling of the events of the Years of the Trees and the First Age. Imagine Feanor getting left out just like that XDD

Why are we sailing into Valinor????? Galadriel herself, specifically, rejected the pardon of the Valar twice; she was like, nope, I’m good, not going back. Why would Gil-galad force her to go? Why does Gil-galad have any kind of power, political or otherwise, over her, she has her own realm to rule?? Why isn’t she in that realm, with her husband and daughter? I don’t get the motivations behind anything here.

Jumping off of a ship that close to Aman... thinking she’s going to swim back to Endor? That’s so dumb I can’t even.

Why are the elves fading in the Second Age??????? 

Don’t even get me started on the mithril shit. What is this, a drug? Are you going to compound it into pills, take twice daily with food? Wtf?? Fine dwarven mithril, direct from Khazad-dum, my friends, was not some kind of new, unheard of, miracle substance; it existed prior to this Age, and was also found in Numenor and Aman. Yes, Khazad-dum had the monopoly on it in Middle-Earth, but it was common knowledge and the whole reason the Noldor settled in Ost-in-Edhil was because of that mithril, and wanting to trade with the dwarves for it to use it in their crafts. It was no secret.

... the lost silmaril, are you fucking kidding me. All three are accounted for! Is this a fourth silmaril? Why is it in a tree?? Why is this random apocryphal elf battling with a balrog like this, why is Glorfindel being cannibalized again?? This poor dude, can’t catch a break in any adaptation from people tearing his role in any Age apart and handing it out to other characters. Also, mithril is a precious metal that, yes, is extremely valuable and unique, but it’s just. a. metal. Not some spooky supernatural thing. Ugh.

Why oh why is Galadriel in Numenor lmao. Wtf even is this timeline. Why are Numenoreans anti-elf and why is their primary concern the job market??? Why are they trying to sail into the West pre-Zigur?? Why are the palantiri lost before the island sinks? What the fuuuuuuck. 

Why does Elendil have a third child???

[side note: I’ve seen multiple articles calling Mairon Melkor’s “son” and I just XD I feel like like both parties would have so much to say about that. Like. So much. ANYWAY]

I liked Arondir enough, up until the moment he called the tiny human settlement made of stone and wood in the wide open plain the most “defensible” spot. Bro. There... there is nothing defensible about this. The entire segment of the battle against the orcs, actually, was very painful to experience, in terms of strategy (or rather, the lack thereof). People’s actions and decisions made absolutely no sense. Except for Waldreg; yeah, me too, buddy.

(Incidentally, why did an entire fort come crumbling down as a result of some rope???? Perhaps I missed something; oh wait! I must have, it was too fucking dark to see anything properly in the first place!)

Also, why is Bronwyn wearing that blue when no one else is? Expensive blue dye? Spaghetti strap dress? It’s like a really cheap game of pick out the Important Character amongst this rabble. 

I’ll bet you anything that the inspiration for the Stranger was that one instance when Olorin came back as Gandalf the White, and it took him a moment and an interaction with Aragorn to ground himself and remember his previous life, and they were like, let’s take that and put it on steroids -- i.e., we’re gonna make him not remember how to use his limbs, how to use words, he’s gonna be mute and dumb until the final episode until SUDDENLY he can speak in elaborate sentences and riddles >.> If this is how the Valar send their Maiar to Middle-Earth, they are even bigger jackasses than I have always considered them to be lmao. He is a MAIA, why would he show up naked and then wear rags????? Like, this is a perfect example of what I mean when I say that they disrespect the characters; it’s so demeaning. Hobo!Olorin; for fuck’s sake.

I can’t with the balrog, y’all, it’s literally one rock wall separating them, they clearly were trying to making this suspenseful and dramatic but it falls so very flat because it’s not even that deep. 

Love that the Numenoreans just landed in the exact spot where one (1) tiny human village in all of the southern portion of Middle-Earth is under attack, and they were able to immediately go to their rescue. They didn’t even try; no runner, no messenger, no finding some hapless soul in a field to direct them where to go. It’s so bad.

Orodruin has an on/off switch, guys! Too bad Mairon forgot to turn it off when he moved back in, in the Third Age, would have saved himself a lot of trouble if there had been no active lava to throw the ring in XDDD Jesus X_X

Pyroclastic flow, you can survive it, believe it. My god. 

Celeborn name-dropping was so very random. Seven episodes in, suddenly she remembers she has a husband! Time spent looking for Sauron: 200+ years. Time spent looking for missing husband: ... zero? She was on her way into the West without ever looking for him and the reason she turned back around is because she felt her work here was still unfinished, not, “oh maybe I should look for my husband and daughter”? Also, we just have to rip off Luthien and Beren, huh. 

Mordor to Lindon in six days!!!!!!!! What are those horses on, I want some too XD (it’s like... 800-ish miles, in a direct line, not accounting for mountain ranges and ravines and the like, where you’d have to find a way around. Even considering that elven steeds are super-horses -- so let’s say they can do 40 miles/day -- and pretend they don’t need to use roads and can fly over insurmountable passes, that should still be a journey of no less than 20 days; it’s across the entire fucking continent).

Sure, yeah, he’s a Maia so obviously a “mortal wound” isn’t gonna kill him, so he made the journey just fine. But she didn’t know that, yet she pushed the journey until he was visibly falling off his horse; callous, much??? What a bitch :D

Galadriel, in favor of ringmaking?????? Celebrimbor being proud and fond of his Feanorian blood (in public, to a complete stranger, no less)? Who are these people HELP.

WHY ARE WE GIVING TYELPE’S STORYLINE TO HER HASN’T SHE GIRLBOSSED ENOUGH

Fuck the 9 and the 5, I guess? The whole point is that they were made before... not after... because otherwise the subjugation wouldn’t woooooork. Oof.

Wow. 400+ years of living together, working together, and all the entanglements that brings, reduced to... what was it? 3 weeks? 3 months? I want. to. cry.

