Latest Posts by ladyoflindon - Page 5

on my millionth rewatch of this i realise galadriel kicks sauron in the face!

THE RINGS OF POWER — S2E8: Shadow and Flame

( credits to @sugurugetos for this incredible gifset ! )

❊ — THE PARTING GLASS ;

summ.  You fall at the Battle of Eregion. Lindon grieves their High Queen; Gil-Galad grieves his wife. or: You haunt the narrative. pairing.  gil-galad / queen!reader w.count. 1.3k a/n.  angst galore , Gil-galad is going through it , & so is Elrond too , Reader haunts the narrative so it’s more of an exploration of grief amongst trop!characters , & a dash of ‘duty versus morality’

YOU REFUSE TO DIE. Arrows have pierced you grave through heart and breast, and though you are mortally wounded, the armies can see yet: you’re unbowed. You’d taken every Orc down with you, left them strewn across the battlefield; destroyed the trebuchets and banners to burn in your wake.

The Queen of Lindon is a fell beast when it is demanded; But the hour for that call has come to pass now, and your grip on the hilt of your sword has finally yielded.

Elrond is first to catch you, and the last to hear your dying breath.

Elven and Dwarven soldiers alike bear witness to the fall of a great Queen, and the kneeling bow of a great King.

For this is Gil-Galad, High King of the Ñoldor; Of whom the Kingdoms have beheld him rend through wood and stone from sheer strength alone, who himself had pulled steeds and comrades out from mire and blood, who had borne the weight of carts laden with all his wounded;

The Eldar’s paragon of boundless, unyielding strength—

And yet, when came the hour after the Battle of Eregion to journey the dead home; High King Ereinion Gil-Galad could say naught but one thing as he drew you up into his arms:

“Help me carry her,” he cried. “Help me carry her.”

So goes the tale of your departure, and that of the High King’s might and heart. Alas, it had not always been that the forests of Lindon were dim with grief. 

In the beginning, when war and battle had been but a forgotten thought, and the sun of Gil-Galad’s life had not yet left him, you were but a General among the army, and earlier than that— the charge of Círdan the shipwright, and soon the heart of young Gil-Galad. 

You were fair and witty and mighty. A forge-fire of life that did not burn but instead tempered, whose hands were calloused from craft yet gentle in touch, whose heart had beat fiercely and still loved tenderly. You were a brilliance of light to Lindon, standing alongside the High King.

But if meeting you had brought out the best in Gil-Galad, then losing you brought out the worst.

He dismisses the late condolatory missives of the Silvan King, Oropher of the Great Greenwood, much to the wise Círdan’s dismay; and when Elrond brings tidings from the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm, that the doors of their mountain are welcome and its resources open for Elven-folk, Gil-Galad grows ever sharp-tongued and ill-tempered.

“Had they been swifter to arrive at the Battle of Eregion, the Queen of Lindon may yet still stand before you,” he says, and does not speak your name— because he cannot. Not anymore. (Many claim he never did again.)

Elrond, however, who is first and foremost a friend to all and especially to Durin, defends kindly, “We do not know this.”

Then, blindsided with anger, Gil-Galad spoke, but came to regret his words in an instant. That is:

“Perhaps, but know this. Your kindness is misplaced and unneeded, Elrond Peredhel.”

A solemn silence passes. Elrond looks as if he'd been dealt a deadly blow.

“I hope you can endure your anger long enough to discover its true name, High King.”

To this, Gil-Galad says, “Or you can save us the trouble, Herald, and tell me.”

Elrond lingers pensively for a moment. Then, gently:

“Grief.”

It shall be said; the High King is not so lost yet to sorrow that he would not see his folly in discrediting Elrond. For that in itself would have been a dishonor to your name— you had taken to Elrond as less a charge and more akin to that of a son you never bore, the day Galadriel had brought him from the seaside.

So when his head had calmed and Eärendil’s light cast the night from his heart, he sent his men for Khazad-dûm, and Elrond came from respite to the creaking sound of wheeling carts and the stomp of Dwarven marching, come noon pass over the new sanctuary protected by the Elven Rings.

