Latest Posts by ladyoflindon - Page 3

he is beautiful

THE RINGS OF POWER + THE BEAUTY OF ELROND PEREDHEL.

THE SILMARILLION (+ descriptions of Elrond’s father and foremother) - J. R. R. TOLKEIN.

“Of surpassing beauty was Eärendil, for a light was in his face as the light of heaven, and he had the beauty and the wisdom of the Eldar and the strength and hardihood of the Men of old […]”

“Melian was a Maia, of the race of the Valar. She dwelt in the gardens of Lórien, and among all his people there were none more beautiful than Melian, nor more wise, nor more skilled in songs of enchantment.”

His sword was long, his lance was keen.

His shining helm afar was seen.

The countless stars of heaven’s field

Were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he rode away,

And where he dwelleth none can say.

For into darkness fell his star;

In Mordor, where the shadows are.

Cute!

Finwe & Finarfin (+Nolo)

Nolo: ..do you think atar is into blonde?

Feanor: no, why?

The Rings of Power by Roberto F. Castro

Gil-galad: *engages Sauron in single combat*

Fingolfin, proudly, watching from Aman: THAT’S MY GRANDSON!

Kemen: You're sooo pretty

Elrond: Standing within 100 feet of you makes me want to bathe in disinfectant.

wow

Hello there! I just wanted to say I love your art, I especially love the art and comics about Finwëan wives because Eärwen's swans destroying Nerdanel's sculpture is peak comedy. I also love your OCs especially Marildë because holy moly a Vanya marrying into Fëanor's family?

*Fëanor puts on his 'father-in-law from Utumno' jacket*

Also my heart just breaks at the thought of Maglor never meeting his baby, I was wondering if you could share what happened to Marildë and the child when Maglor left Valinor?

Thank you <3

sjsjHAH HELLOOOO thank you so much ahhhh!!! First off, I'm really really stoked you like my stuff about the wife squad! I love them too ahhh I wish we knew more about them in canon... but oh well, that's why headcanons exist eh!! 💕

Onto Marildë! GAAAH i was so tickled to hear you liked her! I honestly wasn't expecting to hear anything on her after that one post, but i am weEPING because you are!! absolutely right!! Maglor marrying a Vanya would have not pleased Feanor I think (brings back his memories of the whole Finwe-Indis spiel), so even though he did accept it I think the apprehension would stay... leading to the whole them living separately thing 🤷‍♀️ 'Father-in-law from Utumno' thoOOO.... omg you are a GENIUS 😂 I am getting that printed onto a mug ASAP and no one can stop me!!!

Hehe so I did some thinking per your prompt, and honestly I am a big fan of Marildë moving in to stay with her mother-in-law. Although she does have Vanyar family living on the slopes of Taniquetil, I like to think Nerdanel would be one of the first (after Maglor) that she tells of her pregnancy to, leading to Nerdanel assuming her maternal side and inviting her to stay with her so she take care of her.

I enjoy adding on to the narrative of Maglor's track record with pairs of twins lmao, so what's the irony of him having biological twins of his own without ever knowing? Admittedly, I ended up going on a whole other tangent with the concepts of Maglor's non-canonical kids when I was dong these sketches for stress-relief... so bear with me lololol

I think they'd be raised primarily by their mother and grandmother in Valinor, staying primarily with Nerdanel and Mahtan or their maternal Vanyar relatives interchangeably. I suppose there's not much Marildë would do except try to be a good mother, though her kids would form opinions of their own of their absent father as they grow older (with Lindion growing more disdainful, and Laurelotë more curious). When Arafinwë leads his host to Beleriand for the War of Wrath, they'd both follow along to fight and ultimately return empty-handed to their mother and grandmother without their father... Though what happens if Elrond returns with Maglor in the 4th age is a story for another day!

Thank you for this amazing prompt ahh!! I had so so much fun with it and I'm very flattered that you were interested in my OC hbjdsd 🙈🙈 Thanks again, you lovely person, and have a wonderful rest of your week! 💓

ohoho the last bit

The Rings of Power Characters on Discord Call

anyone hurt him we're gonna have a problem

It was a rough season for Elrond.

Hide-and-seek.

My hc is that Maedhros is kinda traumatized by never finding Elured and Elurin in the forest.

