#gil galad angst

[doodle-pops]

Can You Still Hear My Heart

Gil Galad x reader

A/N: My very first Gil Galad fic and I decided to go down the angst route.

Warnings: slight talk of death, major character's death, slight angst

Words: 1.4k

Synopsis: You contemplate the death of your husband with the visit of an old friend.

The seasons had changed, and the air shifted before the news came. Grey skies troubled overhead, threatening to erupt and scatter their unwanted rainfall upon the earth, and cast away any minute signs of sunshine. It felt like the darkness still won as it never stopped creeping into your heart, shattering any remaining fragments and discarding them around the world, impossible and out of reach. Where your heart travelled, you could not go; it would not allow you after the endless promises made.

There was a light sprinkled on the roof of the pavilion, you saw it rippling in the waters of the pond. The disturbance it created was no different from what your heart felt when it all began, the troublesome whispers and the shroud of trepidation. As your hair whipped gracefully around your face, you managed to find the strength to pull yourself together and attire your figure like the royalty you were trained to be. No matter how difficult things became, you had an image to uphold, a role to play and look. No amount of rain, sunshine, wind and darkness could defeat your majestic image. What would he say if he saw you withered like the flower who could not withstand the torrential rain?

“Your Majesty?” It was the soft and poetic voice of his Herald, Elrond. Ever young was the ellon with his sympathetic face reflecting the tears in your eyes. His face wanted to crack and shatter the façade he kept on for months, bringing you this news might be his final breaking point. You were like a caretaker to him during his days under the High King’s arms, seeing you, a substitute guardian so broken was unnatural. Your emotions could not be hidden from his kind eyes.

Lifting the cup of rose tea to your lips, you took a sip and kept your head afront, looking into the distance. “Lord Elrond, how pleasant of you to come see me,” you greeted in a forced cheerful tone that resonated pain and emptiness. Elrond knew better than to ask you ‘how were you fairing?’, even he wasn’t fairing any better than you. Instead, he cautiously ascended the three steps and sat opposite you on the stone bench. His eyes fell on your sullen figure; eyes sunk in and hallow, lips pale and bruised with bloodstains from vigorous biting, hair dull and figure petite. You hadn’t eaten a decent meal in the last two to three weeks he accessed or hydrated yourself properly. He didn’t fail to see the wine bottles at your feet, hidden behind your robes.

“Are you finished making your diagnostics Lord Elrond? Are the results promising?” Your voice appeared intimidating, hating the scrutiny his eyes held as they your agonising figure; first your maids, now him.

Dropping his eyes to the table, he quickly mumbled a quiet apology. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts he looked at you once again and attempted to speak. “You probably know why I’m here Your Majesty?”

Scoffing and shaking your head cluelessly, you took another sip of your rose tea, nearly finishing the drink in one go. You had no patience to sip your tea with the etiquettes you were taught, they no longer mattered since your reign of leadership was over. You could return to the unbothered person you were before you met and fell in love. There wasn’t a soul who could climb your mountains the way he did. Everyone else was obsessed with tearing it down and rebuilding it, but Ereinion was the one person who courageously climbed its steep slopes without a rope or an axe and braved the harsh weather conditions before arriving at its peaks. There wasn’t a reason anymore to continue the path he left behind if he wasn’t there to walk it with you.

“No, I haven’t the slightest clue Lord Elrond. Do share your reason of visit with me, I’m curious to know.” You smiled forcibly. Elrond winced at the sarcasm dripping in your voice. The tones were worse than when you were delighted.

“Your Ma—Y/N,” he sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Ereinion was dear to you as he was to me; I know the news of his death already arrived.”

“Then why have you come to deliver what I already know? Do you intend on pouring more salt in my wounds?”

Opening his mouth to respond, no words came out, only air. Elrond’s eyes couldn’t reach yours, they fell to the floor shamelessly and remained there, staring at the grey stone. He felt guilt and grief; he understood your pain very well. It was a reflection of his amplified times twenty.

The wind had picked up its speed and blew a strong gust through the garden, increasing its speed as it passed through the pavilion. Your hair flew into your face, but you were too unbothered to care about the discomfort it brought. There was enough discomfort in your fragile heart to care about anything or anyone else besides yourself and the loss of your dead companion. Your bed was empty and cold, the palace was lonely; no amount of servants could bring life into the bleak halls, and your hands were neglected. You felt like you were alone in a stone manor with only four walls.

“You know, they’re asking me if you’re going to carry on the line. I told them you’re not going to, you don’t want that burden,” you sorrowfully stated. It brought back memories of when you told Ereinion that being a King was burdensome and his life was constantly in danger. “You would make a great King, Elrond. Ereinion, I and…the others taught you well. We’re not rushing you, but the offer still stands since Ereinion and I didn’t have any descents of our own. I was never one for children.” You laughed with a bit more colour in your voice.