I just. Who looks at the Silmarillion and goes, “you know what this could use? MORE DRAMA.” Like, everyone is more than dramatic enough without adding a whole bunch of new dynamics in established relationships lmao.

I think that’s my main complaint, actually. First/Second Age is already essentially a family soap opera, but RoP has injected so much melodrama into it that it makes it completely tasteless. They’re changing not only major plot points but character dynamics and relationships... for what? To what end?? What is the purpose??? It’s certainly not effective story-telling, that’s for sure.

OH I forgot the harfoot storyline. Well. That goes to show what I think about it lmao. I get the sentiment behind it but the execution is so poorly done, it just doesn’t do it for me at all. It was just so piece-meal and shoddy and random -- what was even the point of the three sorcerers?? 

Dialogue

It’s just so bad. There’s the purple prose that runs circles around itself trying to make itself sound deep and Tolkien-ish, but is ultimately empty and means nothing (”why does a rock sink but a ship doesn’t” are you fucking kidding me, with word-smithing like that no wonder Mairon sang you into the ground and you deserve it). There’s the forced call-backs to the text/movies (”follow your nose,” “a gift,” etc.) that are shoved in there for Nostalgia and Relevance and feel awfully out of place. And then, my favorites: the really dumb one-liners that completely break whatever meagre atmosphere the series managed to set (“knife-ears” -- what is this, Dragon Age?! “the elves will take your jobs” -- like, really bro? are you serious?? “I’m good” -- ouch, that was so unspeakably cringe). 

The single exception is Adar’s dialogue; idk if someone different was writing him and his storyline or what, but this is way more like Tolkien. And, sadly, seeing that they can write like this, makes the rest of the series even worse. 

Also the choices of when/where to use Quenya vs. Sindarin... I’m so confused.

Costuming

...... what. the. fuck. Like, all of it, really, but the armor is especially... unfortunate. It’s just so poor, in concept and execution. I was wondering why the layers of mail were moving so weirdly, but at first I didn’t believe it when someone said that the mail worn under the breastplate, bracers and pauldrons by the Numenoreans is actually just the armor design printed onto long-sleeved shirts. Looking at it more closely since then... I really think they’re right, which is just yikes. I’m usually extremely forgiving in this department if the plot and tone are right, especially if it is a low-budget production (have y’all seen the costumes from Voyage of the Unicorn?? One of my favorite tv series. No joke. 100% adore the costuming too, as it fits the vibe and everything is clearly done just for the joy of it). But knowing they spent $60 million per episode, and it still turned out like this? That’s just gross. (And apparently the person who did the costuming is the same person who did the costumes for Crimson Peak, which I haven’t watched but the costumes are incredible... what a waste of her talent).

Also, the hair loss. Yes. Absolutely. It 100% detracts from the image, sorry. And I’m not talking only about the elves. The dwarven women got the short end of the stick, too. 

It’s the presentation, primarily, what the costuming does for the presentation of the characters (or what it doesn’t do, in this case). Galadriel should not have to pull her hair back and expose her ears in order for people to identify her as an elf; she should be ethereal and faerie and otherworldly and immediately distinguishable from those around her, as all elves should. Everyone is just so. bogged down in the mortal muck. It’s so disappointing. If you look at cast photos from the LotR and Hobbit movies, the difference between the cast in costume and the cast wearing their day to day clothing is like a punch to the face; here, everyone looks like they stepped off of the street and onto the set :/

Again, the exception seems to be Adar. He’s by far the most Tolkien-looking of all the characters, and definitely gives off First Age survivor vibes even from just the way he looks, and I really don’t understand why they chose to not to let a similar aesthetic guide the appearance of the rest of the elven cast. It’s baffling.

Casting

XDDDD 

I mean. I don’t even know what to say. A good portion of why everyone looks so ugly is absolutely the costuming and makeup work and I do think that even just longer hair would improve them a great deal, but there are certain characters that have been so horribly mis-cast, namely Elrond, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor. They just don’t vibe as the characters. And, speaking as a complete non-shipper, if Tyelpe looked like that, I firmly believe that Mairon would have skipped Ost-in-Edhil altogether; he’d have taken one look and been like, yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass. Like, why does he look like he’s about to croak??? This is supposed to be the elves at the height of their power in Eregion! And he’s Feanor’s grandson, he’s not that old!!! He was only two-thousand something years old when he died!!! Galadriel has a couple of centuries on him at least. (My most heartfelt sympathies to the Silvergifting folks, btw; Tyelpe did not become a banner for this utter nonsense).

I really enjoyed the idea of Disa and Arondir. Truly. And the actors did give it their all, which is really the only thing saving their characters, in my opinion. But I do think that they were done a disservice as well, in being associated with the rest of this. I’m all for diverse casting (though, can’t help but note the lack of Asian representation in a series that is patting itself on the back for diversity), but aside from these two, everyone else was just... very token-ish. Caricature-ish, to the point of being insulting. What was with the accents from Rhun??? As someone from the part of the world that that was inspired by, I was cringing. I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to watch season 2 if Rhun is going to be a big focus and they insist on presenting it like this. Idk, the casting choices definitely gave off the vibe of Representation™ for the sake of Brownie Points instead of actually being inclusive, and it left such a bad taste in my mouth. I know they’re gonna drag Khamul into this mess, I know it, but I’m fervently wishing him a very I-hope-you-don’t-get-included

Music

There are some good moments, a couple of bars that woke me up here and there, but ultimately forgettable. It’s not awful, but it is terribly mediocre, and from a composer whose other work I have enjoyed, that’s just really very sad (I guess this series brought out the worst in everyone???)

Galadriel

Where to fucking start

She’s really just a very painful example of people, yet again, thinking “Strong female character” means unlikable bitch who is in everyone’s face and listens to no one because she is StRonK.

Ugh. Commander who has no respect from her men? Who doesn’t even bother to work with her men?