“I was wrong,” Gil-Galad apologises, when they convened at the tents where the injured are tended. “This war has already darkened the lands and taken too heavy a toll of us. And if it is to jade even your heart from its ever-kindness, then we would have lost something truly irreplaceable.” 

But if he had not lost his kindness, he surely had gained grief, instead, to have watched the next closest thing to a mother die before him.

“I know in her final moments she spoke to you, Elrond. In my despair I could not ask then, but now I release your burden: What did she say in her last breath?”

Elrond smiles, and though it’s sincere, it’s the type given to dignitaries; Quiet, thin, exhausted. 

“...That she had but only one command left for me. That is to herald to you: Namarië, Ereinion Gil-Galad. I will await you at the shores.”

But Galadriel, from a distance, had seen through him. 

“You lied,” she says, when finally there was no one around to be privy to their conversation. “To protect him.”

And at once Elrond allowed himself to cave from the weight of his untold knowledge. 

“Yes,” he confesses, and Galadriel had to steady him, for a great deal of grief overcame him. “She had called out for the High King, only once, then nothing more. I could see in her eyes she was frightened. I did not have the will in me to tell him such a truth. Have I forsaken the Queen? Was I mistaken to spare his heart?”

Galadriel could not answer.

When Eärendil’s light had shone again come nightfall, in the distance, a wave of cheer and whimsy erupted from the Dwarves across a shared tablespread among startled Elves.

Gil-Galad listens.

It’s a slow-rising crescendo; A lament to the fallen, yet sung in lively tune and bright cadence, and alongside it: the ring of pipes, the beat of cups, and the stamping of feet. 

“I understand you honor your people’s death differently,” comes the sudden voice of Durin IV, “But for us, we sing as an expression of defiance against Death. And we honor the lives of our fallen and their memories through joy and celebration over sorrow and grief. I can order them to sto—”

“No,” he overrides, cut to the quick. The Dwarves may have been slow to arrive at the Battle of Eregion— but they had arrived nonetheless, and have lost their own folk to turn the tides when at its most crucial. 

He would not silence them. It would have been cruel.

“Let them sing,” he says, and marvels at how the Elves had gone to pick up their harps and trill their flutes to join in song. “I’ve not seen my people with light in their eyes since the battle; For Elven memory do not dim.”

“I imagine,” begins Durin, “Oftentimes, it must be a terrible gift.”

And Gil-Galad could not answer at once, because for a moment he saw— as if it had happened only yestereve— the light of your smile in his mind’s eye, and in the next, the shadow of the day you fell on the battlefield.

“Yes,” he says solemnly, blindsided. “It is.”

Then, to the Dwarf’s utmost surprise:

“How will you do it?” Gil-Galad asks. “How can you begin anew tomorrow with all of the grief of your yesterdays?”

How can I? he doesn’t say. How will I?

But he had no need to, because Durin IV could discern him; he had lost his wife and his Queen, as Durin had lost his father and his King.

So counsels wisely the newly-crowned King of Khazad-dûm:

“My friend, we carve through stone not because it yields, but because we must.”

Footnotes:

The Dwarves are singing “ The Parting Glass ”, a folk song about saying farewell to loved ones, often sung in funerals. It is the inspiration for this entire fic and its title; I greatly recommend a listen, especially for its lyrics!

Work in Progress ✍️🏻

Almost done with Alurna's wardrobe from TROP season 2 ♡

If you want to see more content about Elmyr/Alruna: click here

Hopefully, I will post her season 2 ref sheet next week ♡

Do not copy, retrace or use my art without my consent !

Can‘t blame Adar. Sauren (Mairon) is just too handsome.

Requests Open!

Hey guys, it's Lady of Lindon. I find myself in need of inspiration to write, and I'd like to open my ask box to you guys! You can request anything for Silm and RoP elves. OC requests are also welcome, but provide details about your OC please! Have fun!