Your laughter made Elrond’s head snap in your direction causing his eyes to widen. You were smiling and laughing with a teaspoon of mirth, different from the rumours he heard from your servants. “Will you…Will you continue to stay here in Lindon, or will you accompany me to Imladris? There are many who are looking forward to seeing your face,” he whispered with an ounce of fear among the hope, unaware of whether his question would trigger, and shatter the moment.

Darting your eyes to observe the creatures at the pond, you noticed the frogs and dragonflies, the ducks waddling through the water with her ducklings, and the swans. They were Ereinion’s favourite pair since they were black swans. He considered them rare like the both of you with your undying love for one another.

“It doesn’t matter if I leave this world physically, I will never spiritually. I will forever be in your heart and everything you do, always. Know that I love you.”

His last words before he departed.

“Did—Did he at least have an honourable death as a High King?” you asked one last time, too fearful of the real answer.

Elrond knew that his friend’s death was more gruesome than honourable, but given your state of mind, a lie would save your heart from shattering and mead it a bit. Forcing the best realistic smile he could counter; he gave a soft laugh and grinned. “His death was as noble as any other. He gave his life to save Middle Earth and to keep the love of his life safe and alive.”

Feeling your lips trembling at his words, you knew it was a lie, you already heard how he had died at the fiery hands of Sauron; you were touched that he would make his death sound noble. Even you had a hard time seeing how it was courageous and honourable. The intensity of your lips trembling grew before a tear rolled down. Breathing heavily while holding back the rest of the tears, you whispered almost breathlessly, “Thank you Lord Elrond, but I’ll stay here a while longer before coming to Imladris. I still have unfinished conversations with Ereinion; I haven’t poured my heart out enough for him.”

“Understood Your Majesty—apologies, Y/N.” Rising from his seated position, he dipped his head and extended his hand from his heart before making his way out of the pavilion and the gardens, leaving you with your thoughts. Elrond couldn’t help but take one last look at your face as he departed and witness you completely breaking down in the pavilion.

Perhaps it was good that you were finally able to flush all your emotions out. Perhaps Elrond’s words were what you needed to remember your husband in a brighter light.

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar @wandererindreams @batsyforyou

#underratedcharacterevent #gil galad x reader #gil galad imagine #gil galad scenario #gil galad angst #gil galad #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion scenario #silmarillion angst #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #house of finwe #finweans #ereinion gil galad #x reader insert #x reader angst #slight angst #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[thesummerestsolstice]

There were quite a few people who absolutely refused to believe Elrond and Elros were who they claimed to be when they first came to Gil-Galad's camp. This led to the rise of several extremely questionable theories on who they really were, from the more mundane– they're just two half-elves the Feanorians found somewhere– to the more... esoteric, like that Maglor had "sung them into existence" to fool the armies of Valinor into letting them steal the Silmarils.

The most popular theory was that Elrond and Elros were actually the children of Maglor and Daeron of Doriath, and that they'd been kept secret for... some reason– look I never said the conspiracy theories made sense. E&E look a lot like Luthien (Luthien and Daeron are siblings with pretty similar features) and a bit like Fingolfin (who looks like Feanor who looks like Maglor), so it's not totally implausible. It would also explain how E&E had Maia powers without being Elwing's kids. And that was just enough information for it to become a completely unkillable rumor. Most of it dies down after E&E show some clearly human traits, like getting sick, but there are still die-hard believers out there. Some genealogies from the early Third Age list Elrond as Daeron and Maglor's child.

Elrond, who's been confronted about his "real parents" several times, is very over it. Gil-Galad thinks it's extremely funny.

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #elrond #elrond peredhel #elros #maglor #daeron #daemags #kidnap fam #gil galad #You can't tell me everyone just believed they were actually Elrond and Elros #I was considering making an angst post about this but the crack potential was too good to resist

[windrelyn]

Comicstrip - Gil-Galad & Celebrimbor - "Farewell"

"What if Gil-Galad could rescue Tyelpe. But he was mortally injured, and pleaded with Gil-Galad to free him from pain"

This idea came to me when I was thinking what to draw for Day 7 of Second Age Week in January. Inspired by the song Safe and Sound.

Note: Gil-Galad wrapped Tyelpe in his blue cloak.

You can buy me a coffee if you like my art: http://ko-fi.com/windrelyn

#gil galad #celebrimbor #silmarillion #tolkien #comicstrip #headcanons #middle earth #ereinion #tyelpe #elves #lord of the rings #lotr art #second age #my art #blood #injury #angst #death

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Post War of the Last Alliance Elrond

It felt silent, though it wasn’t so. Perhaps it only felt so in contrast to the dread cacophony of screams and the clashing of swords on armour and flesh that had haunted his every waking step for so long he’d been sure that this was all there would ever be. That this was all Arda was an ever would be. But it was not so. Now it was simply still. He was vaguely conscious of soldiers around him picking through the bodies to find their dead, their loved ones. When did something so horrifying become merely expected? He was certain, as he looked over the expanse of armour, blood, trampled banners and funeral pyres before him, that there were more dead than alive. He leaned against his sword as he made his way to where the largest amount of what remained seemed to be gathered.