Yes, obviously she’s younger in the Second Age than the Third Age, no. shit. She’s not who the Fellowship meets in Lothlorien, not yet, she’s still growing into that person. Obviously she has serious scars from the First Age and before. She participated in the First Kinslaying. She was called Nerwen, and regularly participated in athletic feats. She crossed the Helcaraxe. She refused the Valar’s pardon twice. She fought and she lost so much. But just because you want to portray her as younger, as angry or vengeful or whatever (which is fine! she was!) does not mean that she is a brat or that she is inelegant or that she is dumber than a brick. 

She picks a quarrel with everyone she speaks to. “You have not seen what I’ve seen” -- to Elrond. Elrond. His father became a star and his mother became a bird and he never saw either one again and he was taken in and raised by the very people who slaughtered his kin (multiple times, I might add; two separate instances), and then his only brother, his twin, chose the life of a Man instead of an elf and then died. Like. lady; please. She would never, ever be so crass.

They make her so naive, so stupid -- simply because otherwise the plot as they have written it would not be able to unfold, because the choices she makes to move the plot along are dumb as fuck -- and it is infuriating.

She says shit like “sometimes you have to trust in the design of the powers that be” -- is this the same person who left literal paradise because she wanted a realm of her own to rule and didn’t want to be subservient and beholden to greater powers, and wanted to determine her life for herself?

She is such a child. Elendil compares her to his teenage children. His mortal, teenage children. That’s... not a good look lmao.

Also, don’t get me started on her swordsmanship. All the combat choreography is dismal, but especially the sequence of her “teaching” in Numenor is very painful to me, as a swordsman. Oy.

Elrond & Celebrimbor

Why is Elrond a dwarf friend (: Why isn’t Celebrimbor the dwarf friend (: (: (: Where is Narvi (: (: (: (: The doors, what doors, oh the doors of Moria, the doors that were specifically crafted by an elf and a dwarf (those being Celebrimbor and Narvi) and stand testament to their friendship, those doors? Bleh.

WHY ARE WE HAVING ELROND SWEAR AN OATH

WHY ARE OATHS BEING PASSED OFF AS NOT A BIG DEAL I’m pretty sure there’s an entire story somewhere about how serious an oath can be...

Why are things (oaths, silmarils) that were resolved in the First Age and left behind in the First Age, being dredged up again here????? I want to scream.

Ah, yes, Galadriel, the one who took in a just-orphaned Elrond. Fuck Maglor, I guess???? He didn’t single-parent two orphans in the face of the Oath to be disrespected like this.

I just. I don’t understand how Celebrimbor can NOT be the focus of a show called RINGS OF POWER. His importance has been relegated to a footnote. It would be like Feanor being a side character in a show called SILMARILS. It’s absurd.

Elrond’s relationship with Galadriel is. so weird. It’s got such a weird vibe. They’re not comrades-in-arms. They’re not friends, not like buddy-buddy. They’re related in three separate ways if I recall correctly; they’re cousins through two different lines, and then -- more importantly -- she’s his mother-in-law. Why is he treating her like a sibling????

Gil-galad

Oh, Ereinion. Last High King of the Elves and Retainer of Long Locks ;_; The harpers will sing even more sadly of him now, I guess. Why does he look like a disgraced Roman governor out of Asterix who fell out of favor in the capital and is living out his days in discontent in the provinces? He somehow escaped the great shearing, but still looks awful  minor nitpick, given everything else going on, but why is his hair black? he’s one of the few characters whose hair-color we explicitly know  More pressingly, why does he act like it?? Fair and free realm my ass, they’re drowning in angst here and Annatar hasn’t even shown up yet lmao. Does someone on the team have a personal dislike for him? Tolkien was sparse on details, sure, and the First and Second Ages were absolutely rife with politics, but there is no reason to make him a smarmy, conniving politician and an idiot to boot.  

Mairon

My boy, my love, the very personification of perfectionism and obsessive-compulsive tendencies and creative license, embodiment of the themes of the artistic struggle, of creation and destruction as two sides of the same coin, independence and freedom and binding and subjugation wrapped up all in one complex fiery being... I’m gonna need a whole separate post for you. My grief knows no bounds, my tears are innumerable T____T

There’s a lot more I can say, and I know there’s a lot I left out, but my hands and brain are tired now lol. 

tl;dr Tbh I would have been content with a show about random OCs in Middle-Earth, rather than whatever they’re trying to do by twisting the plot like this. Like, keep the storyline with Arondir and Bronwyn (but just... make their actions and dialogue have common sense lmao), navigate elf/human relations in the Second Age through them. Keep Adar and the nuanced interpretation of Orcs and explore the original creation of Orcs, and how a mutilated elf from the First Age deals with survival like that. Hell, throw in Celebrian (who is mentioned by name in the Appendices; as is Glorfindel, incidentally) since we’re screwing with the timeline anyway -- you want a canon, strong, female protagonist? Here you go! We barely have any info on her, other than the bare bones -- create away! Incorporate her kidnapping by orcs, her torture, have her meet Adar, create moral conflict that way. Pepper in some Elrond and some Galadriel on the fringes, for a popularity boost, since we apparently need them for a Middle-Earth show to matter. Ta-da, boom, done. 

It could have been good, y’all. 

#the best thing i can say about this series is that it gave me the final no-fucks-given push to finally cosplay my boy #and to seriously sit down and work at some silm art #i've enjoyed silmarillion/first and second age fanart and fanfic my whole life but have never contributed myself because #i always felt that anything i made wouldn't be good enough #well #anything i put out can't possibly be worse than this lmao #should i tag this? #meh i'll tag it why not #in case people want to blacklist my sorrowful ramblings #anti rop #anti rings of power #(okay y'all i tried doing the conscientious thing and strictly tagging it as anti only but the way this site uses tags these days #is against me #no matter what i try it insists on putting it in the main tag so #apologies. i tried. i tried a million variations. just keep scrolling if it's not your cup of tea)

[runawaymun]

Ohhhh Erestor for like. Everything! But if that’s too much 😅 just for the sleep one? Also glorfindel ;)

Erestor:

☾ - sleep headcanon

He's peredhel, so he sleeps... basically like a human. He needs somewhere between 6-8 hours per night, closes his eyes, and experiences REM.

