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swanmaids · 6 months

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little hurt/comfort snippet for one of my favourite canon couples, for @nolofinweanweek. cw for disordered food habits, past starvation and past enslavement.

Tuor has been smelling the sweet scent of rot for several minutes, and he cannot figure out where it is coming from.

It's nagging at him. He wants Idril to return from the private washroom that adjoins their rooms in Gondolin and join him in bed so they can fall asleep in one another's arms, but the smell is itching at his nose and he doesn't think he'll be able to sleep until he's located the source. And he thinks it'll be good if he can fix the problem before Idril returns. Idril is a princess — a princess who, inexplicably, married him — and she does not deserve to sleep in a bedroom stinking of rot. So he extricates himself from the blankets, smiling at the soft sounds of Idril washing up, and sets out to search the room.

Opening wardrobes and rifling through chests of drawers brings him no closer to the answer -- in fact, the scent seems fainter the further he gets from the bed. So, frowning, he kneels down and ducks his head underneath the bed.

At first, he can't make sense of what he's seeing. His call of "Idril, what --?" slips out almost without realising, but it summons her back to his side almost instantly, wearing only a towel but rabbit-fast on her silver feet.

When she sees what he's looking at, her face drains of all its colour. She sits back, hard, on her heels.

"Tuor --" she says, voice breaking around the word, "I'm so sorry --"

Under the bed is what was probably once an impressive bounty of fruit and vegetables. Piles of grapes, tomatoes, sheaths of corn, red and silver onions lie in various stages of decay, from furred and bruised to liquid and blurring into one another, juices soaking into the carpet.

"I'm so sorry," Idril mumbles again, and then, "please say something."

The thing is, Tuor is aware of Idril's tendency to be a bit funny about food, even if he's never seen it get this bad. Sometimes he wakes at night to an empty bed, and wanders through the empty city to find her pacing the greenhouses, or thumbing through the ledgers in the great kitchens. It makes sense -- for most of her childhood on the Ice, although her father and aunt did their best, she was hungry. It seems that some wounds never quite close, even after hundreds of years.

When Tuor had first discovered the pouches of nuts and wax-wrapped cheese she kept in her dressing table, soon after they'd married, she had laughed self-consciously, saying "you won't starve with me!" -- and then, upon remembering that Tuor had, in fact, starved in the not-distant past, fallen into profuse and completely unnessesary apologies.

So this new development isn't as shocking as it might otherwise be, is the thing. But Idril clearly thinks he's going to be horrified by what he's found -- one hand is pressed over her mouth, and she's crying quietly.

When the Vala of the Oceans isn't speaking through him, Tuor isn't always very good with words. When Lorgan held him, he never spoke to anybody unless he was forced to, and he thinks that at some point he almost forgot how to. But Idril asked him to say something, and he can't sit in silence while his wife is so distressed. So he tucks her into his chest, and strokes a hand over her hair.

"Please don't cry, love. It's alright. I'll get rid of this. It's alright. There's no need to apologise for anything."

"You must be disgusted," she says quietly. "I know this is hardly what you'd expect from Gondolin's princess."

"I could never, ever, be disgusted by you," he says, and means it.

"I don't know what I was even thinking. Grapes and onions... what was I even hoping to do with them? I think there's something really wrong with me."

Tuor just sighs, shakes his head, and holds her tighter. Breathes in the scent of her hair. They sit silently together on the floor beside the bed for -- he doesn't know how long, but his knees eventually begin to ache.

"I do wish you'd told me earlier," he says, "I could have helped, maybe..."

She makes a small noise in response.

"Do you think you could tell me, if you think it's getting bad again in the future? Hiding the food, I mean. I don't know that I'll be able to be any great help, but I promise I'll always listen, and there's nothing you could say that would disgust me, or turn me away from you."

She manages a nod at that. "Alright. I promise I'll try."

He can't really ask for more that. After all, it's not as though he doesn't have memories of his time as Lorgan's captive that he still can't give voice to.

Then Tuor does get rid of the rotten food. Idril shyly points him to places around the room where he finds various other hidden foodstuffs in varying states of freshness, and he throws them out too. He fetches Idril and himself a mug of tea, because if the evening's conversation has left him feeling wrung out and exhausted, then it must be worse for her. And then he puts them both to bed, wrapping himself around her back as though he's trying to make himself into another blanket for her to cloak herself in. Whatever the morning brings, he promises himself that he'll be by Idril's side to face it with her.

#nolofinweanweek #nolofinweanweek2023 #tuor #idril #idril x tuor #my fic

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fistfuloflightning · 1 month

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Because there was some interest for my Feanorians get blamed for the fall of Gondolin au, have some disjointed snippets from the fic that never was:

Falling stone and the clear chime of silver had Tuor jerking around to find Idril clambering over the rubble towards them. Her hair ornaments were tangled in her hair, ash from the Alley of Roses smeared across her face. Eärendil broke free from his nurse’s hands to cling fearfully to his mother leg. “What of your father?” Tuor asked, voice harsh from the smoke. “He knew the city would fall, and so he took his own life.” Idril’s gaze was blank, and Tuor realized with a grim pang that his wife had surely watched her father slide a blade into his own stomach. Turgon would rather die at his own hand than witness his shame and the fall of his city. And it had all come at the hands of one most dear to the king. Tuor glanced behind them, at the roof of Gar Ainion’s burning temple. He had flung Maeglin from its highest stepshinself, knowing the fall would finish what his sword had begun. The traitor’s body had tumbled down the unforgiving stone, black hair and blood, but Tuor had not seen the end as smoke billowed out between them. His hands had finally purged the filth from Turgon’s family, and its honor was restored. There was no more he could do, not here.