He was faintly aware of a stab wound in his side as he moved though he found it easy enough to ignore. In fact he could scarcely tell where it was. There was was so much blood. The bitter copper taste filled his mouth and slid all over his armour and every inch of his skin and clothing, he could feel it encrusting a lock of his hair to his forehead and there would not have been any point trying to fix it even if it had been more than a barely conscious thought in his mind. For there was blood slicked over his hands as well. The wounded soldiers parted once they recognised him. And he saw what they were gathered around, though he’d known in his heart as soon as he’d seen them, known since the war had begun, since the day in that tent in a war so similar to this one that it was as if it had never ended when he had first met the person who would change the course of his life he’d known on some level that this is what it would come down to. There was a pyre set up a bigger one than any of the others. And on it laid the remains of the king, recognisable only by his armour.

There were people talking and sobbing all around him but it was as if they were all drowned out by the growing humming in his mind, that was nothing like the music any elf or man was capable of making. It was the making of the world and the destruction of what had came before and he could feel the seismic shift in reality, in Arda itself, the swell and crescendo. But as much as he could feel the world and it’s theme all around him, he saw none of that potential and life before him. His eyes could take nothing in, his presence in this place reduced only to the crown and the blood.

He pulled himself back to the field with a forceful jolt and saw that all the crowd were looking to him, the combined image of so many of their great leaders and legends, bearing their blood and crests. He could not, would not, be the king they wanted. But he nonetheless knew that they needed someone to provide some illusion of control for now. They did not truly need a saviour after all, they’d had plenty of those in ages past, a new age needed new ways of thought, new kinds of heroes. Regardless, all the legends were dead.

Nevertheless he picked up the proffered torch and doused it in the fire. He set the pyre alight. How ironic that it should always come back to fire, where everything was ended and born anew. They had thought they were coming to a new age of peace where they could let go of the flame and lay their weapons down. And yet here they were, and the Second Age ended once again in fire. The smoke filled his lungs, and he should have been in a coughing fit by now but he couldn’t seem to focus on something so real when everything was steeped in symbolism and destruction.

So he stood there in front of the pyre letting the smoke block out his vision and watching the red ember flicker, like a statue that would never be moved, and for a moment he could feel moments and thoughts that weren’t quite his own filling this void he was standing in until he was living every age of the world at once. They were all so similar it hardly mattered whose they were, for they all spoke in the same voice standing in front of their own pyres.

And as he was standing there he felt movement at his side. This shouldn’t have been unusual, and yet it was for, unlike all the other noise on this field his mind could not block that rustle out. He turned and saw silver hair glinting, Celebrian walking to stand at his side. They looked at each other for what felt like centuries and they understood perfectly what the other was thinking, but more importantly what they were not, what could never be made coherent even in their own mind, in anyone’s mind.

They knew there were no words either could use to make sense of all that had happened or the situation they found themselves in so neither tried. He felt the first traces of tears escape his eyes as he finally grasped that this was real, he was here and he knew this because someone else was here with him. Then just as he was trying to mask his inner turmoil to provide an image of reassurance he felt the brush of warm skin against his own.

Slowly he intertwined their fingers, bloody and calloused before the grave of his dearest friend, and yet very much there. Broken, just as he was, but there. And perhaps both not quite broken enough to give up just yet. And so he squeezed her hand in his and felt her squeeze back as the fire roared.

#Silmarillion #Tolkien #lord of the rings #elrond peredhel #eldritch peredhel #angst #Last alliance #second age #third age #gil galad #elrond and celebrian #celebrian #celrond

[fistfuloflightning]

lókë & lotissë

#the silmarillion #finrod felagund #curufin #female curufin #curufinrod #i just really like the idea of them being married and having a son #(or two or three if gildor/gil galad are included) #and then it all gets torn apart #they both swear oaths #and it leads to their deaths #so much bittersweet angst #my art #aesthetic #finrod/curufin #tolkien art #loke is serpent in quenya and lotisse is just the phonetic spelling of lotus also in quenya

[gwaedhannen]

Galadriel does not see what she wants to see in the High King.

G, NAWA, Galadriel & Ereinion Gil-galad, double drabble.

Galadriel’s not—she doesn’t dislike the High King of the Noldor in Ennor.

She doesn’t want his throne, even if he’d quite likely hand the sceptre to her at any time if she asked; regardless she spent too much of the First Age removed from the exiles’ suffering for them to accept her as ruler. And besides, by all rights Elrond has the higher claim, and he’d probably flee to Valinor the moment anyone brought up the idea.

But it’s—every time she looks at him, and sees his charisma is not Fingon’s, his joy is not Lalwen’s, his patience is not Orodreth’s, his fury is not Maedhros’s, his determination is not Finrod’s—

And it’s such a silly thing, isn’t it; surely the whole First Age is a case study in why the House of Finwe should not be trusted to rule; why shouldn’t the throne go to one who earned it by rising from nothing through naught but his own valour and leadership—

But she still can’t help but remember every time she meets with him that the only reason they call Gil-galad King is because everyone else who might claim that title (her family, her family) is dead.