★ - sad headcanon

I don't have too many of these for Erestor, but I do get sad thinking about, with regards to my headcannon that he was raised among the Haladin, that he basically watched everyone he grew up around die out while he was still pretty "young", and then on top of that-- being "Feanorian" he must have been so ostracized and lonely :(

☆ - happy headcanon

Love the idea of him going to Ost-in-Edhil and being taken under Celebrimbor's wing. I headcannon them as being very close in the second age, bonding over being basically the last of the line, y'know?

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Erestor never yells when angry. He just gets very, very cold. He's also super calculating and tends not to react to things in the moment, but prefers to plan things out that will come to fruition later.

✿ - Sex headcanon

Sex positive ace :)

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

EXTREMELY tidy. Mess drives him to violence! But he does have the innate human "clutter" thing of collecting objects (books, maps, notebooks, bird feathers mostly). And keeps these all in very orderly collections.

♡ - romantic headcanon

He's not a super romantic type, but if he's fixing your clothes/hair for you or fussing a lot then he probably likes you.

♥ - family headcanon

During the Third Age he lives up in the family's wing in Rivendell (with Glorfindel), and helps raise Arwen and Elladan and Elrohir. He's a huge part of their lives (and a favorite prank target).

☮ - friendship headcanon

He's one of those friends that you always want around because he's not afraid to call you out on your bullshit. He just has a very low tolerance for it. Especially for people who are too hard on themselves (which is why he's so good for Elrond).

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Bird watcher, likes collecting bird feathers and skulls, and is super into architecture.

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

Mess, sour food, & hates hot weather.

▼ - childhood headcanon

already answered here, but have another one: he didn't have any actual siblings, but he grew up well-liked with a small posse of human friends that he'd run around with as a kid. He was very bossy but like, in the kind of way that makes you want to listen to what he says, and always had strong opinions on what games they should play and how to play them.

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

I'm not sure whether I have one of these due to him being immortal, though I like the idea of him developing a couple gray streaks toward the end of the third age.

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

He doesn't cook a lot, mostly because he can't be bothered. Like, he can, he just doesn't like to & considers it a hassle.

☼ - appearance headcanon

I like to model his face after Lee Joon-Gi :) He looks perfect to me for what I imagine Erestor to look like.

ൠ - random headcanon

Coffee drinker. Where does that coffee come from? I guess the same place that Middle Earth hobbits get their potatoes. 🤷

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

Glorfindel

☾ - sleep headcanon

Blanket hogger. Like obviously elves don't sleep in the way that we do, but he still hates being cold & when he does walk the paths of memory he 'sleeps' like a log.

★ - sad headcanon

Has regular balrog nightmares that he doesn't admit to. He's very macho about the whole balrog/gondolin situation but that shit was genuinely traumatic for him and yeah, he gets nightmares and phantom aches about it.

☆ - happy headcanon

Has a nickname for absolutely everyone. Calls Elrond 'winyamo' (kiddo). :) Elrond calls him 'grandpa'.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Ohhhhh he DOES do that sexy noldorin blaze-with-treelight when he's mad.

✿ - Sex headcanon

Very worshipful partner, kind of a horny bastard tbh.

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

Messy. He doesn't mean to be, he just tends to leave things around and not put things away -- a bit forgetful like that.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Oh he is a mess when he's around his partner. 10/10 doting, hopeless romantic, pet names, the whole nine yards.

♥ - family headcanon

Also part of the peredhil family unit, plays pranks with the twins, and responsible for teaching all three of the kids pretty much everything they know about swordplay and footwork. It's not that Elrond doesn't train with them, it's just that Glorfindel's the main teacher in that regard.

☮ - friendship headcanon

Actually super good friends with Galadriel & they refer to each other by their Quenya names.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Very fidgety/has trouble sitting still. Tends to pace during meetings.

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

Adores animals and melts for children. Absolutely can't stand spicy food.

▼ - childhood headcanon

I don't actually have one???? 😭 I have such a hard time imagining Glorfindel as a child actually.

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

Mellows out considerably with age and kind of just wants to retire in a cottage with his husband. Please don't ask him to rule or do any politics. He just wants to settle down.

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Loves to cook. Is very bad at it.

☼ - appearance headcanon

IDK I actually disagree with a lot of general depictions of Glorfindel, mostly because I think they're just a bit too fem? Idk how to explain it but he's a huge kronk-y himbo in my head, and a lot of Glorfindel depictions just don't look right to me.

ൠ - random headcanon

He still doesn't braid his hair back for fights, even though he really should.

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

#glorfindel #erestor #love them thank you!!!

[lordgrimwing]

Friends and Family #1

“Someone get the gate!” Celebrian shouted, arms full of dishes she was bringing to the backyard picnic table.

Arwen, barbeque tongs in hand, looked up from the sizzling hamburger patties that she’d made by hand with chunks of cheese and spices earlier that afternoon. She turned to her little brothers who were supposed to be spreading the tablecloths over said picnic table but were instead holding it up as a giant sail in the light wind. With a sigh that only a teenage daughter could make, she jogged over to the fence so she could unlatch the gate for their visitors.

Erestor came through first, a gray grocery bag with marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers in each hand. Glorfindel followed him, a watermelon under one arm and a pan of spiced corn on the cob under the other.

“Hello, Uncle Erestor, Uncle Glorfindel,” Arwen said politely. She just started eighth grade and insisted that most of her class could do with reading at least one of the etiquette books her grandmother gave her for her birthday.

Elladan and Elrohir looked up from their playing at this, faces lighting up with excitement when they spied their uncles. Throwing the checkered tablecloths haphazardly over the table just in time for their mother to put the plates down, they sprinted across the yard, yelling “Uncle Del! Uncle Del!” the whole way.

Arwen rolled her eyes, Celebrian shook her head at the twin seven-year-olds, and Glorfindel braced for impact. 

The twins latched onto his arms, feet dangling, heedless of any potential risk to parts of their dinner. The large elf made a show of staggering under their combined weight, the loose ends of his golden hair dancing against his back, before easily carrying them over to the table. The boys shrieked with excitement.