Also that’s a random laiquendi oc I needed for comic lol. No name.

aww

Murder brothers and little stars

i love him

Eönwë

“Fëanor wedded Nerdanel, a maiden of the Noldor; at which many wondered, for she was not among the fairest of her people. But she was strong, and free of mind, and filled with the desire of knowledge. In her youth she loved to wander far from the dwellings of the Noldor, either beside the long shores of the Sea or in the hills; and thus she and Fëanor had met and were companions in many journeys.”

cr: @ylieke​ or @cgbookworm on twt

I think Glorfindel would act cool and confident around his crush, making it known he’s into you by looking for reasons to hang around/talk to you. He’ll just let those encounters slide into a relationship overtime, with him having already taken you out several times before he finally puts the label “date” in front of it. After all, he sees no reason to rush. He knows you’ll end up together eventually so he has no problem just coasting into it. 💛

♥️

Oh you're having a boy? Here's all this blue stuff.

You're having a girl? Here's all this pink stuff.

Wrong

You're having Glorfindel. Here's all this gold stuff.

teehee

Purse update

Gil-Galad from

really kind as summer

“Just. Tell me I am wrong. That I’m mistaken or— Tell me if— Tell me I have overstepped.”

Fanart for my Elrond fic because why not? — Read it here! AO3 | Tumblr

my heart goes out to Elrond

Thought about the silmarillion a little too hard tonight and started crying

references from celebrimbor's life ( part 1 / 2 )

the chain that was use to held celebrimbor captive was not a regular chain that can be cut through. it was a special chain that was crafted by sauron, in which the durability surpass all the materials that could break it. maedhros, celebrimbor's uncle, was hanged by one of this device, and the only way to free yourself from the bond is by cutting a part of your flesh.

aww brimbyyyyy

An Artist's Gaze

A/N: This is my first time writing for Celebrimbor, let me know what you think!

Pairing: Celebrimbor x Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ringing of hammers and the hum of the forge fill the space around you, a symphony you’ve always found soothing, even exhilarating. But today, there's a heightened anticipation in the air as you catch sight of Celebrimbor across the workshop, quietly absorbed in his work. His concentration is intense, his brow furrowed, his gloved fingers moving with expert precision over a small circlet he’s crafting—a piece fit for a High King.

You’ve only spoken with him a handful of times over the years, as your own work takes you often to other cities, each with its own demands and requests for your intricate armor designs. But today, you've been summoned here by Celebrimbor himself, a request you couldn’t easily dismiss.

When he notices you, a flicker of a smile lights his face, though it’s softened by a slight shyness. “Thank you for coming,” he says, his voice gentle yet purposeful. “I’ve been working on a new set for Gil-galad, but I wanted your opinion on some… details. Especially to match this,” he gestures to the circlet, setting it carefully on the bench between you.

You examine the circlet, noting the fine etching of stars along its band, the delicate but powerful shapes carved with unmistakable expertise. “This is beautiful,” you murmur, meeting his eyes briefly before your attention returns to the piece. “The stars… are they a nod to Gil-galad’s lineage?”

He nods, seeming pleased that you caught the detail. “Yes. I wanted it to reflect his heritage, but I also want the armor to carry the same strength. Subtle, but… unmistakable.” His gaze flickers back to the circlet, and he runs a hand through his hair—a touch of nervousness you wouldn’t expect from one so skilled. “Your work, though… the precision of your designs. It’s unparalleled. I thought you might have ideas on how best to harmonize the pieces.”

You find yourself smiling, a bit surprised by his earnest praise. “Flattery from the master himself? I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink as he laughs quietly, adjusting a tool on the bench to avoid your gaze. “Merely the truth,” he says, clearing his throat. “But I appreciate your humility.”

You lean closer, studying the circlet’s design again, envisioning how it could complement the armor’s larger surface. Your fingers brush his on the table as you reach for a sketch he’s begun, and he goes still, a breath catching, though he doesn’t pull away.

“The armor,” you say softly, “could carry these same stars, but larger, perhaps along the chest and shoulders, so they appear as if they’re guarding him from all sides. A constellation of protection.”

His gaze lifts to yours, admiration shining through his reserve. “You always find a way to bring lightness to strength,” he murmurs, as though the words slipped out unbidden. He holds your gaze a moment too long, his shyness momentarily forgotten, and in that quiet space between you, the warmth of the forge seems almost unnecessary.