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #stormwritten #galadriel #gil galad #kinda typecasting myself as a “Galadriel has family angst” author aren't I

[lamemaster]

To Reminisce

Pairing: Fingon X Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Bodies were scattered all around then yet, Fingon did not stop. He pushed his sword, steadied his steps, and attacked relentlessly. Swords were mightier than bows.

(My first time writing a character x reader fic )

Blood felt warm. Sticky, warm, and dark. It was everywhere. It was unlike the blood from minor scraps or paper cuts. No this was a blood bath.

Bodies were scattered all around then yet, Fingon did not stop. He pushed his sword, steadied his steps, and attacked relentlessly. Swords were mightier than bows. Those bows were not made to kill the Quendi. No, they were to hunt in the feasts of Oromë. The sword he carried however, was forged with the intent to attack. To hurt and to conquer.

Fingon had no idea when they had started fighting. I could have been the moment they saw their kin against the Teleri, it could have been the moment his father was his uncle, Feanor, fight against Olwë. It did not matter. They stood by their kin, the moment they saw them. After all, blood is always thicker than water that sustains life.

The same blood now felt incredibly thin as Fingon sliced open another throat. He could see the skin tearing away under the onslaught of his blade. Dangling ribbons of skin that were soon covered by inevitable redness. Shuddering last breathes and momentary gasps, Fingon could hear them but he did not stop.

He could see his siblings, his cousins, his uncle and his father fighting. Some bound by the oath, others by duty. None sane enough to notice their own fall.

He had to do it for his family he reasoned with himself. Save and protect his people against the enemy. Avenge his grandfather. He had to do it to make things right. That’s what he told himself.

Lost in repetitive motions of his sword Fingon almost stumbled when he felt his heart twist. Dazedly, he tried to clutch his chest which felt heavy. Had he been attacked. There was no blood, no sword, no arrow, just the pain.

In the blink of moment, as his opponent fell Fingon felt a sense of clarity, a short moment. In that short moment his world shifted. If Bloodied beach was not enough, even the water from the shores had been colored red. Mangled bodies that had been stepped over in the rage of battle. It was the first time he had seen this many dead. Death was not natural to the Quendi.

All the fighting around him slowed. “Hanno!” Unsteady steps followed by labored breathing. It was you. His heart trembled. It was you.

Dressed in what once had been delicate pale gown, now colored red by the blood. However, what had stopped most was the sight of blood that reached the visible bump of your belly. Only sign of life in the march of death.

He had forgotten of your existence. He had ignored the wedding band on his hand that bound you to him and him to you. It was the band that bound him to your family, the family he just murdered. In the moment of wrath he had not remembered that his wife who had left Tirion to visit her family was one of the Teleri. The second eldest princess of Alqualonde who was visiting her parents during her pregnancy. He had promised to come and get you back but…not in this fashion.

“Hanno…hanno,” You whimpered. You were walking towards him. Your steps faltering in the mess. Fingon pulled his sword back to catch you, only to noticed his opponent. A familiar face. Features uncannily similar to yours. Silvery hair like yours. Wet squelch of blood was followed by quivering breath that signaled death.

Your brother was dead. Killed by his sword.

Fingon stood frozen in one spot. He watched you unsteadily make your way to your brother. “Hanno, hanno, hanno please…please,” you scrambled around looking for something. Your gown now soaked in red.

And then you paused. “Ata!” Not far away was Olwë’s cooling corpse. Uncaring of everything you made your way to now dead King Olwë. Right by his uncle Feanor’s feet. You were crying. Fingon’s heart thudded in his chest. He…he was the reason of your pain.

Your lament, your sorrow, he was the reason. He wanted to rush forward and hold you. Take you away from all this. You did not need to see this. You who was carrying his child need not to witness such cruelty. He would have done that had he not been the reason for it in the first place.

Your shoulders shook with tremors as you tried to wipe away blood from your father’s face. Fingon was not unaware of your agony. He could feel every hurt through your bond. He could sense your child’s discomfort as it sensed your sorrow.

At that moment, he wished he had died. He wished some fateful Telerin arrow had struck him in the heart and stopped him from this. He…he had become the reason behind your tears. He wanted to kneel and beg for forgiveness but for what…for killing your entire family for a moment of rage? What apology could he utter to make you forgive him? Nothing, nothing he can ever do will release him of this burden.

Just as he was about to make his way to you, to get you up and get you somewhere safe, Feanor broke the silence. “Boat…”it was quiet not filled with rage it had been. Perhaps the sight of a pregnant elleth, whose hair resembled his mother’s hair, made him soft. “We need the boats.” Your aggrieved hiccups stopped.

He continued, “you are now the monarch of the Teleri. I hope you have enough sanity to give us what we ask.” His voice rang loud on the silent shores. Even the seas made no noise. Everything stilled as if the calm before a storm.