The messenger looked half-dead, and no doubt his mount looked equally worn, as he had ridden days and nights without rest to bring them news. That Gondolin… was destroyed. The room was silent after the messenger had made his grim report. The doors had been opened to let birdsong and the spring sun pour in, unsuitable accompaniment to the words of death. The silence was broken by a furious snort. “Fire follows where the Fëanorians go. Apparently no one is safe from their grasping hands, not even Turgon sequestered in his hidden city.” The firebrand that was Gwedhion of Mithrim was not one Fingon wished to have present for such reports, jumping to conclusions based solely on his own bias. “Be not so swift to lay this tragedy at the Fëanorians’ feet,” Fingon said wearily. “The brothers who would incite fire and bloodshed for any perceived slight are dead, fallen beside Dior.” “And you think Maedhros would not stoop to this?” Calaerchon said acidly. Fingolfin’s old war advisor tapped his closed fan against the floor. It was clear in his eyes that Fingon was not his father. “Do not defend him because of your shared blood.” Fingon’s lips thinned. It was an old argument. “I do not defend him. I simply think you leaping to conclusions is sufficient idiocy for today.”

Maedhros sat across from the boy, watching as he scarfed down a bowl of noodles like a starving cat. “…When was the last time you ate?” he asked bluntly. There was a furtive look to the boy’s eyes that told him enough. A beggar who stank of corpses and looked like he’d crawled out of a mass grave himself. The way he’d reacted when Curufin had pounced on him had spoken of someone with training—as an assassin or something else, Maedhros did not know. And he would take pleasure in tearing this little traitor apart and examining the pieces at his leisure. But first… A bath, Maedhros decided.

#the silmarillion #tuor #idril #maedhros #maeglin #fingon #maedhros x maeglin #maemae #my writing #my art #tolkien art #silm au #and yes #maeglin literally clawed his way out of a mass grave before eventually becoming a beggar in one of the elvish cities

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silmsmutweek · 7 months

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ROUND-UP: ELF/MORTAL

All creations are Mature or Explicit unless marked as *sfw. Please see work tags for warnings.

Aegnor/Andreth I hate you, I love you by @between-thepages One Little Lie by Elves_Behaving_Badly

Bëor/Finrod A Harmony Refracted by @eilinelsghost

Beren/Lúthien An Offering Before the Fairest by @daegred-winsterhand the red blood flowing by Anonymous

Caranthir/Haleth The first of many glorious nights by @a-world-of-whimsy-5 Day 4 by @isilwhore

Caranthir/Haleth/Original Characters Put to the Test by @maglor-my-beloved

Celebrimbor/Narvi Untitled by @sallysavestheday *sfw & Gimli/Legolas Elf-Dwarf Coupling by @welcomingdisaster

Idril/Tuor/Voronwë Day 4 by @tethysresort

Maeglin/Túrin WiP excerpt by @jaz-the-bard

Míriel/Tar-Míriel Queens of Númenor by @maglor-my-beloved

Nellas/Niënor Day 1 by @slightnettles

Orodreth/Túrin Solace by @polutrope

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lordgrimwing · 12 days

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On the Complicated Nature of Making Peredhil

[For @silmkinkmeme. Smut under the cut]

There was, Tuor mused over dinner, such a thing as being too close to the king.

“How are things going?” Turgon asked, leaning across the table to look at his daughter with the kind of eager expression apparently all parents of any race wore when hoping to hear they would soon be grandparents.

Idril took her husband’s hand. “We’re still trying,” she said fervently, squeezing Tuor's hand as though he was the one who needed reassurance. “We’ll figure it out. We really want a baby.”

Tuor fought a losing battle against a blush. Really, did they have to talk about this right now? Of course, he wanted a child just as much as Idril did, but there was no telling if a Man and Elf could have one, and the passing months since their wedding were not heartening. Beyond that, he wasn’t keen on discussing his love life with his father-in-law of all people! He would have a grandchild from them or he would not, and more memories of conversations like this one wouldn’t make the desired outcome any easier.

Turgon sighed and sat back in his seat. “Do tell me if there is anything you need. Anything at all.”

No, no, he might actually shrivel up into a dry husk if he had to ask the king for assistance with this.

“If only there was,” Idril lamented.

Tuor wasn’t sure he could make it through the rest of the meal. This was too much, far too much. He was only a Man: he had limits.

Luckily he was spared from an indecent exit when Maeglin, Idril’s dark cousin, slammed his soup spoon onto the table and stood. “Excuse me,” he said between gritted teeth and stormed from the family dining room, brown robe swirling in his wake.

Turgon sighed and shook his head. Idril rolled her eyes. The conversation moved to safer topics. Tuor made a mental note to say something nice to Maeglin and do him a favor if the Elf wasn’t too snappish the next time they crossed paths.

As soon as dinner finished, Idril whisked him away to their private rooms.

After some delightful foreplay in the dim lantern light (Idril herself never seemed bothered by the dinner conversations, but Tuor found he needed at least half an hour to unwind), they got about the business of trying to make a baby.

The trying part of making a baby, it turned out, was very enjoyable. He’d known it would be thanks to several indiscrete stories and several discrete evenings with only himself for company, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things. Idril would adoringly tell him that it was just as good for her when they lay sweaty and breathless in each other’s arms afterward. He desperately hoped she’d still want to partake in the act after they had children (always ‘after’ never ‘if’), but he wasn’t sure it worked that way for elves and was still too shy about the whole thing to ask—but it didn’t look like he was short on time, after all.