The silence stretches, charged, until Celebrimbor seems to realize how intensely he’s been looking at you. His eyes widen slightly, and the faint pink deepens in his cheeks as he glances back down at the circlet, quickly busying himself with adjusting a few sketches on the table.

"Thank you," he says, clearing his throat as he tries to recover his usual composure. “Your insight is… invaluable. I would be honored if you would consider assisting with the chest plate. Gil-galad deserves a piece crafted with the care and precision you bring.” He’s fidgeting now, his fingers adjusting the circlet for the third time, his voice losing a little of its steady confidence.

You smile, reaching out to gently stop his hand as it fusses over a perfectly aligned sketch. “I’d be glad to work on it with you. No need to be so shy, Celebrimbor. We are, after all, just discussing armor.” You tilt your head, letting a hint of warmth seep into your tone. “And if you’re interested, I know a lovely spot near the river—a quiet place for tea and lemon cakes as the sun goes down. Seems like a perfect end to a day at the forge, don’t you think?”

His hand stills under yours, his mouth opening slightly in surprise before a hesitant, boyish grin breaks across his face. “I—I would… I would like that very much.” He’s still blushing, but the usual shyness has melted, replaced with something softer, more open, as though the promise of an evening by the river has somehow lifted a weight from his heart.

“Good,” you say, letting your fingers linger just a second longer before releasing his hand. “Then let’s finish this work so we’re free to enjoy it.”

For the rest of the afternoon, he works by your side, his quiet confidence slipping back into place but interspersed with glances your way, a little less guarded each time. You both work in the comfort of an unspoken promise, the memory of warmth to carry with you until the golden light fades, leaving only the sound of the river and the sweetness of lemon cakes in its wake.

Celebrimbor 😂

High King Gil-Galad: I have noticed something as of late, and I need to ask you something.

High Queen Merry: Yes, dear?

High king Gil-Galad: Why are you only wearing black?

High Queen Merry: It’s a thing we did in the world I am from, to wear black clothing while we are in mourning.

High King Gil-Galad: I should do the same.

High Queen Merry: You don’t have to.

High King Gil-Galad: I have too, I need to. I miss him, I mourn him, I loved him, I -

High Queen Merry: I know sweetheart, I know.

Alternatively,

Lord Celebrimbor: I AM NOT DEAD.

High Queen Merry: Sometimes I can still hear his voice.

their heads moved in sync, same direction at the exact same time!!!

Elves.

Are.

Cats.

sobs

Maglor writes music for Galadriel to dance to from the time she’s very small.

At first they’re children’s songs, sweet simple melodies that she twirls to while holding onto Finrod’s hands laughing as they sway amongst nodding flowers in meadows drenched in golden light.

As she takes dancing more seriously and begins to learn it as a craft for herself, Maglor’s music for her becomes more complex. He comes to her practices as often as he can and it surprises her when he is graciously allowed to play as she and her fellow students practice. The minstrel who plays for them never allows anyone else to do so, but she is delighted to step aside for Maglor.

Galadriel isn’t aware that her beloved indulgent cousin who plays for her first formal dance recital is in high demand to compose symphonies. To her he’s her cousin, he’s been giving her music to dance to as long as she can remember and she gives him her best performances in return.

By the time she understands that Maglor is a very sought after musician, she’s also learned that nothing makes him happier than gifting music to those he loves best. In celebration of her becoming a lead dancer in her company he gifts her a score for a new ballet he’s written just for her. Galadriel has no words to express what such a present means to her, and instead tells him by putting all of her heart into her performance of the piece. Maglor meets her backstage afterwards with arms full of lilies. He gives her the flowers and a kiss on the cheek, and as he pulls away she sees his eyes are full of tears which are more precious than any words.

. . .

She shouldn’t be surprised that when her wedding to Celeborn arrives, a gift of music comes too, but she is surprised nonetheless. She hasn’t seen Maglor in centuries, has not tried to contact him or responded to the letters he sent to her through Finrod. Yet when she opens the box that her brother hands her and finds sheet music in a familiar beautiful hand Galadriel cannot move or speak for several long moments. There is only a short note included.

Congratulations to you and your husband, wishing you all the happiness in the world, little flame.