It enraged Fingon. How could his uncle ask that of you? In the middle of this mourning he dared to...boats did not mat- “Those wretched boats,” your voice interrupted his thoughts.

A strong voice, hidden steel that cut sharper than any blade forged by the Noldor. Standing up from your position you gently supported your belly. Fingon had inched forward to help you, only for your hand to stop him.

“You did all this for the boats!” You pointed at the gory scene painted by blood. “You,” you pointed at the gathered Noldor, “you kin-slayers.” You spat every word laced with venom.

“I care no-,“ Feanor was interrupted

“But you will care Curufinwë.” Everyone gathered tensed at your words. The High King could not be challenged. Uncaring of murderers surrounding you continued, “you will care. One day you will care.” You repeated with unflinching eyes. If the Noldor had their High King to protect, the Teleri had their High Queen.

“You!” Feanor shouted at you, who remained unfazed.

“Take these boats but they will aid little to you.” At once the burden of all the lives he had taken felt heavier than ever. “I curse you,” you looked at all gathered, people who had once been family to you, “and all your kin. Nothing you ever do will get you your Silmarils. You will burn for them and in the end, they will burn you!” None spoke.

 Your eyes met Fingon’s. A sole tear made its way down your cheek. Breaking away the eye contact you turned your back to him. A group of surviving Teleri had emerged by your side. Elleth and tiny elflings tucked away in their arms. A few ellon marched to your way.

“Prepare for the last rites.” A broken voice. There was no merriment, no wit, no bubbly laugh he loved. It was gone. Fingon stared unmoving as you gathered your people. The Noldor started hoarding the boats that were colored red with blood.

“Nésa,” Fingon was startled as he heard Argon call out to you. You treasured Argon of all his siblings. The youngest one, who got most of your love. Spoiled by his sister-in-law, who helped raise him. Argon called for you yet again but you did not reply. A desperate plea left his brother’s mouth, but you did not turn around.

A whispered “nésa,” would be Argon’s last words before his death. His brother, who died before reaching the shores of Middle Earth would die with a heart full of regrets. Regrets he would find no repentance or healing even in the hall of Mandos.

 And when Fingon lay wounded by Gothmog’s axe, he would remember you. The second eldest princess of Alqualonde. Fair-haired elleth with a mountain’s worth of wit. He would remember of the first time he saw you and fell in love with a full-grown elleth as a 20-year-old elfling. He would laugh as he reminisces of his past attempts of wooing you as a young adult. The past where he did the craziest things to make you laugh. In pain, the fallen High King would smile at his love for you, and with that smile, he would let go of the world.

In the later ages of Middle Earth, elves would be led by a king named Gil-Galad. A king who did not have a father’s name. A king who ruled with virtues of kindness, humility, and love for his subjects. A king who was taught on the shores of Alqualonde.

The king would fall in a mighty battle but legends from Western shores say, he lives in the blessed lands of Aman. Next to his mother and her subjects.

#angst #silmarillion headcanons #silmarillion #middle earth #tolkien #tolkien elves #Noldor #Teleri #fingon #fingon x reader #gil galad #alqualonde #kin-slaying

[celebrimborium]

go towards goodness (elrond, gen)

Ok, so the people have spoken (thanks @ everyone who commented on my previous post, y’all are sweet!). Here it is. I decided to post this little thing I wrote and also share it here because... well, why not? Enjoy!

Dynamics: Elrond & Galadriel, Elrond & Gil-galad, Elrond & Durin IV, Elrond/Celebrían (minor) ... just, uhm, Elrond & everyone

Rating: T

Words: 17230

Summary: Everyone dies. Elrond lives. (That’s it. That’s the story. Except–)

Read on AO3

Incipit:

She finds him near the sea, adrift and awake. They later say he tried to swim. But neither foam nor night will carry him where he wants to go. Where he wants to follow.

Galadriel wraps a blanket around his shivering shoulders and together they watch the rise of the sun. She, the warrior in her resplendent armour, and he, the Half-elven boy.

The sound of slaughter diminishes around them. It is over. And yet. Soldiers roam the shores, in search of something, their torches alight in the dark. Will it ever be over?

They will sing of this, later. By the Mouths of Sirion. Where the rivers of blood run deep.

#all the angst (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ #elrond #rings of power #the rings of power #rop spoilers #trop spoilers #i guess #trop fic #rings of power fic #rings of power fanfic #like what are even the tags ppl use for this i have no idea #galadriel #gil galad #durin iv #elros #everyone's in this #well not quite #i wanted to keep it tight thematically #and then it still spiralled oop #rop fanfiction #rop s1 #* #(there's at least one part in this that might irritate lore enthusiasts bc i was more interested in a certain psychology...) #(... than the 'likely' scenario but i'd be v happy to discuss that) #(it also goes with the show's bending of canon imo but anyway ppl's reaction to the show made me nervous can you tell lol) #(i have so many thoughts i'll shut up now)

[kanafinwe-makalaure]

Five Times Ulmo Refuses to Let the Sea take Maglor and One Time He Doesn't

Summary: Maglor wanders because he wants to, but also because the sea won't take him no matter how hard he tries.