Feel free to ask via my ask box. It's open!

Note: I'll write mildly spicy fics but no NSFW stories

Curufin: Orodreth has exiled me and your uncle, join me son

Celebrimbor:

Context

wowwwww

Wow ❤️

Illustration by @uzuriartonline

Tolkientober day 21 : laughter

yes!

How I’m guessing the romance starts between these two:

Celebrían: according to lore

[Elrond swoons]

Just amazing. Thanks for this! ✨

Lovely Thorn part 2

@zoya-olenko @ladyoflindon part 2!! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! Idiots in love

______________________________________________________________

The soft light of the dawn seeps through the windows, waking you slowly, your body heavy and aching from the battle, though the pain is more of a dull throb now. The first thing you notice is the warmth of a hand gripping yours, firm but trembling slightly. Blinking, you shift your gaze and find Gil-galad seated beside your bed, his normally regal face shadowed by exhaustion and worry.

“Well,” you rasp, your voice barely above a whisper. “You look dreadful, Ereinion.”

His lips twitch, but his eyes don’t lose the edge of worry. “I could say the same of you,” he replies, voice hoarse and rough, though you can tell he’s attempting to keep it light. “Not your finest look, if I may say.”

You attempt to smile, but it hurts too much to try. “Then why are you still here, looking at me like I’m about to keel over?”

His expression falters, and for the briefest moment, you see the fear he’s trying so hard to hide. “Because, for a moment, I thought I might lose you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, the heaviness of his words making your heart thud painfully in your chest. You blink, and when you open your mouth to speak again, he beats you to it.

“Do you know,” he starts, his voice quiet and trembling just slightly, “that I’ve stood in battles most of my life? I’ve led armies, watched warriors fall under blades, stared into the eyes of death itself.” His gaze drops to your hand, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. “But I have never been as terrified as I was seeing you lying there, screaming in pain.”

A lump forms in your throat, but you don’t let him see it. Not yet. You shift, sitting up gently, resting against the wall behind you. “I’m not that easy to kill, Ereinion.”

“No,” he agrees, his voice tightening, “but I think you’re reckless enough to send me to an early grave.”

You scoff, but before you can retort, he leans forward, his face just inches from yours, his expression deadly serious. “I’ve been a fool,” he says, his voice low and taut with emotion. “A damned fool for thinking that I could keep pretending I don’t care. For thinking that denying how I feel would somehow protect you.”

Your breath catches at the change in his tone. “What are you saying, Ereinion?”

“I’m saying,” he begins, his hand still gripping yours as if you might vanish, “that I love you. I’ve loved you for far longer than I care to admit, but I kept pushing you away, telling myself it was better that way. That you deserved more than the burdens I carry. More than a life tied to the High King.”

You blink, staring at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before I got skewered by an orc?”

He huffs a breath, half a laugh, half frustration. “That would’ve been ideal, yes.”

For a moment, the tension between you flickers into something lighter, but the weight of his words quickly pulls you back down. You sit in silence, the realization settling in—he loves you. He’s loved you all this time, even while you two were too busy bickering over every little thing.

“And what if I said,” you start slowly, your heart pounding now, “that you’re an idiot for thinking I’d ever consider you a burden?”

His eyes snap to yours, surprised, wary. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” you reply, your voice sharper than you intend, “that I would bear any burden if it means being with you. If you thought I was going to walk away because your crown weighs a little heavy, then you don’t know me as well as you think.”

He stares at you, stunned into silence, before a smirk pulls at his lips. “You really are a thorn in my side, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “And you’re an insufferable idiot. What’s your point?”

His smirk softens, and he squeezes your hand, his voice lowering. “My point is that I love you. And if you’ll have me, thorns and all, I will gladly bear the weight of that love, every single day.”

For a moment, you can’t say anything. Your throat tightens, your heart feels too full. But then, as if the tension has finally snapped, you surge forward, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that speaks of all the frustration, all the longing, all the unsaid words between you.