They were on the bed when he finally pushed into her.

A satisfied moan slipped past his lips. His fingers caressed her hips and the soft swell of her legs as he held her up against him. She sighed, head falling back against the pillow, beautiful golden hair spilling out around her like the rays of the sun. She reached the long fingers of a hand up to pet between her legs, and her fingertips brushed against him, grazing lightly with the nails as he moved inside her.

Making love to Idril was divine, the closest he’d ever get to bliss.

But if their shared passion and love weren’t enough to inspire a baby into being, then Tuor really wasn’t sure what would.

“Let me try something,” Idril breathed after a minute when he bent forward to kiss her.

“What?” He asked with a grunt. He wasn’t very good at carrying on a conversation while they were doing this.

“I think–” she paused to roll against him, tilting her hips for a better angle that he was very happy to assist her with. “You do not know how to Will our child into being. It is–” she moaned– “different for Men.”

“Yes.” He gasped. She should be pregnant many times over by the way of Men.

She wrapped her legs around him to pull him closer. “If you might let me into your mind, maybe I can find that Will for you.”

She probably could have asked anything of him just then and he would have done it, even walking into Angband like a fool to challenge the Dark Lord. He had to stop moving to find the wherewithal to pull down the defenses the Elves taught him to build around his mind. She whined pitifully at the loss. He kissed her ear.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Please,” she said, breathless and flushed, “continue. If you do it the Mannish way and I the Elvish, perhaps we will find what was missing.”

With a groan as she squeezed him, Tuor rocked his hips against her, looking for the rhythm from earlier. He knew he found it by the way Idril’s pleased sounds grew sharp and the quickened rise and fall of her bosom. He had no idea what she was planning to do in his mind, but if she wanted to do it while they were doing things the Mannish way, she’d need to hurry up.

Something slipped inside of him. Not inside his body, of course, he knew what that felt like—getting wounded in battle wasn’t a sensation he’d ever forget. This still felt a bit odd, even though he knew the strange not-pressure in his head was Idril and that he’d invited her inside. Not bad, but certainly very foreign. He flagged a little, fighting to keep going while she did whatever it was she was doing.

He tried to carry on. It wasn’t easy.

Oh, he still ached for her. Every fiber of his being yearned for her as her body writhed against his and her mind swelled against his. He thought, surely, he would melt from much more of this, of being so connected, of being both within and surrounded by her. Yet, the more he pressed forward and the more he tried, the further away his release slipped.

As the pressure grew behind his head, he was suddenly very sure that this was not something any mortal man was meant to experience.

“Idril!” He cried out, sudden and sharp.

Fear flickered through him like a blue flame. She was doing something inside of him and he didn’t know what—didn’t understand what it was or what would happen to him when she succeeded.

She pulled back from him, body and mind.

The pressure vanished from his head. He sagged forward, barely getting his hands out in time to catch his weight on the mattress instead of collapsing fully onto Idril. He gasped for breath, drenched in sweat that was quickly becoming cold.

She watched him with concerned eyes. “Tuor?” His name fell slowly and cautiously from her lips as she reached a hand up to brush his chest.

He thought he would flinch away from her but he didn’t. The fright that overcame him moments ago was quickly fading. He felt almost hollow in its wake.

“Idril,” he repeated, weak and wet this time as he collapsed onto his side next to her. “Idril.”

Her hands were on his face now, thumbs wiping away his tears. Oh, he realized belatedly, he was crying. He hadn’t meant to cry. Little tears continued to trail down his face.

“Tuor, my love,” she whispered. “What is wrong? Are you hurt? Did I—Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head.

“No.” The word came out raspy and ragged like he’d spent the last half-hour yelling but his throat felt fine. He took two calming breaths, chest rising and falling, stilling the tears, and tried again. “No, I’m alright.”

She was limp with relief. “You don’t look it.”

“I think I will be, shortly?” He tried, though it came out more as a question than reassurance.

“What was it?”

“I—you—” he struggled.

She didn’t rush him.

He swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “There was too much. Too much of you in me. I couldn’t—I couldn’t.” He clasped her hands fervently. “Perhaps we could try again? I just need to get used to it.”

“Oh.” She pulled her hands out of his but only so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not sure I could take feeling you panic like that again.” She rested her forehead against his. “Touching minds shouldn’t be like that. I—” and now she was the one hesitating. “I shouldn’t have suggested it like this. You are a Man and Men do not touch minds as Elves do, but I thought—I thought since Ulmo… Oh, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Sweetest,” he said when tears ran from her face to his. His arms joined the embrace, wrapping around her back. “I ache for you. I ache to have children with you, to raise them with you, to hear the soft sound of their little feet in the halls. I would endure so much to give that vision to you. Let me try again. Let me endure this for you, for us.”

She cried all the harder for his words. It was some minutes before she could respond. “Tuor,” she whispered, “Tuor, my loyal, brave, true husband. I don’t doubt your will, but I cannot do that to you again. Love, every part of me rebels against knowingly hurting you.”

They clung to each other for some time more, quiet in their separate thoughts.

At length, Tuor spoke again. “Perhaps,” he said, slow but sure, “we should learn to walk before we run.”

Tears dried, she leaned back so she could look at him better. “How so?”

“Well,” he said with a smile. “I have not seen many Elf babies in my life, but I imagine they cannot grow too differently from the children of Men. A babe will never run a mile if you set him on his feet straight from the womb.”

Idril snorted. “That’s not where my confusion sprung from. How would you propose learning to ‘walk’ before we ‘run’?”