Content warnings: depictions of depression, suicidal thoughts and several suicide attempts (all, however, failed, and there is a happy ending).

Almost thirty years pass until Maglor hears about Celebrimbor; by that time, his nephew's cruel death at the hands of Sauron is already old news to most. He weeps and weeps for no-one to hear, and then he places his harp on the sand, carefully, reverentially; it is the only part of himself he has been taking good care of. His hair is matted and his skin is sunburnt and covered in little cuts to join the old, fading scars of battles, and his clothes are torn, and the bandages around his hands are grey and filthy.

Then, he walks towards the sea. Waves start licking at his feet, gently at first, until he does not stop pushing forward until they begin to pull at him. He walks on and on, and finally, a current gets a hold of his shin and begins to pull him under. He tries to inhale the water into his lungs.

Even in the deepest pits of his despair, Maglor has always wandered and lamented. The sea has been his trusty companion. He was never going to let it claim him, and it never tried, for it was never his enemy. But now, Celebrimbor is dead.

Maglor has always been water where his father and brothers were fire. That is why he alone lived; but like the sea, he is condemned to eternal loneliness this way. Not even Ulmo has a spouse or siblings among his own kind, because the sea is lonely, and Maglor longs only to be part of it; but the water will not enter his lungs. Perhaps even the sea is too blessed and holy to touch him.

It spits him back out, casts him onto the sand, trembling and spluttering. He remains on his knees for a while and weeps on, sobs shaking his entire body. Then, he sits down in front of his harp and starts playing. The cold makes the pain in his hands even worse than usual, but he barely feels it at all. He just keeps playing and playing because that is what he has always done, until he doesn't feel a thing any more.

(Oh Tyelpë, little Tyelpë.)

After that, for half an age, he remains as he was, a phantom on the shores, cursed and damned many times over, the last of his kind. He has nothing left but his harp and his voice, but those things have always been his own. His family has left him, forsaken him, and the last keepsake of his father's - the thing that caused them all this misery - is long buried beneath the waves. He hated it, in the end, and after he cast it away, he sank down on his knees and begged the Valar, listening or not, to keep all three as far away from him as possible. Perhaps that is why the sea would not take him that one time; perhaps he would have gotten too close, and for fear of that, he wanders north and never returns to that beach. It is cold there, and his hands always hurt, but perhaps he is farther away from the Silmaril now.

When he hears that Sauron was defeated, at the end of the Second Age, he rejoices. It is only much later that he hears how Gil-Galad fell - a hero's death, he hears a Man in an inn say with pride, as if it was a good thing.

In that moment, Maglor feels nothing at all.

The boy was supposed to be safe with Fingon.

He was supposed to be safe, far away from the Fëanorian curse of fire, but he fell to it, anyway, was slain by the fiery touch of Sauron's hands. (Maglor can only hope it was quick.)

For the first time, Maglor wishes he had not been so ashamed all this time, wishes he had gone to him, or at least to Elrond, but now it is too late, and this time, he walks as if he was already dead and only his legs were not. The harp, freshly oiled and stringed, falls out of his limp arms and drops down onto the sand with a dull thud. He walks into the water, and again it won't take him.

He tries again, over and over again, but it always washes him back ashore. He tries over and over again and does not give up until he collapses from exhaustion.

Maglor wakes in a bed. Elrond is there, and Elrond will not let him go. Maglor has lost too many brothers and children, oh, especially the children, but Elrond is still there, and something inside him unclenches.

It takes a while until he speaks, and even though the harp is sitting on his bedside table, he never sings, not for centuries, not until one day, Elrond places two tiny, hot bundles into his arms, eyes moist with pride. Maglor, at first, recoils. He cannot be trusted with something so precious.

But then, he looks into their little faces and vows to himself that as terrible a son, a husband, a brother, a father he was, he will be a good grandfather. The best he can be. Therefore, he opens his mouth and sings them a gentle lullaby. They do not fall asleep, only look up at him in wonder with their large, grey eyes, and Elrond smiles.

Maglor was a shadow of his former self even when Elrond met him, and now, he is a shadow of that shadow, but the children, Elrond's twins and later little Arwen, bring out a side of him he believed long lost. He is still that same broken man he has become, but whenever the children are around him, a small, tiny part of him is that young, carefree elf playing with his little brothers and cousins in Tirion.

Throughout the Third Age, Maglor is alright. Everything still hurts, and his fëa is still wounded and cracked and broken in places, but he is alright, most of the time. He is with family, and he is not alone, and this, he thinks, is the closest thing to home he will ever have again. He takes it, gladly and with open arms. Joy does not come naturally to him anymore, but he eagerly picks up every little crumb of it he can get, even when it becomes exhausting.

Still, he cannot bring himself to step on the ship with Elrond and Galadriel. He tells himself he wants to stay for a bit with the children, and Elrond gives him a sad smile, as if he takes what Maglor insists is a temporary goodbye for a farewell.