He kisses you back just as fiercely, his hand slipping behind your neck, holding you close as if to make sure you’re real, that this moment isn’t some fevered dream. When you finally pull away, breathless, you rest your forehead against his, eyes closed.

“Meleth nin,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. He goes to pull away, presumably to advise Elrond of your waking. Unwilling to let him go so soon you frantically pull his lips back to yours. 

A shocked sound comes from his throat. He chuckles against your lips, kissing you back just as frantically. Ereinion's hands roam across your body, exploring every inch of skin. He presses his body against yours, feeling the warmth and desire that flows between you.

You moan softly, arching your back as Ereinion's fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. Your hands move to undo the laces of Ereinion's shirt, revealing his muscled chest.

Your kisses grow deeper and more intense, a fiery passion igniting within you both. In this moment, you are lost in each other, blocking out the world outside.

As he pulls the sides of your garments apart, your eyes lock in a heated gaze. Ereinion's hands dance delicately along your stomach, making you shiver with anticipation. You moan softly as he kisses his way down your body, stopping to tease and nip at your sensitive spots.

You arch your back, begging for more as Ereinion slips his tongue inside you, exploring your depths. You clutch at his hair, urging him on as he continues to pleasure you. Your bodies move in perfect sync, and he growls like a man starved as he devours you.

He holds your hips down as you ride the waves of pleasure, gently coaxing you through it. He murmurs soft words of encouragement, placing kisses along your thighs, up your stomach and across your chest as he shifts to lay beside you. 

As you collapse back onto the bed, panting heavily, your heart still racing, Ereinion rolls onto his side to gaze at you. His face is flushed and bright with happiness, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction. He leans in to kiss you softly on the lips, tasting yourself on his mouth.

“I love you too, you stubborn king,” you murmur, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

His thumb strokes your cheek, and he smiles—a real, genuine smile that makes your heart ache in the best way. “Then stay with me,” he whispers. “At my side. Through whatever comes next. Be my queen, and together we will face the trials of the world.”

You smile, exhaustion creeping back over you, but there’s a contentment, a peace you’ve never felt before. “Always.”

Epilogue:

In the years to come, you stand as Gil-galad’s queen, a constant presence at his side as the dark shadow of Sauron rises once more over Middle-earth. The trials of the Second Age are many—wars, treachery, alliances tested—but you face them together, an unyielding pair bound by love and loyalty.

And though the crown is heavy, though the burden of leadership grows with each passing year, it never weighs you down. Not when you share it with him.

Side by side, through every storm, you remain—forever his thorn, and he, forever your maddening, beautiful king.

going on a bit of a historical tangent here alongside my already existent tolkien tangent

"Dr. Lawrence, I presume?" "You must be Oppenheimer. I hear you want to start a school of quantum theory."

Oppenheimer (2023)

OPPENHEIMER (2023) | dir. Christopher Nolan "And now I am become death. The destroyer of worlds." ​​​

“ɴᴏᴡ ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴛʀᴏʏᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅꜱ”.

bromance

James B. Conant (left) and Vannevar Bush shaking hands after Trinity

This was really a reenactment in 1946

My friend thought they were holding hands and honestly I do see that

Just a short video tribute to Gil-galad's hair. (Sound on please!)

no greater pain than watching celebrimbor realise his people don't trust him anymore and turn to annatar for help

ahahahaha turgon

Just for fun :D How King Turgon sits on the throne

Twin Chaos Headcanon

Do you reckon that once Elros was king in Númenor he and Elrond did the twin switch thing? I like to think Elrond recieved a letter one time that said something along the lines of:

I need a holiday. I'll work for Gil-Galad for a week and you rule my kingdom, deal?

And Elrond was just like yea go on then.

A few days in and Gil-Galad is wondering why Elrond keeps making bad puns, why his handwriting is atrociously illegible and is just generally being extroverted.

Meanwhile in Númenor the subjects are confused as to why the King sings at random intervals, gives looks of sharp disdain to annoying politicians rather than swearing like a sailor and no longer gets carried to bed after drinking with the sea-guard.