Celebrian laughed and shook her head. “Dan, Ro, get down and go get the firewood from the garage like I asked.”

Glorfindel gasped and looked down at the two round faces still hanging from his elbows. “Firewood!” He exclaimed. “We can’t have s'mores without firewood. Run, boys, run!”

They took off across the yard.

She shook her head again as Glorfindel and now Erestor, who crossed the yard at a more sedate pace while asking Arwen about her classes, put their burdens on the table. “They have so much energy when they get back from school.” 

The blond elf rolled his broad shoulders and sighed. “Wish I still had that kind of energy,” He said fondly.

Erestor raised a dark eyebrow at his husband as he pulled the tinfoil cover off of the corn. “Perhaps they should go to the gym with you.”

“Tempting,” He said as Arwen snatched the corn away and carried it proudly over to the grill so she could cook them on the spot she reserved for them. 

Celebrian smiled at their guests. “Oh, it’s been too long since you both came over,” She said, opening her arms to give Erestor and then Glorfindel (who gladly leaned down so she could reach him) a soft hug and light kiss on each cheek. She picked up the greeting from a year spent in Doriath as a child while her mother chased her career in politics. “How are you two doing? Keeping busy, I’m sure.”

Erestor sighed and sat down on one of the table benches, the strands of hair not long enough to stay in his short ponytail falling in front of his face. “I’ve put in more overtime this month than I have since grad school.” He said.

Glorfindel put a hand to his mouth and whispered conspiratorially to Celebrian, “He’s too modest to say anything, but he got promoted to department chair.”

“Congratulations!”

The seated elf waved it away. “I’m not sure the raise was worth it.”

“Oh, he’s very sure about that,” His husband corrected, rubbing a hand across his back.

“Well, I’m sure you and Elrond can lament the struggles of leadership when he gets here.

Erestor straightened and looked toward the house. “He isn’t here? I thought he took the day off.”

Celebrian passed Glorfindel the cutting board so he could cut up the watermelon. “He did, but there was some paperwork he had to run in and sign, and then some patients weren’t doing well and one thing led to another. He just texted to say he’s leaving soon and not to wait.”

Erestor hummed. “Sounds like Elrond.” He’d known him since their first day of undergrad, so he could easily imagine how a quick office run could tumble out of hand for his friend.

“That’s rough,” Glorfindel commiserated. He never went anywhere near work on a day off but he had years of dealing with Erestor’s ‘just five minutes to make sure everything's running fine’ work days. “Does corporate even realize we all have personal lives too?” He mused, chopping the melon in half.

“Sometimes I wonder,” She said, laying out seven ceramic plates around the table.

There was a moment of silence disturbed only by the scrape of metal on metal as Arwen dutifully rotated the corn and contemplative munching as Erestor stole a melon wedge. 

“At least he took the car,” Celebrian said lightly, waving away the strangely somber mood the conversation brought on. “How about you, Glorfindel? How’s your garden?”

“Enjoying the last of the heat. Yevvon begged me for the last of the peppers, otherwise, I would have brought some.” He smiled, moving melon wedges to a platter so he could slice up the other half. Erestor and he lived in a highrise apartment complex in the heart of the city where green spaces were limited to the occasional public park. He still managed to grow a surprising variety of herbs and vegetables between one window garden box and a couple planters on their small deck. “Oh, and the new secretary at work got the last of the strawberries.”

“That was kind of you,” Celebrian said.

He shrugged. “I pray to Manwë she’s just more competent than the last one. I do not want another tax season like the last two.” As an accountant, he had a professional love-hate relationship with taxes. 

Elladan and Elrohir emerged from the house then, lugging a plastic box filled with firewood between them. They pulled the box over to the firepit. 

Elrohir jumped up onto the bench to look at Glorfindel who had just finished with the melon. “Let’s make s’mores now! I bet I can eat more than you.”

Arwen looked over her shoulder and shot her brother a little glare. “Dessert comes after dinner.”

Elladan flopped next to his brother. “But dinner’s taking hours,” He groaned. 

“Well, we’d better see if we can give your sister a hand then,” Glorfindel said cheerfully as he wiped the knife and cutting board off with a hand towel. Wrapping an arm around each twin, he carried them over to their sister. “We are at your disposal, Miss Arwen.”

She looked like she didn’t know what to do with the extra help.

He hoisted the boys higher, both of them stifling laughter with their fists. “I suggest sending these two ruffians to get a clean dish for that corn: it looks just about ready.”

Arwen nodded.

Glorfindel released the boys. “Accept your quest,” He commanded, and they dashed away. 

With the chaotic twins out of the way for the time being, he turned back to Arwen and helped her remove the burgers from the grill, holding the plate for her to put them on. They chatted amiably about the recipes she made recently. She’d made a resolution on her birthday to learn to make fifty different dishes by the time she turned sixteen and he liked staying up to date on her latest adventures.

The twins returned with a shallow pan for the corn and the plastic-wrapped plate of onions, tomatoes, pickles, and other vegetables that Arwen directed them to prepare earlier. Elladan brought the plate to the table and sat down next to Erestor, while Elrohir took the pan to the grill. Glorfindel carefully traded it for the plate of burgers and sent him to the table too. A minute later they were all settled around the table, the twins between Erestor and Glorfindel and an empty spot on Celebrian’s right for Elrond.

They were about to start when Elladan, apparently overcome by excitement, looked at Glorfindel, pointed at his brother, and exclaimed, “Ro found Gilly playing with a dead mouse in the basement after lunch!”

Gilly, the family’s tiny cat, was not a particularly accomplished mouser. Luckily, the mice rarely ventured inside.

“Wow,” Glorfindel said.

Celebrian raised her eyebrows, looking toward the house. “Really? Did you leave it there?”

Elrohir shook his head, short black hair falling into his eyes. “I told her she’s a good kitty, and picked it up, and put it in the garbage can outside.” He reported. “Just like dad showed us.”