“We overstretched our skill tonight, trying to run with everything at once. So it’s no surprise we fell short and scraped our knees along the way. Tomorrow, I propose we try again, but–” he raised a finger to stall her quick objection– “only to touch minds and only to learn the feel of each other.”

“Just to feel?” She repeated, considering.

“Nothing more: not to search for anything in me, just to know each other more.”

“That,” she decided, “is a wise plan. Though now you make me look a fool for rushing into this.”

“Never,” he promised. “I would never have thought of it without you.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek and then his mouth, chaste and adoring. “My father should be proud to have such a wise son.”

Valar, Tuor thought to himself, could her father please stay out of this?

#help tuor just wants to have sex with his wife without everyone discussing it #maeglin also wants no one to discuss idril's sex life #turgon just wants a grandkid #idril would like to make a baby without breaking her husband #tuor #idril #turgon #maeglin #idril x tuor #gondolin #nsft #silm smut #grimwing writes

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polutrope · 10 months

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Idril/Tuor/Voronwe, 32 please? 💗

Thank you! From the kiss asks. On AO3.

32. ... to wake up.

Towards dawn, the winds had died down completely. Tuor sat back, allowing Eärrámë to drift on the current. He let his eyes fall shut a moment, not yet wanting to wake Idril and Voronwë below deck, but feeling weariness tugging at him.

Already the weight of age was upon him when they set out from Sirion; and though whatever enchantment was laced in the waters about Valinor that kept them from reaching its shores also seemed to keep away the outward signs of old age, his spirit was now, nearly twenty years since they had set forth, keenly aware of the passage of time.

Reluctantly, his eyes squinted open—then widened, and he straightened, blinking at the eastern horizon. There, squinting back at him, was a twinkle of light that grew brighter and brighter even as the stars wreathed around it faded before the coming dawn.

Struck at first with wonder, Tuor watched as the star slid up into the silver-blue sky. Then rousing himself from his awe, he flew across the deck and with long strides clattered down the stairs to the cabin where his lovers slept.

Idril and Voronwë were yet deep in dreaming, curled up to either side of the wide space where Tuor had lain; but their feet had bridged the distance between them, Idril’s slender foot resting over Voronwë’s ankle. Tuor scarcely restrained himself from leaping into the bed and rousing them with a shout, but opted instead for quietly crawling between them.

He placed a kiss on each of their mouths. Idril stirred at once; Voronwë required further coaxing from the both of them, sighing and returning Tuor’s kiss in his sleep before he at last peeled open his eyes and realised he was not dreaming.

Then he shuffled his body so he was flush against Tuor, even as he tilted his head to the other side and dragged Idril down for a kiss.

“Wait,” said Tuor, laughing. They broke their kiss and looked at him with matching expressions of disappointment. “Wait — come up to the deck. There is something you must see.”

#tuor #idril #voronwe #idril x tuor x voronwe #kiss prompts #prompts #my fic #they're gonna make it guys #they're gonna get to valinor and tuor is gonna live forever right??

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elficially-done-with-life · 3 months

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I left out Finwë & Míriel & Indis, since that situation is quiet complicated to put it simple😅

I only included ships I (for some reason) found fanworks about during my time in this fandom, if there is a canon/noncanon ship that i did not include that isn't because I don't like it but simply because I didn't find it here (I'm still kind of new to the fandom, I've only been here for like three months...)

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polyamships · 4 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Idril Celebrindal/Maeglin | Lómion/Tuor Characters: Idril Celebrindal, Tuor (Tolkien), Maeglin (Tolkien), Eärendil the Mariner (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Trans Maeglin, Trans Female Character, Background Character Death, governess maeglin Summary:

Countess Idril and Earl Tuor might hate the fact that they can't look after Eärendil themselves all the time, but their responsibilities leave them in need of a governess to look after him and give him schooling.

Enter Miss Lómiel, a young woman of mysterious origins.

#fandom: the silmarillion #ot3: idril celebrindal x maeglin x tuor #fanwork: fanfic

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annoyinglandmagazine · 11 months

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I did this a while ago but it didn’t get many votes so I thought I’d try to get something more conclusive.

#silmarillion #tolkien #polls #russingon #halenthir #lesbain #beren and luthien #curufinrod #beleg x turin #feanor x nerdanel #aredhel x celegorm #aegnor x andreth #Maeglin #Tuor #idril

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velvet4510 · 2 months

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The thing about Bagginshield is… it’s just so tragic.

Samfro, Farawyn, and so many other Middle-earth couples feel like destined soulmates who cannot be kept apart by any force. Lúthien, Tuor, and Arwen even break the rules of their own race to spend eternity with the loves of their lives. And even couples parted by death, such as Thingol/Melian and Russingon, have hope for a reunion since Elves are re-embodied.

But Bilbo and Thorin…don’t. Thorin will reside in the Halls of Mandos until the end of days. Bilbo will leave Arda forever when his life ends. There is a chance that they might briefly reunite when Bilbo stops in the Halls before leaving the world, but it would just be that: brief. They can never be together forever. And not only that…fate only unfolds the way it should because Bilbo loses Thorin. If Thorin had lived, Bilbo just might’ve stayed in Erebor, meaning Frodo would’ve had nobody to adopt him from his apparently sad life in Brandy Hall as an orphan. The Ring would not have come to Frodo, and he would never have met Sam, since Sam lived far away from Buckland in Hobbiton. Bilbo had to return to the Shire for the world to be saved, and the only way to ensure that was the loss of Thorin. As a result, Bilbo spends 80 years remembering a love he only knew and had for 1 year.