Then they switch back just as everyone has grown accustomed to it. Elrond (the real one) tries hard not to laugh when the king makes a bad pun, Elros having influenced him. Elros finds himself VERY drunk on his first night back, the sea-guard believing his capabilities to be far higher than when he left.

P.s the bad pun Gil-Galad says?

Some courtier named Nindrol: "High-King-"

Gil-Galad: "Hi Nindrol." (Thank you random elf name generator)

Elrond: *unintelligible noises*

am i the only one feeling wonderful ship potential between these two?? i typed celebrimbor/mirdania into ao3 and the tag doesn’t even exist (yet..?)

please consider: them staying up long hours in the forge, celebrimbor teaching mirdania his skills, sipping tea together during breaks, crafting beautiful things for each other as tokens of affection… walk with me here

could i possibly plant this seed in some lovely fanfiction author’s mind? i’m certain i wouldn’t be the only one interested

Threads of Fate Chapters 25 and 26

Find Chapters 23 and 24 HERE

Notes: These are the final two chapters for this ending! The Celebrimbor girlies on Ao3 requested that I write an alternate ending where reader chooses Celebrimbor instead of Gil-galad. I plan to release the alternate ending as one looooong chapter, that way you can choose your own adventure this fic!

Chapter 25: The Morning After

The soft light of morning streamed through the curtains, casting gentle patterns on the walls of your chambers. You stirred, gradually becoming aware of the world around you. The warmth of the blankets enveloped you, providing a comforting cocoon that made it difficult to leave the realm of dreams.

As you opened your eyes fully, your gaze landed on Gil-galad, who was seated at your desk, sipping tea. He looked relaxed yet regal, his long hair falling carelessly over his shoulders. The sight of him brought back a rush of memories from the night before, and your heart raced at the thought.

You and Gil-galad exchanged shy glances, the air charged with unspoken words and lingering emotions. A faint blush crept across your cheeks as you recalled the vows you had exchanged and the passion that had ignited between you.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice warm and inviting, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice still thick with sleep. You sat up slowly, the blankets slipping down to your waist, and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you.

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home.” He gestured to the steaming cup in his hand. “I thought it best to let you rest.”

You chuckled lightly, your nerves easing a bit. “I appreciate it. It’s nice to wake up to a familiar face.”

With a gentle smile, he stood and approached the bed, placing the cup on the bedside table. “Eleanior came looking for you while you were sleeping,” he said. “She wanted to know if you’d meet her at the forge. She was quite nervous about spending the day with Celebrimbor.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Celebrimbor, but to your surprise, you felt none of the intense emotions that had once overwhelmed you. Instead, there was a calmness, a clarity that hadn’t been there before.

“The forge?” you echoed, gathering your thoughts. “Oh right, yes. Celebrimbor had invited her to see it today.” You groaned loudly at the thought of telling Celebrimbor what had happened.

You and Gil-galad sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “I know you’re nervous about speaking to Lord Celebrimbor regarding everything that has transpired since dinner last night. Would you like me to join you?”

You shook your head. “No, I think it’s best if I see him alone.”

Gil-galad gave your hand a supportive squeeze and smiled. “With any luck, his connection to you will have begun to diminish. He’s an honorable man; I’m sure he will take the news in stride.”

You took a steadying breath as you approached the forge, the sounds of hammering and the warm glow of the fire growing stronger with each step. Anticipation bubbled within you, mingling with the remnants of nerves that lingered from the morning.

As you entered the forge, the heat washed over you, enveloping you in its embrace. Before you could gather your thoughts, Eleanior spotted you from across the room. Her face lit up with excitement as she dashed toward you, her hair flowing behind her like a golden banner.

“You made it!” she exclaimed, nearly bouncing on her toes. “The forge is incredible! I’ve learned so much already.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I’m glad to hear that! What have you been learning?”