Elrond doted on the cat and, as a doctor, took her health seriously. Eating mice, wild animals with who knows how many worms and other parasites, was completely out of the question. 

“Thank you for doing that,” Celebrian said, settling back in her seat. A pause, then, “Did you wash your hands after?”

Elrohir exchanged a guilty look with Elladan. “No.”

“Go wash your hands,” She said, completely unsurprised. “Both of you.”

Elladan pouted (he’d only touched the mouse a little. Why should he have to go all the way back to the house and wash when all he really wanted was a burger? Besides, how did his mom even know he’d touched it?) but followed his brother inside.

When they came back, dinner finally started.

Most everyone had finished their first burger, and some of them were considering seconds when there was the very recognizable hum of a car pulling into the driveway.

Arwen, tossing aside the manners she'd been practicing all afternoon, jumped to her feet with an excited "Dad's home!". She raced her brothers to the back door. In moments, all three children were gone, leaving the adults to smile in their wake.

A minute later, a slightly windswept Elrond appeared, tugged along by a son on each hand. Arwen brought up the rear, blushing a little as the twins exclaimed that the burgers she made were the best things they'd ever put in their mouths (and they would know, having put a great many things in their mouths), and “you just have to try one right now!” 

Elrond murmured an apology into Celebrian’s hair as he kissed her head before sitting down beside her. She accepted it easily and rested a hand on his knee, giving it a fond squeeze.

The adults chatted happily, slowly working their way through the meal. Eventually, the seven-year-old twins grew tired of waiting and set about starting the fire for roasting marshmallows. Their sister took pity on their feeble fire after a few minutes and abandoned her spot leaning against her mother to help them. Once a nice bed of coals glowed in the firepit, the roasting began.

Elrohir won his bet, eating a record seven s’mores. 

#lord of the rings #the silmarillion #celebrian #elrond #erestor #glorfindel #arwen undomiel #elladan #elrohir #summer fun #let them have a fun picnic together #i can never do Glorfindel's hair justice #Elrohir can absolutely destroy s'mores #look at them being so happy (ominous) #twdd au #grimwing writes

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Merry-go-round

Look at this lovely commission I got from @sortumavaara.

So, let's give Glorestor another shot, shall we?

Words: 2k

Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond

Warnings: sexual innuendo, slight nudity...

“Am I too late? I have it right here!” Glorfindel burst through the door of Lord Elrond’s study like a ray of pure sunlight, waving a piece of paper excitedly.

“Almost,” Elrond groaned and took the cliché without looking up from his paperwork. “Thank you for your collaboration, dear Glorfindel.”

Sniggering, Glorfindel absconded again—maybe, Elrond should have known then that something was very amiss, but he was too absorbed by the compilation of letters and mementos they were planning on sending to the Blessed Realm with some of the ships that were leaving from the Grey Havens shortly.

Thinking of the friends and family that might or might not live there in peace always took a considerable toll on his mind and mood—as there was no communication from the West, he could not know what fate had befallen those he had so desperately loved.

Were they still in the care of Námo or had they returned already? Did they remember and miss him?

With a deep sigh, he pushed aside the letters he was cataloguing and pinched the bridge of his nose. As so often, he wished he had Maglor’s talent with words when it came to flowery declarations.

What was he to say to his wife and his king? How was he to explain that—if all went well—he’d see them again before long? What words would even begin to express how much he missed them?

“Did his gleaming Highness remember?” Erestor—so unlike the previous counsellor to have graced this room—snuck in noiselessly and was only noticed when he spoke up, right beside his lord.

“Erestor,” Elrond cried out in surprise—he had been so lost in thought that the sudden appearance of his old friend had considerably startled him.

Thus, the finger with which he tapped the small paper rectangle was a little unsteady.

They had decided to include a collection of depictions of the inhabitants of Imladris in their missives in case there were people around who would gaze upon them in affection and longing.

Elrond himself had sat for a beautifully detailed portrait during long, torturous hours because the mere idea that his parents and foster fathers might yearn to see his face once more made his heart bleed with unspoken longing. It had been important to him to show them that he was alive and well and—this small act of vanity he allowed himself—he had taken great pains to look as handsome as he could.

“Oh, you are the perfect son,” Erestor had mumbled when Elrond had shown him the fruit of the blessed artist’s labour. “I am sure that they’ll all coo about how utterly splendid you are.”

“All?”

“You are beloved by all,” Erestor had smiled, “the scion of so many houses and—by far—the best of them.”

His own likeness was a tiny drop of white stone into which someone had carved his noble brow and imperious expression. What might have been understood as an manifestation of his humility was in truth a testament to Erestor’s prodigious impatience and often incomprehensible aversion to being looked at for too long a time.

“There is nobody who would remember me now,” he had whispered, barely managing to dissimulate the lingering hurt this knowledge caused him. “Why waste resources and time on a cameo that will probably be discarded as soon as it arrives.”

Even now, Elrond did not know what answer would have been more unwelcome to Erestor: that he was hopeful that his parents and family were alive and would rejoice in seeing his face or that, indeed, the curse of his blood had been contained for good and that he could start a new, unburdened life in Valinor when he arrived there.

The choked cry ringing like a bell through the narrow room tore him out of his renewed spell of distracted musing though.

“Indecent!” Erestor shrieked. “Elrond, have you seen the picture Glorfindel has submitted? Have you even looked at it?”

“I admit,” Elrond confessed guiltily, “that I have not yet had the time or the inclination to do so. Why? Do you object to it?”

Elrond himself had been relieved that the work of art was of reasonable dimensions—he had dreaded a canvas spanning the entire length of the room—and had thus, naïvely as he now had to accept, trusted that Glorfindel could hardly have contained any shenanigans in so small a frame.

Sputtering, Erestor waved the submission to and fro, making it absolutely impossible for Elrond to get a good look at it.

“Stop this and let me see,” he grouched and plucked it from his counsellor’s trembling fingers.