Maglor tells himself it is alright, but when he watches the ship leave the Havens, grief suddenly begins to shake him, and, numb again, he makes another half-hearted attempt. Perhaps the sea will claim him now, he thinks to himself.

He barely takes three steps into it before a large wave comes and throws him backwards, and he lies there, sprawled out, his feet in the water, his torso and arms dry, and stares blankly up into the sky all night. The next morning he gets up and rides back to Rivendell as fast as he can, his boots still damp when he arrives, takes his supper with the twins and pretends nothing happened.

Elladan and Elrohir take the last ship, and Arwen finds eternal rest in Lothlórien. Both times, Maglor tries again, and both times the waves wash him back ashore, coughing and spluttering, and both times he lies there curled into himself, soaking wet and freezing, but not even the cold will take him.

He knows he won't see home again. Not Valinor, not his family. They all are either there or wherever the Edain go after they pass, and he will never go to either place. Where he will be sent - what eternal darkness means, he does not know, but he wishes he could find out only for the slim chance that he might find his brothers, and for the certainty.

He walks and walks. He slowly stops wearing his boots again, then gradually stops mending the tears in his tunic again, changing his bandages, combing his hair. He no longer sings, and the harp is still at Rivendell. One time, he went back, and saw that Elrond's house was overgrown with flowers, and wept at the beauty of it, then returned to the shores still empty handed.

The last time he walks into the sea, nothing prompts it, no special, tragic event; he does it on a whim. Not even because the pain has finally grown too strong, but because he wants to see what happens, or so he tells himself. He tells himself he has nothing left to think or feel, to sing or say, no more steps to walk on this earth.

It makes no sense, in a way; he is a storyteller, and that ending of his story was perfectly tragic and perfectly indefinite, walking and lamenting on the shores to infinity. He should treasure that tragedy, embrace it, live it, but all he wants is for it to finally come to an end.

He opens his mouth to pray for the first time in thousands of years, to ask Ulmo to finally take him. Instead he begs, begs him to finally let him end it, to let him have his last choice.

Then, he feels the water pull not only at his leg, but his entire body, and it pulls him down. He closes his eyes, and inhales, and he is so, so cold, and the very last thought on his mind is that he should have gone home when he had the chance.

Then, he coughs, coughs until his insides hurt. His fingers dig into sand, and the sun burns down on his raw, freckled skin. He notices that the sand is just a little bit whiter than the sand on the shores of Lindon, and it glitters in the sun like snow, except it is warm, so warm, and his hands no longer hurt. He takes off his grey old bandages with trembling fingers, and there are fresh, pink scars where his skin had been raw and open for over two ages.

Warmth spreads in his chest, and as he staggers to his feet, not far from the white, pearl-bedazzled houses of Alqualondë, he also sees Tirion glisten in the distance, golden and homely, and he knows that all along, the sea has been his friend.

#maglor #silm #fourth age #fourth age maglor #angst #angst with happy ending #my writing #i was really unsure whether to post this but here it is #also yes i know this contradicts my actual headcanon of what happened AGAIN in a different way but i haven't posted that one anyway #only yet another fic of what in my mind DOESN'T happen #so its fine #its fun to explore how this train wreck of an elf would do if left to his own devices #spoilers not well #my favourite trope is maglor being forcibly reunited with his family and realising that it's more fun to be happy #also gil galad son of maglor #as implied here #hehe #silmarillion

[aeonianarchives]

I see on your fotfictober masterlist you have magic undecided if you haven't decided on what you are going to do yet can you do someone trying to resurrect a loved one from the grave but fails.

With Gil-Galad x Reader after the battle of the last alliance.

Magic

Fotfictober prompt: 12 - Magic

Summary: the ask, but fuck you I am making the resurrection succeeds

Pairing: Gil Galad x Reader

Characters: Gil-Galad, Suaron, Elrond, Reader

Warning: Major Character Death

A/n: Fuck you anon I hate you, why am i doing this to my favorite boy, because I have no other ideas for this.

You could do nothing but watch in horror of what you were witnessing, Gil-Galad and Elendil had both entered combat with sauron, it was obvious both of them would perish at his hand, as you had done once before, or almost had as the dark lord had cursed you to forever walk middle earth and could not return to Valinor.

You wanted to make you way to them both to help them maybe have a chance but you were to outnumbered by the orcs which were charging at you, you defeated one and two then three came in the place of the slain, you had lost Elrond in the sea of battle long before.

You had to tear your eyes away from your love so you didn't get injured by orcs, you soon felt your back colid with someone else you glance back to see the young Sindar prince Thranduil, blood stained his face and dragon fire cursed the otherside of it, the only thing keeping him fighting was adrenaline and the fear of dying, there was also determination in his eyes, he must of seen someone he loved die.

the painful scream of the elven high king rung through your ears, you turned your head to see the heat of suaron's bare hands take your lover.