Eleanior’s eyes sparkled as she began to recount her experiences. “The way Celebrimbor works is fascinating! He moves with such purpose and skill. I had no idea that crafting could be so… captivating.” She glanced over her shoulder at Celebrimbor, a dreamy expression crossing her face. “And he looks so attractive when he’s focused like this.”

You let out a childlike giggle at her remark. “You silly, lovesick elf!” you teased.

“Could you aid me with a remedy? Do you have something in the healer's pantry for love-sickness?” she snickered.

You both stood there giggling for a moment when you suddenly realized that the jealousy you had felt toward Eleanior’s attraction to Celebrimbor was gone.

“He showed me how to shape metal today, and I think I might have a knack for it!” Eleanior exclaimed, her hands animatedly mimicking the motions she had learned. “You have to see what he’s creating. It’s breathtaking!”

Before you could respond, Celebrimbor turned, catching sight of you both. His expression shifted to one of warmth, and he set down his tools, wiping his hands on a cloth before approaching.

As you engaged in conversation with Eleanior and Celebrimbor, you couldn’t help but notice a flicker of something in his gaze—a subtle confusion that danced beneath his calm exterior. When he looked at you, there was an intensity that seemed muted, as if the storm of emotions he had once felt had settled into a gentle breeze.

You caught him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were trying to reconcile the absence of the overwhelming pull that had once drawn him to you. In those fleeting moments, you sensed a hidden struggle within him, a questioning of why the connection felt different now.

When the conversation lulled, you cleared your throat and spoke. “Celebrimbor,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “could I speak with you for a few moments… privately?”

Eleanior looked between the two of you, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “I’ll head back to the forge to continue my project,” she said, a bright smile on her face. “Don’t take too long! There’s more I want to show you!”

His expression shifted slightly, concern evident in his eyes. He gestured toward a quieter corner of the forge, where the sounds of hammering faded into the background.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words pressing against your chest. “Celebrimbor, I wanted to talk about last night,” you began, your voice slightly trembling.

He nodded, his expression attentive, encouraging you to continue. “After our dinner, Gil-galad and I talked.” You paused, trying to choose your words carefully. “I told him everything that has happened between you and me these last few months.”

“Everything?” Celebrimbor questioned.

“Yes, everything. Don’t worry, he’s not angry. But I…” Your voice trailed off.

“You what?” he asked, stepping closer to you.

“I couldn’t stand the confusion and extreme emotions anymore. I needed quiet. I needed to be in control of my feelings again. Miroden discovered that soulmates don’t have to choose each other for the yearning to subside.” You smiled weakly at him.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he whispered.

You reached out and took both of his hands in yours. “Do you feel that?”

Celebrimbor's eyes widened at the realization. “I don’t… I don’t feel anything,” he stammered, swallowing hard.

“Exactly. We are both free. Free from the yearning. Free to make our own choices. Celebrimbor, I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am to you. You’ve made my time in Eregion so special.”

“But how? Where did our connection go?” he asked, bewildered.

“Miroden's research revealed that if one or both of the pair marries another, the connection will break. The pain, the yearning—all of it will diminish. A mercy given to us by Eru. Last night, Gil-galad and I became husband and wife.” You braced yourself for Celebrimbor's reaction, unsure of how he would respond.

To your surprise, he began to chuckle.

“Why is that funny?” you asked incredulously.

He let out a huge sigh of relief and smiled. “Our connection, while it persisted, was nothing short of bliss. My attraction to you was like sun on black cloth. I was aflame with desire in your presence, consumed by it. It was wonderful, and I would have been very happy to have you all to myself forever… but the thought of taking you from the High King filled me with dread.” He admitted. “I knew our union would create a rift between Lindon and Eregion.”

You smirked. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Celebrimbor smiled. “Well, all I could do was think about it—about you, about us. But I am happy for you, truly.”

“Thank you for everything,” you said as you released Celebrimbor's hands and took a step back.

Eleanior approached, her expression animated. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt!” she said, her voice bright but apologetic. “Could you help me with something, Lord Celebrimbor? Which tool would you suggest I use to sharpen this edge?” She held out a small metal spear she had been crafting.