“Oh Eru,” Elrond exclaimed as soon as his eyes focused on the picture. True enough, it was a portrait of Glorfindel, but the setting and the shocking degree of nudity knocked both the breath and rational speech flat out of the dignified Lord of Imladris.

“What will my wife think? And Gil-Galad?”

At this, Erestor sniggered under his breath. “I would think that both are fiercely aware of Glorfindel’s…grotesque ideas. Moreover, I am certain that they’d be delighted to learn that you are provided both care and amusement in this forsaken land.”

Schooling his face into the forbidding mien of an annoyed tutor, Erestor took hold of the offending image once more and shoved it into his pocket carefully. “I shall deal with this. Don’t worry. I shall compile the album and make sure to put it somewhere inconspicuous—nobody will even really notice.”

The look Elrond gave him made it very clear that he was aware of how absurd that lie was—Glorfindel’s portrait would attract undue attention, and they both knew it. It would have been so even if he had been fully clothed and sitting on a chair, holding a scroll, as was the custom—Glorfindel was just too handsome and luminous to be easily overlooked.

“I shall see to it,” Erestor mumbled stubbornly and—patting his pocket—walked out of the room.

As soon as he had entered his own chambers, Erestor propped up the illicit picture against an unlit candle.

For a while, he paced around the room aimlessly to avoid letting his eyes drift back to it—it was just like Glorfindel to put everyone else into an impossible situation by submitting something so shockingly inappropriate.

How had he even found an artist willing to fashion such an obscene work of art? How much had he paid?

Giving in at last, Erestor snatched up the small rectangle of abhorrent debauchery and, bracing himself, gazed down on it.

As was to be expected, it depicted Glorfindel. Also foreseeable was the reference to Asfaloth, his noble and trusty steed. So far, so good.

Unfortunately, in a travesty surpassing even Erestor’s rich and varied vocabulary, the esteemed horse had been replaced by a garish statue of some kind which seemed to be neighing in frivolous delight.

The core of the problem which made the usually so dignified, nay even equanimous, librarian and counsellor blush with barely contained and only vaguely defined emotion, was the way Glorfindel had chosen to present himself.

“Where does one purchase such gaudy, meretricious, ostentatious apparel?” he grumbled as he stepped closer to the window to make out every lurid detail of Glorfindel’s get-up.

As far as he could make out, his fellow lord had gotten hold of a highly suspicious set of small clothes—seemingly fashioned from exquisite fabrics that looked so soft that Erestor could almost feel them beneath his fingertips—as well as some kind of stockings that rose higher than any Erestor had ever possessed himself.

In the privacy of his own chambers, he could freely admit that he resented the fact that his eyes were inexorably and helplessly drawn to the discreet frontier between the wispy fabric and Glorfindel’s creamy, flawless skin.

Furthermore, that golden-haired savage would not have been true to his reputation and genuine nature if he had not taken care to round off his look with a pair of ridiculously impractical but undeniably alluring heels.

Setting the picture down on the windowsill, Erestor began undoing his own stern hairdo with slightly trembling fingers while staring at the cloud of spun gold rippling down Glorfindel’s back and falling seductively over one almost invitingly cocked shoulder.

Unlike Erestor, Glorfindel had always known how to look his best in every situation. Disgustingly, enviably, impossibly so!

The smug, self-satisfied smile adorning that incontrovertibly gorgeous face made Erestor scowl in frustration—he had toiled so much and tried so hard to stay unaffected by Glorfindel’s charms, but this picture undid all his previous victories over the weakness of the flesh. He simply couldn’t pry his gaze off the curve of those strong thighs or ignore the allusive way the fabric insinuated and accentuated secret assets of Glorfindel’s body to which Erestor had given too much thought already during the darkest hours of the night.

It was not even that he was that naked, Erestor frantically tried to reason with himself. Realistically, the tight corsage covered most of his torso and the absence of actual leggings was almost compensated by the sheer length of those sinfully translucent stockings—nonetheless, it was the way the garments that were incontestably worn showcased and emphasised the luscious body underneath that drove Erestor to distraction.

When the light started failing and he seriously considered lighting a taper for the sole purpose of obsessing over Glorfindel’s portrait, Erestor realised how long he had held the picture in his cold fingers without so much as moving from his spot by the window.

Undoubtedly, he had missed the first course of dinner already and, anyway, he didn’t feel inclined to go down and look that shameless creature in the eye—secretly, the sober, dignified booklover was afraid his radiant colleague could simply read his mind and somehow divine just how easily his attention had been entirely captured by the revelation of a bit of skin.

Furtively, Erestor shoved the cliché into his pocket before walking over to his bed—surely, Elrond did not expect the finished album to be ready before the morrow and thus, he could ponder the infuriating matter of Glorfindel’s trespass a little longer.

He was almost successful in his attempt to convince himself that he’d manage to nullify the terrible, seductive draw the forbidden image had on his weak flesh and tottering mind by simply overthinking everything about it until an inevitable state of weariness and disgust would set in.

Indeed, that was what he would try to achieve. Lighting the candle on his bedside table and fluffing up his pillow, Erestor slipped out of his outer garments and into his bed to bend his mind to this monumental task.

“So, how did you like my portrait?” Glorfindel positively beamed at Elrond as he sauntered over in the middle of the meal.

“It was…unusual, to say the least,” Elrond replied diplomatically—the other counsellors had not seen the picture in question, and he’d rather not go into details in a space as open as the dining hall.

“What did you do with it? You didn’t destroy it, did you?” Big, wet eyes stared down at the Lord of Imladris who promptly wondered whether he had ever used that pleading expression on his parents or guardians inadvertently—it now seemed to him that it should be considered an armed assault and be subject to punishments of varying degrees of severity.

“No,” Elrond assuaged the visible distress of his exhibitionist friend. “Erestor has taken hold of it and shall paste it in an unobtrusive spot of the album.”

Letting his eyes roam over the heads in his quest for a new victim, Glorfindel had to realise with a jolt of genuine disappointment that the librarian was nowhere in attendance. “Where is he then?”