All my love, Maglor

There are still no words when Finrod takes the music from her, leans in to murmur something to Celeborn, then picks up his harp. Celeborn takes her hand and leads her out onto the dance floor and Finrod begins to play. The notes weave a song of celebration, love, and joy as she and Celeborn dance for the first time as husband and wife, and even though Maglor is not present she feels his love in his gift to them.

. . .

Holding her daughter who is only days old, Galadriel finds herself humming some of the old lullabies of her childhood that she had danced to so long ago when a bird lands on her windowsill with a scroll tied around its leg. After settling Celebrian in her crib she approaches the bird, a variate she has never seen so far inland before, and offers it some crumbs of bread to eat as she unties its burden.

Her heart nearly stops as she unrolls it, hand flying to her mouth at the sight of the familiar handwriting.

She had not expected to ever see it again, the stories had said he was -

Yet clearly they were mistaken, for she holds proof in her hands that he still lives.

Through her tear filled eyes, she reads the words on the paper that smells of salt and sea air.

Congratulations little flame, I’m certain your little silver queen will be as beautiful and talented as you. Will she dance too, I wonder?

All my love, M. F.

Below the note is a lullaby new and fresh for Celebrian, soft, sweet, and as all Maglor’s gifts to her even after centuries of separation, filled his love.

Once more Galadriel picks up Celebrian, and cuddling her sleepy sweet daughter to her heart, begins to sway on light feet around the room, singing softly the lullaby her cousin has sent to them from whatever paths he now wanders.

Yes, she thinks, a glimmer of the future brushing against her thoughts, Celebrian will dance too, someday. She hopes that Maglor will be able to see it when she does.

Wedding

A new piece for Maglor and his wifey😇

This time I tried a new paper textures

Domestic headcanons: sleeping, RoP edition (pt. 1)

(Disclaimer: I know canonically instead of sleeping elves have those long nightly meditations, but I personally prefer that fan-made version where they can do without sleep/food etc. for way longer then mortals, but this would drain their strength and eventually they'd have to rest either way, so it's better for them to actually have at least some sleep every night)

Elrond

The fandom has collectively decided him to be an early bird, which makes sense considering how much work he has all the time. He would totally be awake at 5-6 a.m., he gets straight out of bed immediately into busy mode. A side-effect of that, considering him being a peredhel - he gets drowsy pretty early in the evening, and if by 11 p.m. he isn't in bed his brain would just stop braining a.k.a. ping goes over 99999 (Gil-Galad find this hilarious). He might pull an all-nighter if duty really demands, but he needs some excessive rest afterwards. He has some nightwear in his wardrobes somewhere, however more often that not he would just kick his day-clothes off and climb in bed as is. Also he sleeps like a cat: gets all his limbs tangled in blankets, kicks in his sleep and drools on pillows.

Gil-Galad

The High King loves comfort and luxury in everything, including his sleep. He has a Huge bed with tons of pillows of different sizes and levels of softness, which he arranges around himself so that not a single muscle would be sore in the morning. He falls asleep immediately and takes some time to wake, allowing himself to wallow for a little while. He has several very well-made and expensive night gowns of finest silk and he manages to sleep so still that they never wrinkle. He also absolutely doesn't snore. Ever.

Galadriel

Considering her boiling nature and how much she has traveled, lady Galadriel is the one who could sleep anywhere and in any conditions. When life gets frantic she would catch as much naps as she can: 15 minutes seated on a windowsill before a meeting, half-an-hour in a tree while others are busy with her bidding, an undefined short break on an ottoman in High King's waiting room while he's somewhere doing something - not to mention how she can fall asleep in any levels of noise around her, but to wake at the slightest wrong sound. Sleepwear is for softies, when it comes to Galadriel, just as sore muscles.

Arondir

As much as he gets used to sleep in barracks or on the road, sometimes he just longs for a soft mattress. Doesn't need to be royal-quality, just a bed that's simple but nice. He gets something sore in the morning no matter what position he takes before falling asleep. Arondir tries his best to hold on to a sleeping pattern, especially when he isn't stationed in the Southlands anymore (it's a bit easier when you're a part of a group of soldiers who all follow same rules as a unit), but he has to fight the fact that he's completely and utterly a night owl, resulting in perpetual feeling of not sleeping his full. Secretly he'd be over the moon of someone gifted him a stuffed toy to hold at night.