And yet…. and yet….

A good many of the aforementioned couples achieve great things together and contribute to the shaping of the fate of the world. These unions have wide ripple effects: Eärendil & Elwing save Middle-Earth in the First Age, Frodo & Sam save it in the Third Age, etc. The world is changed for the better as a direct result of these couples having met.

And the same actually applies to Thorin & Bilbo. Because they met, Bilbo had Thorin’s mithril shirt, and he gave it to Frodo, and it saved Frodo’s life twice and enabled the Quest of the Ring to succeed. Middle-Earth’s fate is indeed affected by that hobbit and dwarf having met.

But unlike pretty much every other couple who made such a contribution, they must be separated for all time. They cannot receive that ultimate reward of eternal togetherness.

The only Tolkien couple as tragic as this…if not more so…that also truly and properly aligns with the term “star crossed lovers”…is Aegnor & Andreth, which…don’t even get me started on them.

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aotearoa20 · 3 months

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Idril: Look, this cookie is a heart - that’s how I feel about you!

Tuor: (burst into tears)

Idril: Look this ones like Michigan - that’s how I feel about you!

Maeglin: What does that mean!?!?

#idril celebrindal #idril #tuor #tuor x idril #maeglin #lomion #incorrect silmarillion quotes #source: that tiktok sound

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swanmaids · 2 years

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Idril, Tuor, and Voronwë arrive in Valinor.

Idril: good afternoon. I have come here with my mortal husband to request for the Valar to grant him eternal life.

Eonwë: I don’t know-

Idril: he’s a hero.

Eonwë: I’m sure he is-

Idril: if you need more character references, my other husband here will be glad to provide them.

Eonwë: two husbands and immortality? Ma’am, I’m not sure that any of this is allowed-

Idril: not to worry. I have a permit.

Idril hands over a scrap of parchment with the words “I’m Idril mf Celebrindal” written on it

#and then it all works out #idril x tuor x voronwe #my post #the silm

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the-classy-villainess · 1 year

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Deceiver

Dark!Halbrand (Sauron) x Elf!reader

Summary: The daughter of Gil-galad is seduced.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Dub-con/coercion + non-con. Toxic relationship. Possessiveness. Allusions to abduction. Mind & dream manipulation/control. Smut – unprotected p in v. Loss of virginity for both parties (trying to stay true to elf!reader, so sex = marriage). Minors DNI! 18+

Requested by Anon: “reader is the daughter of Gil Galad and Sauron seduces her with his beautiful words, but then Galadriel discovers Halbrand’s true identity and he becomes all dark, claiming reader and taking her with him to Mordor. Smut.”

I feel like I need to stress this because I’ve never posted smut before (especially for such a dark character). Please mind the warnings. If any of the things listed trigger you, don’t read any further. Halbrand is manipulative in this fic, to the point where the ‘reader’ cannot wholly differentiate their own thoughts from his. The sex is not consensual.

When he’d come to your chambers that afternoon you’d felt something had changed. There was a strange urgency in him, an urgency that saw him mutter only a quick greeting before his lips were on yours.

You welcomed his kisses, melted into them even, but his hands had never wandered so freely, and you couldn’t help but wonder just what had gotten into him when his fingers slowly rucked up your skirts and stroked the bare skin of your thigh.

“Halbrand? We can’t,” you gasped between kisses. “Not without my father’s blessing.”

He groaned into your mouth and clutched you that much tighter.

Even if you weren’t the High King’s only heir, it was unlikely that your father would bless the union of a man and elleth; not when such a union would bring only death and despair. Halbrand knew this as well as you did – it had frustrated him like nothing else.

“I care little for his blessing,” he panted, drawing away at long last to press his forehead against yours. “Ours is a fate that cannot be denied by any man, elf, or dwarf. Why else would we have been brought together if not for the work of some higher power – if not for the will of Ilúvatar himself?”

It was a lovely notion, a romantic one, that you had been brought together for a purpose – some greater fate like Beren and Lúthien or Idril and Tuor. You doubted either of you would have so great a part to play in the history of Middle Earth as they had, but your love could be just as special, just as boundless, if you allowed it to be.

“Let me have you,” he continued. “All of you, and no one will ever be able to refute our love – not even your father.”

“You do not know what you are asking of me,” you insisted, drawing back to meet his eye. “There are traditions – the feast, the rings, the blessings…”

“All of which can be forgone—”

“Only in times of war.”

He took your hands into his own and gazed at you imploringly. “Do you love me?”

You sighed. It was a question he asked more frequently now, as if he didn’t truly believe it when you told him as much, and it made your heart ache to think he doubted your devotion. You would do anything to prove it to him.

“I do. Of course I do. How could I not?”

He smiled, trailing his knuckles gently down your cheek.

“Then you know as well as I do, that you will never love another. Nor will I, for that matter.”

You will never love another. Only him. This crafty mortal man who had swept into Eregion with naught but the bloodied rags on his back and a charming smile on his face. He’d looked more a vagrant than a King the first time you’d seen him, but his quick tongue and quicker mind hinted at a greater knowledge gathered through life and lore, and you’d been helpless to resist him.

His arms had been safe, his lips had been soft, and his words had given you hope, the likes of which you hadn’t felt for centuries.

Those very same arms encircled your waist and drew you back into his embrace. Your head lolled forward onto his shoulder, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.

“I would give you the world if you asked it of me. I’d gather you the greatest of armies, build you the tallest of towers. I’d fashion you the finest of rings, one fit for a Queen…” he trailed off softly, teasingly, and it brought a small smile to your face. “If only you would have me.”