“It’s quite alright, Eleanior, you’re not interrupting. We've finished.” You looked down at her spear and smiled. “Wow, have you crafted this yourself?” You were astonished by her talent.

Eleanior blushed at your praise. “Lord Celebrimbor helped,” she said shyly.

“Not that much! You have a real knack for metalwork,” Celebrimbor assured her.

You glanced between Celebrimbor and Eleanior, sensing a budding admiration between them.

“Well, I must go and find Gil-galad. We need to plan for our journey back to Lindon.”

“Leaving so soon?” Celebrimbor asked. “Surely you can stay a bit longer, given the circumstances.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Celebrimbor, but we have a wedding to plan.” You tried to convey to him not to reveal too much in front of Eleanior. “We are not yet wed.” You punctuated each word with a sharp tone.

“Ah! Right!… The wedding… your wedding… the royal wedding… of course! You're not married yet.” Celebrimbor spoke clumsily, trying to mask the mistake he'd made.

“Are you okay? Perhaps you are in need of a break; you've been working hard since the early hours,” Eleanior asked with concern.

Celebrimbor gave a nervous laugh. “Yes… perhaps you're right, Eleanior. I could use a break.”

“I could accompany you to the tavern for lunch if you'd like?” Eleanior said, trembling slightly.

Celebrimbor gave her a warm smile. “I’d like that very much. Let me grab my jacket, and we can walk down there together.”

As soon as Celebrimbor turned his back, Eleanior let out a silent scream of joy and grabbed your arms. “Is this really happening?!” She was shaking with excitement.

You pulled Eleanior into a tight hug and whispered into her ear, “If he sees even a fraction of what I see in you, he’ll be head over heels by nightfall.”

“Thank you!” she replied softly, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Now go and find Gil-galad! The poor man has been sulking ever since you left Lindon.”

You both stood there giggling again, and the joy that washed over you was almost overwhelming. Your eyes began to well up.

“Oh, are you crying? What’s the matter?” Eleanior asked, concern etched on her face.

You smiled brightly. “Nothing is wrong. These are tears of immense, overwhelming joy.” You pulled Eleanior into another hug and whispered, “I’ll see you later. I can’t wait to hear about your lunch with Celebrimbor.”

Fingolfin

I love how Celebrimbor's "it is not strength that overcomes darkness but light" has sort of become the motto of the elves as Sauron and his forces grow stonger, when in doubt and when they feel hopeless it is his words they turn to. That they chose to remember him in that way rather than just as the maker of the rings is so heartwarming

The Ring of Barahir? Given to Barahir by Finrod and passed on to Aragorn.

The Three Elven Rings? Made from Finrod's dagger to protect the elves.

Finrod himself? Died protecting Beren from Sauron's Werewolves.

In conclusion: Finrod is the force protecting Middle-Earth from Sauron.

I 95% believe that if Fëanaro hadn’t set fire to the boats… Maedhros would have tried to return them to the Teleri somehow after getting the entire host of the Noldor (Nolofinwe included) across the sea.

Mirdania deserved better!

Mirdania tribute (GOLDWING, Billie Eilish)

mastery

Gil-Galad was an Elven-king Of him the harpers sadly sing The last whose realm was fair and free Between the mountains and the sea

oh sweet elrond

All I want for Christmas is to lie in a meadow and have Elrond read me poetry whilst I run my fingers through his curls. That's not too much to ask, is it?!

A missed opportunity (a scene I wish they'd given us at the end of episode 7 or beginning of episode 8)

Gil-galad is still fighting, wielding Aeglos, cutting orcs left and right almost effortlessly. The orcs have been given orders by Sauron: capture the Elven leaders alive. But they can't get near to the king, let alone disarm him.

One of the orcs spots Elrond, lying barely conscious on the battlefield after Adar has nearly choked him to death. He grabs Elrond, pulls his body up and puts a knife to his throat.

Orc (to Gil-galad): "Surrender or I'll kill him"

The High King drops his spear in a heartbeat.