Celebrimbor

The smith only has two modes of existence: when he is in the middle of a project he could not sleep at all for several days or nap for a little while just to keep going, but when he doesn't have any immediate work that fills all of his mind - he would very much enjoy late-night social gatherings and entertainments to try and force himself to wake anywhere earlier than mid-day. His room is a total mess, which includes the bed that used to be luxurious when first bought but now has mountains of random stuff hoarded upon and beside it (which also makes it difficult to change bedsheets, and he tends to get angry and annoyed at his servants if any of thousands of his papers are moved, even though he himself could forget of them for months). Celebrimbor's sleep is generally erratic, he can wake up in the middle of the night and just get up because he has a new brilliant idea, and just the same if he suddenly gets bored in the middle of doing something - he'd drop everything, lie on the nearest couch, cover his face with a random book and snooze away.

yes, the winner is damn clear

Would it be cool if I did different polls every few days or something guys because I’m having too much fun with these??? :)

Elrond being a nerd :)

This bit where Gil-Galad asks him if he knows the work of Celebrimbor and he's like "pfft of course why did you need to ask" (inside he's going: no, don't infodump.)

THIS ELF IS NOT OK HE IS NERDING OUT LOOK AT HIS FACE

Lord Celebrimbor is here. I am going to work with him. I am literally freaking out. Gil-Galad had no business making me freak out like this.

An Unexpected Joy

A/N: A bit of Gil Galad fluff... making Gil Gadaddy a reality ;) Also- look at his haiiiirrrrr its so prettyyyyy

Pairing: Ereinion Gil Galad x reader

Word Count: 1.7K

______________________________________________________________

Your steps are light as you tread through the dimmed corridors of the camp, the night’s quiet punctuated by the soft crackling of distant fires. The mingling scents of smoke and herbs fill the air, earthy and pungent, the healers’ remedies still clinging to the battlefield’s recent memory. You feel the strain of conflict clinging to you like a shadow, its weight not yet lifted. Eregion has fallen, its people scattered across hills and ravines, each soul a flicker of light in the dark. And yet here you are, walking through the ruins and remnants, driven by a miracle you had only dared to dream, an ache of longing finally met.

The trail narrows as you descend deeper into the glade, down to a secluded grove nestled at the bottom of a ravine. You pause, the sound of water trickling nearby, a peaceful counterpoint to the fury you’ve left behind. The ravine is shrouded in a thick, quiet darkness, broken only by glimmers of starlight filtering through the leaves. You continue carefully, following the faint tracks left by those who came before, your heart guided by an unshakeable instinct. At last, you see them: Ereinion, your beloved, King Gil-galad, seated vigilantly on a low log beside the resting figure of Galadriel.

She lies on a bed of soft moss, her silver-gold hair spilled across the ground like moonlight. Her breathing is soft, a steady rise and fall, each breath a testament to the healing power of the rings. The harshness of battle has fallen away from her in sleep, leaving only peace in its place.

Ereinion sits nearby, his gaze fixed on her with a soft intensity, as though even in this quiet moment he must protect her from unseen threats. His face, usually so stern in the presence of others, is touched by gentleness in the solitude of the glade. The firelight from a nearby torch dances over his features, highlighting the weary lines etched by long years and countless sacrifices. His hair tumbles over his shoulders, dark and unbound, catching glints of silver in the starlight, and for a moment, you pause, heart full, seeing in him the king and the man you’ve loved for centuries.

Quietly, you approach, hoping not to disturb him, but the soft rustle of your steps gives you away. He turns, his gaze catching yours, and in his eyes, you see a flicker of relief, of joy, mingled with something deeper. Here, in this hidden glade, with the echoes of war left above, you find yourself on the cusp of sharing a revelation more profound than any you’ve carried before.

“Meleth nîn,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he turns to you. His eyes soften with an unspeakable relief as they meet yours, and he steps forward, closing the distance in one swift, unhesitating motion. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as if you are his very breath, his anchor in this ravaged land. “You’re here. Safe. How did we escape without a scratch?”

You melt into his embrace, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you, steadying the parts of yourself still shaken from the day’s terror. “By some grace we did,” you say softly, resting your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart calms you, grounding you in this moment. You close your eyes, breathing him in, and for a second, all the fear, the grief, the worry dissipate like mist.

But as the silence deepens, your thoughts turn to Galadriel, who still lies in a quiet slumber. “And Galadriel?” you ask, your voice a mere murmur against his shoulder. “Will she recover?”