You looked up into his eyes and splayed your hands over his chest, desperate to feel the steady thump of the heart beneath. One day it would beat no more, and neither would your own, for you would not remain in Middle Earth without him. You didn’t want towers, or armies, or rings. You wanted him, for however long you could have him, be it days or decades. He was right.

I will never love another, you agreed. What did old traditions matter?

“All right.”

He exhaled a slow, shaky breath that you felt reverberate in your palms, and his eyes, those lovely, mischievous eyes sparkled beneath his raised brow.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you laughed.

The word had barely left you lips before he caught you in a kiss, fiery and consuming and desperate in a way his kisses had never before been. You’d always known him to be strong, but his hold on you – the arm wound around your waist and the palm cupping the back of your neck – felt unbreakable in that moment. As if he’d never let you go.

“You’ve no idea what this means to me,” he murmured against your lips. “What this will mean for us – together, you and I, King and Queen, we will rule Lindon and the Southlands. We will unite all of Middle Earth under one banner.”

Your brow furrowed at his words, at how out of place they sounded, as if they were part of another conversation altogether. Something is wrong, you thought.

Tell him you love him, more than anything.

“I love you, Halbrand. More than anything.”

He shot you a slow smile, and his hold on you tightened. “I know you do, dove. I know you do.”

----------

No, you thought dazedly, it had not happened that way.

You loved him, you wanted him; you still do, you always will, a voice whispered back. There was something alluring in that voice, something persuasive, that made you think that perhaps it was right.

Then your surroundings shifted; day faded to night, and your back pressed firmly into the mattress of your old bed as he hovered over you, bare from the waist up.

His lips were on your neck, his hand buried inside your underthings – buried inside you. A sudden pleasure flooded your mind, an unnatural desire that barely felt like your own. You begged him to touch you, remember? You begged. You trembled with each pump of his fingers until your back arched, your walls fluttered, and you fell apart in his hold.

He withdrew wordlessly, and through the haze of pleasure you heard the rattle of his belt buckle and the rustle of fabric. Would you accept this man into your body? He seemed to think so, but you couldn’t remember for the life of you how this played out, not when such heavy desire clouded your mind.

“Halbrand…” Wait, you wanted to tell him, but your lips were strangely unresponsive.

And then he was on you again; peeling your ruined underclothes down your legs. His hands, warm and gentle, rubbed soothing circles into your knees, and you held your breath as he pried them apart and settled on the mattress between them. Your thighs twitched, as if you’d wanted to close them – had I? – but he held them firmly, with only a quick squeeze of warning to dissuade you.

His thumbs caught the hem of your shift and dragged it up past your hips. He stared at your bared flesh with a look that promised ruin, a look that made you feel young and naïve for the first time in centuries. Heat rushed to your cheeks as he met your gaze and pressed a gentle kiss to your folds. Then his hands drifted higher, gliding along your waist and rucking your shift up beneath your breasts.

“Exquisite,” he murmured against your skin, trailing kisses along your navel, over your ribs, between your breasts.

He settled atop you, his length, hot and hard and leaking, bobbed against your navel as he hiked your thigh over his hip. It was the blunt press of him against your folds that cleared the haze from your mind, and uncertainty bloomed full force in its stead. Calm yourself. You want this. You’ve always wanted this.

Yes, you thought. All your life you’d waited for one to call your own. That you had gone so long without finding your match had raised concerns – often such things were a bad omen for one’s future prospects. And here you were, body bare and open to a man you father hadn’t even met yet.

You want this.

I want this.

You love him.

I love him, you agreed.

He caught your lips in an all-consuming kiss, a distracting kiss, and swiped his length along your folds, once, twice, before finally easing it inside you. Your body was tense, walls tight against his intrusion, and you whimpered into his mouth, palms pressing against his abdomen instinctively. The illusion of calm shattered.

“Shhh…” he soothed, prying your hands away and interlacing your fingers. “I have you.”

For reasons you couldn’t explain, his words didn’t bring the comfort they usually would, and you felt a tear spill over your cheek as he pinned your hands above your head and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“And now I’ll always have you,” he panted, breath hot and moist on your skin, as he worked you open with slow thrusts. The initial sting quickly faded and, as if sensing this, his thrusts grew faster, harder, hungrier.

You didn’t know how long you’d lain there, eyes screwed shut, as he sucked bruises into your skin and ravaged your insides, but you felt a strange sense of relief when at last he shuddered and collapsed against you.

The ache between your legs made your stomach churn. If it were the will of Ilúvatar then why did it feel so wrong?

----------

You woke with a start. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the candlelight, and when they did, dread pooled in your stomach. It had been difficult to count the days – here in this sunless land, where the air smelled of ash and sounds were limited to those of labour and the snarling, spitting language uttered by those creatures.

You’d only seen the beasts once before, when he’d draped you in black and paraded you through camp with an arm curled possessively around your waist – a silent warning. The rest of your time had been spent inside the large grey tent that was erected in the middle of camp while works continued on a more permanent lodging…something tall and black that loomed in the distance.

How long had he kept you here? How long had you endured these invasive attacks on your mind? How long until you could no longer tell fact from falsehood while he moulded your memories into something more palatable?

“Pleasant dreams?”

Halbrand lay in bed beside you, his lean body as bare as your own, and you hated that you still thought him beautiful. The thin sheen of sweat on his skin glistened in the candlelight, a sign of his exertion, and a reminder that even in sleep you would not be free of him.

Not Halbrand, you told yourself, but a different beast altogether.