Elrond blinked slowly. “I know not. He took your outrageous picture and has retired to his chambers—I have not seen him since. Let’s hope that he has not been taken ill.”

As he caught the feline twitch of Glorfindel’s impressive frame, he held up an imperious hand. “If you intend to disturb Erestor’s privacy at this time of night,” he said warningly, “you better take up some dinner to ingratiate yourself to his potentially ill-humoured highness.”

“Splendid thinking,” Glorfindel cried, snatching an empty plate from under Elrond’s very nose, and dashing through the room at a mind-blowing speed.

So, I've chickened out of the spicier follow-up...thus far...

Let me hear what y'all think...

Lots of love from me!

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Glorfindel #Erestor #Glorestor #Asfaloth #Elrond #carousel horse #pin-up Glorfindel #crack #and smuff

[awkwardkindatries]

Dual entry for begging and edging!

Imagine being a maia of Irmo who’s become Glorfindel’s wife. 

Glorfindel is wandering in the gardens of Lorien when he comes across a strange, flowering vine. The flowers are small and pink, with vaguely heart-shaped petals and a shiny, sticky nectar inside. A pleasant scent touches his nostrils as he leans in. He decides to pick a few to give to you before heading back to your shared cottage to surprise you with a little gift. 

Some time later, one of your fellow Maiar approaches you with urgent news. A handful of the flowers you and your fellows had been breeding had been picked. These flowers were known for producing an uncontrollable urge to orgasm. They were meant for elves who were concerned that the magic was leaving their marriage, something to spice it up in the bedroom. You can feel yourself being torn between pity and laughter for the poor sod that made off with the flowers. Shaking your head, you reply in the nature of “I suppose we should have put up a sign.”

Your colleague agrees. Chuckling still, you turn back to your work. 

Not a full ten minutes pass before you hear your name shouted. Erestor, a good friend of Glorfindel, is tearing towards you. He tells you that Glorfindel is having some sort of emergency and wants you by his side now. 

You hurry home, slipping through your front door. A familiar scent hits your nose. The flowers! Was Glorfindel the… oh, oh dear. I have immunity--blessing from Lorien and all--but sweet Glorfindel! He would still be affected!

How could we have been so stupid?

“Glorfindel, my sunflower? Where are you?”

“... In… in here!” His voice sounds strained. “Hurry!”

You hurry. Upon opening the door, you see Glorfindel on the bed, nude and kneeling, his legs open, his cock displayed red and painfully swollen on the bed. Your stomach sinks as your eyes fall on the missing flowers, lying on the bedstand. “Oh, Glorfindel.”

“... It hurts,” he pants. “I cannot… I cannot come. I have… I have tried so hard…”

You cross the room and pick up the flowers. “Did you pick these?”

“... Wanted to surprise you,” he grunts. “But… when I was carrying them home, I started to feel this… this terrible ache, and now I just… I just want…” His golden hips buck against the bed, his tortured member oozing onto the sheets. He whines.

A cruel part of you wants to force the flowers into his face, but you don’t want to actually hurt him. “I am going to throw these away.”

Tears well in his cerulean eyes. “Please do not leave me here! I do not mean to break decorum, but…” He gasps a bit. “I need… I need you. Badly. Now. Please, please…”

Your lips twitch into a smile. “I will return.” Sweeping from the room despite Glorfindel’s breathless sounds, you discard the flowers into the dirt outside, stomping on them so that their intoxicating odor can no longer be smelled. Then, you return to your bedroom, where Glorfindel is waiting. 

Hazy eyes meet yours, and you can feel his need, his desperation through the soul-bond. Your fingers find the buttons of your dress, and the cotton falls around your hips, revealing your soft round breasts. Glorfindel audibly whines, his pink lip quivering. Casting away the dress and finally your panties, you climb onto his lap, letting your special place brush on his. 

He swallows. “Oh, Iluvatar, please…” 

Mushing your plump sex against his, you feel him throb against you as you capture his lips against your own. It’s only a second before his desperation and strength overwhelms you, forcing your jaw to relax, your mouth to accept his probing tongue. You are still amazed by how soft his skin is against yours. 

Falling to the bed beneath him, he presses against you, twitching badly, huffy and desperate, and you take his toned rear into your hands, guiding him down. The penetration burns, you’re still too dry, but as he twitches and ruts against you, you feel the burn turn to pleasure. 

Glorfindel breaks the kiss, choosing to bury his face in your shoulder. “... Can’t hold it,” he mumbles, letting his shaking turn to full, powerful ruts. “Need it now.”

You respond by kissing up and down his neck and shoulder, letting your hands skim over his back, play with his hair. His hair streams over you like a thick golden silk. His body rolls against yours like a raging river. He is statuesque, exquisite, Valar-esque in his build and manner. You cannot believe you were lucky enough to marry him.

“... So close… comin’... gonna cum…” A whine escaped him. “... So so close… I need… I need it… terribly…” 

You squeeze your inner muscles around him, as tightly as you can manage, and he wails. His ruts become sloppy, and you return your hands to his hips, guiding his strokes as he loses himself inside you. 

Something swells against you, inside of you, until a scream escapes him and he explodes. Heat floods your insides like a fire hose, spraying against your cervix. His hips jerk erratically as his swollen balls empty. His chest heaves against yours. Tears fall on your shoulder. 

As his orgasm finally ends, his whole body goes limp against yours. Moans and sobs escape his lips. You manage to shift him until you’re spooning him, letting him bury his face in your chest, stroking his hair. 

It takes him a few minutes to recover. 

Finally, he raises his head. His face is flushed and damp from tears and sweat. “... I am… so sorry,” he manages. 

You smile, kissing his sweat-slick forehead. “You could make it up to me. Once you’ve recovered, anyway.”

A chuckle escapes him. “Yes, ma’am.”

I might do more stuff with these flowers later. I admit, it was somewhat inspired by another fic I saw with a similar theme, but I really like the idea, so... yeah.

*new kink unlocked*

I'm am just without words

#spicy #kinktober 2022 #glorfindel/reader #glorfindel x reader #glorfindel