He sighs, a weight in his breath that you can feel deep within his chest. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the flicker of sadness and resolve in his gaze unmistakable. “Her wound was dark, festering from the touch of Morgoth’s crown itself,” he says, his voice low and strained. “It was… worse than I could have imagined. She has endured great pain, more than any soul should bear. We feared the wound might take her, that the shadow clinging to her would devour even her spirit.”

His gaze falls to where she lies, his eyes softening with a deep affection and sorrow. “But the rings have done their work. She is healing, the darkness lifted, though it took all we had to cast it out. Now, she only needs to wake. It will take time, yet I believe she will return to us.”

You follow his gaze, taking in Galadriel’s peaceful, sleeping form. Her face, though still and pale, no longer bears the strain that had marked it before, her breathing deep and even. Relief fills you, mingled with a gratitude too immense to name. She has survived a shadow few could endure—and in some quiet way, that gives you strength. 

The words press against your lips, a tremor of anticipation and uncertainty, too immense, too impossible to hold back any longer. Yet as they linger, unspoken, a wave of nervousness washes over you. The enormity of what you are about to reveal fills you with both joy and fear, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if this fragile new hope should remain a secret for just a moment longer, kept safe from the harshness of the world.

But Ereinion is watching you closely, his gaze shifting from tender relief to concern. He pulls back, searching your face with quiet intensity, sensing the weight of what you hold back. "Are you truly alright, meleth nîn?" he asks softly, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. "You look… troubled." His voice is gentle, and his brow furrows, the ever-present protector surfacing in his gaze.

You swallow, heart pounding. "I am," you whisper, voice barely a breath. But the truth wells up in you like light breaking through darkness, and you realize you cannot hold it in any longer. With a deep, shuddering breath, you close the small distance between you and rest your forehead against his, feeling the strength of his presence, his warmth, grounding you.

"There's something else, Ereinion," you say, your words trembling with the weight of them. Your hands, trembling but sure, reach for his and guide them to rest gently over your stomach. You press his hands there, urging him silently to feel, to sense the delicate, radiant spark of life that stirs within you—a light so faint, yet already strong, like the glimmer of a star.

His fingers curl instinctively over your stomach, and you watch as his expression shifts, disbelief dawning in his eyes, mingling with wonder. You feel his breath hitch, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves. It’s as if the world itself has stilled, holding its breath for this impossible truth. And then, like a whisper only he can hear, he senses it—the faint yet unmistakable light of the fae stirring within you, growing, living.

"A child?" His voice is barely audible, choked with wonder and joy, his gaze filled with awe as he looks down at your joined hands, as if the world has rearranged itself around this single, precious moment.

For a heartbeat, there is only silence, but then realization dawns in his eyes, followed swiftly by the gleam of pure joy. He clasps your hands, disbelief mingling with awe. “A child!” His laughter, bright and unrestrained, fills the air. He pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your lips, as though your happiness has rekindled some part of him worn by the years of warfare.

When he draws back, you can see his mind already racing, the strategist within him awakening. “But what of the battle’s toll on you?” he asks, concern darkening his features as he cups your face. “Are you unharmed? You’ve been through so much—how can I be sure—”

“I’m fine, my love,” you assure him, pressing your hand over his. “Whole and safe. Our child is strong.”

He exhales in relief, though his eyes linger on your face, still assessing, still planning. “Then I’ll make sure that nothing will threaten you both,” he promises fervently. “You must have the best care, a fortified place far from the battlefronts. And when the battle breaks out again…” His thoughts tumble over one another as he strategizes how to keep you safe, listing every precaution, every arrangement, his love woven into each detail.

With a smile, you reach up and quiet him with a gentle kiss. “Ereinion,” you murmur, resting your forehead against his. “We’ll do this together. The timing may not be what we imagined, but together we can weather it.” The warmth of your words and touch stills his worry, and he nods, a faint smile lifting his lips. His hand covers yours, resting over the life you now share.

Before you can speak again, a dry voice cuts through the quiet of the glade, laced with humor and unmistakable sharpness. "I must be more wounded than I thought," Galadriel drawls, her eyes barely open but glinting with mischief. “Or perhaps I’m hallucinating… It’s either that, or I am far too injured to stomach such sickening affection.”