He turned onto his side, head propped on his palm – suffocatingly close – and planted a soft kiss on your lips. His free hand traced lazy circles into the skin of your navel, the gold of his wedding band glittering mockingly as you felt the first stirrings of desire. Your modesty had been long forgotten in this place; all that remained was shame.

“You are not wrong for finding pleasure in this,” he murmured, as if knowing the direction your thoughts had taken. “How could you not, when we fit so perfectly together?”

“Why?” you rasped, throat tight, and eyes glassy. “Why do you still do this?”

His jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. You asked him this every time, and every time he rebuffed you. Not this time it seemed.

“Long have I walked these shores and never have I seen so fair a sight as your body laid bare before me.” He gave your hip an appreciative squeeze. “I wanted you in ways I’d wanted no other; I still do, I always will,” he added as an afterthought, and it echoed in your ears.

You loved him, you wanted him; you still do, you always will. Another falsehood, then.

“You blame yourself – don’t,” he urged with a consoling kiss to your temple. “You can kick and claw and scream yourself hoarse, and I will continue to have you. Such is the strength of my will...such is my right as your husband.”

He took a strange kind of pleasure in reminding you of his place in your life – reminding you that you would never be free of him. He would never let you go.

“Why me?”

He grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned your head to face him. His eyes, the very same you’d lost yourself in countless times, were fervid and near unrecognisable as he gazed down at you.

“Because I am shadow,” he whispered. “And you are light, and when I’m inside you I feel a power unlike any other.”

“Oh, come now, none of that,” he chided lightly, swiping your tears away with his thumb. “Doesn’t it please you to know I’d never known such rapture before you? It would’ve been easy enough – those mortal whores throw themselves at anything with enough coin,” he scoffed.

“But you, an elleth…a beloved Firstborn, daughter of Gil-galad, Princess of the Noldor,” he rattled off with satisfaction and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “Your kind have only ever scorned me, hunted me. I knew you’d do the same if you ever glimpsed my true visage.”

“So I thought to come to you as Annatar. A form befitting your beauty and station,” he huffed a breathy laugh. “But you surprised me. You were so eager for this mortal man, you let him leave his marks on your skin, his seed in your womb.” You shuddered as he pressed a hand to your abdomen. He trailed his palm lower and dipped his fingers between your folds, admiring the mess he’d left there.

“And you’d let me do it all over again, wouldn’t you?” he mused, eyes darkening.

“No…” you gasped, squirming as he slipped a finger inside you.

“You would, wouldn’t you? Because you know as well as I do that despite it all, you will always love me. You will always love your husband – say it.”

It was a confronting thought, a painful thought, that in the eyes of the Eldar you were wed to this beast, bound to him for eternity. Your souls were one. Worse still was that he wasn’t entirely wrong. You wanted to hate him, wished it with your whole being, but you didn’t know how to.

“Halbrand, please!”

“Say it,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, with just enough sway to bend your will – to tear the words from you whether you wished it or not.

“I–I will always love you.”

To your relief, he withdrew, but your relief was short-lived. His lips curled smugly as he crawled over your body and nudged your thighs apart.

“I’m half tempted to discard this form, just to see if you’d love my others as freely as you love little Halbrand. But I think,” he hiked your thighs over his hips. “He’s not quite done breaking you in yet. Let’s try again, shall we?”

And once more, he dug his fingers into your body and his claws into your mind.

----------

AN: my main account wasn’t letting me post, so I posted this request here instead. The rest (which are much more tame and, in a way, more in character) will be posted on my main when I figure out what’s going on! :)

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #dark!halbrand x reader #rings of power fanfiction #rings of power fic

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caliawen · 7 months

Text

Haunted

Pairing = Glorfindel x Reader

Genre = Teen and up

General ratings = a twinge of angst, fluff, smut implied (?)

Content warnings = smut implied

Word count = 1,4k

Notes = ……hi 🫣 I haven’t posted in a month 🙃 Life has been really busy and I haven’t really had the time (nor the motivation, truthfully) to write. I had a more regular schedule before, but I think for now it will stay… ‘irregular’. I have no idea when or what I will post next. Hope you can understand!

Glorfindel was being haunted. Not by ghosts- no. By the memories of his past life. Of his mistakes. Of his friends. Of their deaths. Of his death. The searing pain of his scalp as he was tugged down and down and down by the Balrog. Of the heat he felt as he fought for his life, for the lives of Idril and Tuor and Eärendil and everyone. His mind replayed those moments over and over, never leaving him a second of peace.

The slight smile of Ecthelion, Rog’s boisterous laugh, Turgon’s exasperation with them, Elgalmoth’s mischievous eyes as he gossiped, Penlod’s hums as he pretended he was listening, Galdor’s excited chatter about the trees and plants he saw, Duilin’s whistles as he walked, Tuor’s love-struck expression as his eyes followed Idril and Maeglin’s shy smile when someone asked him about his work…

Oh, Maeglin… Glorfindel had hated him, for a time. Hated him for giving Gondolin away to Morgoth, giving away their lives.. But that time had passed. In the halls of Námo, Glorfindel had had plenty of time to think before he was reborn. And think he did : about how Maeglin had lost his mother and father. About how his only parental figure was Turgon, who was too busy to really spend time with his nephew. About how he mistook his love for Idril as romantic and not platonic, and how that strained his friendship with her and Tuor. About how rumors spread that Maeglin was a vile being. About how none of them did anything to defend him. About how lonely Maeglin must have been.. About what impossible horrors he felt at the hands of Morgoth and Sauron. About how they never saw how broken Maeglin had returned. About how he didn’t care if he died anymore.

Yes, Glorfindel had thought, Maeglin had done something wrong. And he forgave Maeglin for what he had done, because Maeglin had been a child. A child who needed to be guided and shown love, but no one had stepped up to take up the role.

He thought about you. About your smile, your eyes, your nose. About the way you moved, how you talked and your passions. And he ached. Because he didn’t know what happened to you. He didn’t know if you had died, if you had suffered or if you were still alive. If you had moved on from him.. And that haunted him. His every waking thought, his every dream and nightmare.

Sometimes, Glorfindel dreamed of you. He dreamed that you were laying in his bed, in Gondolin, smiling at him. That you carded your fingers through his hair and told him that you loved him. And when he woke up, his heart ached and he did not know whether to thank or curse Irmo.

Glorfindel had a mission. He was going back to Arda Marred. And he found himself dreading going back. Dreading seeing how everything had changed and how the language had evolved. Dreading how no one he knew would be there. How he would be alone. At least in Valinor, he saw his mother and father. He found himself crying when he realized he did not remember what being embraced by his parents felt like. They took care of him and he couldn’t be more grateful to have them.

When Glorfindel departed, he stood looking at Valinor until it had been long since out of view. He stood still, wondering if he was dreaming. He thought, how ironic, for he was going back. Not anyone else. Him. Laurëfindelë Glorfindel, an emissary of the Valar, granted powers nearly as strong as that of the Maiar. And he didn’t want to go back. Nienna wept for him, for his sacrifice, for his fear and for his love. He found himself appreciating her understanding. She visited him, before he departed. He listened to her words, without understanding : “Dear Child, your heart is being haunted. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and your heart is rendered blind by your pain. But your gut, your gut is still there and strong. Follow it, follow what it tells you. But do not silence your heart and mind for it, listen to them. Listen, but do not follow.”

~~~

When Glorfindel arrived in Middle Earth, he did not know where to begin. He was tired, but could not sleep. He thought about you. About your lips on his, about your laugh, about your hands in his, about the ring he had passed on your finger. He thought and thought and thought. And his heart ached. He walked on paths and in forests, stopping to wash himself in rivers. And he despaired.

It was later that he found Lindon. Days later. Or weeks, he did not know. He met Elrond, someone who would confuse and amuse him for the rest of their lives. Part man, part elf, part maia. He wore the insignias of Fingolfin and Fëanor with pride, daring anyone to confront him about it. He was a gentle soul with a heart of gold and the patience of the wise. He was as kind as summer and Glorfindel found himself basking in his presence, like a flower who had grown up in shadow feeling the sun on itself for the first time.

Círdan was surprisingly mischievous. Subtle jokes, sarcasm and deadpan looks were all things he threw at others, uncaring if they understood or not. He was calm, but could easily terrorize anyone with his anger, like the sea. Board games were his favorite and Glorfindel spent time playing with him, thinking of strategies to beat the older elf.

Gil-Galad was as confusing as he was funny. His father was unknown and he liked to joke around about it. Glorfindel spent time with him when they could, talking about everything and nothing. When Gil-Galad felt Glorfindel starting to lose himself in memories, he would randomly tell a stupid joke. They made Glorfindel laugh each time.

Celebrimbor had been a bit weary at first. Glorfindel almost laughed at the memory of a small Curufinwë Tyelpërinquar staring at him with the exact same look. It wasn’t long until they became great friends. Celebrimbor understood : he, too, was haunted by his past actions and words. Maybe for different reasons than Glorfindel, but the important thing was that he related to how Glorfindel felt. Having his feelings validated was something that alleviated the pain in Glorfindel’s heart.

~~~

Glorfindel walked around Lindon aimlessly and leisurely, taking his time to look around. You haunted him. Everything he saw reminded him of you. From pretty rocks you would have collected, passing by a stand selling your favorite fruit, to someone wearing clothes the exact color of your eyes. His mind played tricks on him, making him imagine hearing your laugh or seeing your beautiful hair swaying in the wind.

He stopped walking at a bookstore, a feeling bubbling up inside him. He looked at the door, curious. His gut screamed at him to enter that store, for some reason. His mind dismissed the feeling, but his heart held hope. They warred against each other. And then, Glorfindel was reminded of Nienna’s words to him. And he went inside the store.

Inside the store, which was cozy and homey, he felt pulled towards a particular bookshelf. His breath hitched as his mind reeled to a stop, his heart pumping wildly. There you stood, browsing the shelf while smiling. Feeling observed, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw Glorfindel, your husband, your soulmate, standing there. Glorfindel was frozen, his mind scrambling and heart singing with joy. You were the one to make the first move, throwing yourself in his arms, ecstatic. Glorfindel hugged you back, a sense of wholeness overtaking his mind and body as he kissed you long and passionately.

The two of you spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, crying and hugging. This long-awaited reunion was a balm on Glorfindel’s bruised and battered heart. That night, under the stars, in a magnificent glade full of flowers, you rekindled your fëas. Glorfindel made love to you slowly and passionately, kissing every piece of skin revealed as he undressed you, worshiping your body with his hands and mouth. That night, in your arms, Glorfindel had no nightmares. He woke up to your sweet voice and felt free. Free of the thing that haunted him. And he smiled.

End notes : Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments & likes are extremely appreciated 🫶

@theladyvanya

#the silmarillion #glorfindel #laurëfindelë #laurefindele #glorfindel x reader #laurëfindelë x reader #laurefindele x reader #fluff #love #angst #mourning/grieving (?)#elrond #celebrimbor #tyelperinquar #tyelpërinquar #círdan #cirdan #nienna #Haunted

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