You and Ereinion both turn, momentarily startled, and find her watching you from her place on the moss-covered ground, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. Laughter bubbles up between you, spilling into the soft night air, as relief and joy mingle freely. Still chuckling, Ereinion lifts his gaze, meeting Galadriel’s with a smirk.

“Ah, but don’t strain yourself further, Lady of Light,” he replies, voice dripping with feigned reproach as he holds you tighter in his arms. “It wouldn’t do for you to exhaust yourself any more than necessary. Not all of us are accustomed to such stoic detachment from matters of the heart.”

Galadriel huffs, managing to roll her eyes in spite of her injuries. “I will recover, Ereinion, if only to save myself from enduring another moment of this spectacle.” But there is warmth in her gaze as it drifts between the two of you, a faint shimmer that speaks of her own hidden joy. Though she hides it well, you can see the spark of approval in her eyes, an unspoken blessing shared in the soft, knowing look that only a friend and ally can give.

You rest your head against Ereinion’s shoulder, and for a moment, the world feels untouched by shadows, your heart buoyed by this rare, shared joy. You steal one more glance at your husband, the glimmer of hope rekindling between you. Whatever lies ahead—whatever battles or burdens the future may hold—you know you’ll face it hand in hand, just as you always have.

Morgoth hated the Feanorians. Or no, that's not quite it. He hated the Finwëans, he loathed them.

The whole line of Finwe had his hatred (and the hatred of Sauron as well, but that's a bit different pice of cake).

He hated them because that whole lineage, from Finwe himself to his very last descendants were the only ones of this world who could look him in the eyes and stand straight, to oppose him.

(Because Luthien doesn't count, now does she? She wasn't fully of the Eldar after all, no. She was other, and half. But the line of Finwe had no such advantages!)

Morgoth hated and feared them, thought not in ways that often could be perceived.

He saw weak, worthless elves who could look at him and say 'you are nothing'. Elves who could look the Darkness into the eyes and burn brighter, bright enough to banish the shadows.

Finwe, who stood between him and the Silmarils (Morgoth was wrong, Finwe wasn't protecting the Silmarils only). The High King of the Noldor who knew he will die and died with his head high and back unbroken, with eyes fearless and blood boiling with fire (where did you think Feanor got it from huh?).

Feanor, who slammed the door in his face, who spat and ragged and could not be contained. Feanor who he manipulated but couldn't corrupt. Feanor who lost only due to himself, whose death was his own no matter what Morgoth would give to be able to say that the Spirit of Fire was his at the end.

Maitimo, Maedhros, who endured torment and torture, humiliation and agony under which any other would break. Nelyafinwe who was rescued and came back, making himself the wall and shield between Morgoth and the whole world. Russandol who died by his own hand, because of his own pain and his own mind, his own actions. He who was never Morgoths, even at his lowest.

Maglor, a singer of such renown and talent one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a Maia. Makalaure who bend the reality in ways that should have been impossible to the elves and that were alien to Ainur. Kanafinwe who walks upon Middle Earth, enduring through his pain because it is his, his crimes, his mind, his hands. He is his own.

Celegrom who was hild, of the forest and rivers and streams, of the Hunt. Turcafinwe who rode against dark beasts and hunted in Oromes train long before Morgoths was released. Tyelkormo the Fair, the Cruel, master of his own soul, untamed and free as the wind. He who looked upon the shadows and walked right through them, he who looked at it and grinned with blood on his mouth and said at it 'i am better'.

Caranthir, never seen or heard but always there. Morifinwe who walked the thin line of Dark and Light with ease seen in none other before. Carnistir who burned with cold fire and walked in the shadows of others with skill unparalleled. He who was called The Dark, and he who carried that name with grace of the night sky. Unbending, master of his own life.

Curufin, so like his father and yet so different. Atarince who instead of jewels made draggers, he who forged armour that somehow was as unbreakable as the house that wore it. Curufinwe, The Crafty they called him, not knowing how close to the truth they were. He burned brightly, which made it all more tragic when he met his own end.

Ambarussa, one never without the other, red hair as the fire raging within. Amrod and Amras, wild as Celegrom, yet as silent as Caranthir. They who were twins, one an extension of the other. They who were so like their brothers, while being entirely different. They who burned the hottest.

for all the elrond girlies out there (including me!!!)

and a bonus for gil-galad girlies (including me again):

Elrond appreciation post - The Rings Of Power S02E07