"Gil" His name made your voice break as you whispered it quietly under your breath, suaron may of been defeated now but the two had been taken down with him.

your blade pierced the last orc neck which had not fled you pulled your sword back the blood splattering onto your already dirt, ash and blood stained face, you made your way to the slopes of mount doom were the battle took place avoiding stepping on the fallen elves, Elrond was no were to be seen he had taken isuldir to destroy the one ring, you glanced to the spear which stood with the broken and battered body of Celebrimbor you turned your head back down and continued your way to him.

His body was burnt beyond recognition, you dropped your sword before you dropped to your knees you cradled his body with is head on your folded up cape.

"Come on stupid curse i know you can bring people back, you've fucking done it before" you cursed it had it left because suaron was dead, no no it did not or your soul would of passed to the halls of mandos

"Come on gil you can't have died on you" you cried.

You decided to join Elrond and help him make Imladris, the bodies of your fallen had been transported there for a proper burial.

"I feel sorry for Thranduil not only did he had to lose his father but he also became king with no preparation" you said as you walked with Elrond to the healing wards where the bodies where being prepared to be buried, a healer had called you there because of something urgent neither of you knew what it was though.

"Lord Elrond, Y/n will you please wait, I believe you should see this separably" the healer who greeted you said Elrond nodded following her you took your place resting on the wall, most of the elves you could see were young not even passed 2,000 and they were called to serve in battle, sure they had training and were good but not good enough for suarons forces in large numbers, you decided to walk to one of them, you recognized him, he brought you the report right before the battle, you had also been friends with his father who had died in an orc ambush his name was Erúion.

You moved his hair from out of his face, the healer who was tending to him jumped at your presents you took the rag and water without a word and washed the blood from his face, he gasped, your eyes widened as he breathed in you dropped the bowl onto the floor spilling the water, you watched as his eyes fluttered open, the cut on his neck closed steaming.

"Y/n" he questioned looking at your shocked face

"You look like you have see a dead person" He laughed sitting up he winced in pain.

"You, you were just dead, your neck it was cut open" You said he laughed again

"Silly Y/n, I am just fine i have no cut open neck" Erúion said.

"How is this possible" Elrond questioned as he looked at Gil-Galad who was perfectly fine sleeping

"I do not know the full details but his body has slowly been repairing itself since collecting the bodies, I believe this maybe the work of Y/n, their mother was a healer known for healing the most fatal of wounds on elves other healers could not, their father had an unexplained magical ability, both families they came from either have fae blood or blood from a Valar, i looked deeper in their father It turns out long before mandos took his wife, he loved an elf, y/n is related to mandos, the curse suaron placed on them only awakened the Valar magic which was laying dormant in the family gene, they were only supposed to not be able to pass to mandos, but insted they got the ability to commune with the spirits and more, this is only a hypothesis" the healer said the king in the bed groaned as he slowly awakened

"What happened, I thought I died, I saw the halls of Mandos but I was pulled back" Gil-galad said

"Did you see anything else, was it a person pulling you back" The healer asked

"Yes, it was Y/n" Gil-galad said questioningly Elrond looked to the healer, the two left the room to get you, only to see you and a wide awake Erúion

"I believe my theory is true, y/n can resurrect people" the healer said

"What" you questioned from looking dumbly at Erúion and towards Elrond and the healer

"Just follow us" Elrond said they brought you to the room but Elrond covered your eyes before you entered

"Elrond what is the meaning of this" You said trying to fight him as he lead you in, he took his hands away.

"what kind of sick joke is this" You demanded turning to the lord

"This is no joke" Elrond said

"It isn't funny" You said poking the lords chest

"He is right Meleth-nin It is no joke, I am really alive, i don't know how, mandos kicked me from his halls" Gil-galad said

"How am I meant to know you are not some poser" you said

"When i tried to confess to you the first time, I fell into one of the fountains and lost my crown, no one but you knew about it, not even Elrond, you promised not to tell him as he would shout at me if he learned of it" Gil said

"I am sorry but you feel into a fountain and lost your crown how stupid are you" Elrond said

"It was deep okay" Gil-Galad said.

"Fuck it" you muttered as you walked to your lover and hugged him

"We will leave" Elrond said he and the healer left

"You frightened me Meleth I though you had died" you said as you brushed his hair out of his face.

"I did die, but not for very long" Gil-Galad respounded kissing you.

"Uh no, you can't have kisses" you said

"Why" Gil said

"You died on me" You said

"I came back didn't I" he responded

"I am still mad about it" you said he laughed and wrapped his arms around you pulling you down and kissing you

"and I say no, you will have all the kisses I want to give you" Gil said you huffed but gave into him as he wasn't going to let you go anytime soon as he showered you in kisses, there was no point arguing against it, he would just ignore it and be stubborn.

#elrond #thranduil #apple picking #jrr tolkien #middle earth #the hobbit #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr #elves #fotfictober #fotfics #october prompts #writing prompts #fotfics october event #angst #silmarillion #gil galad #reader insert #tolkien x reader #middle earth x reader #gil galad x reader

[yellow-faerie]

Before you take the prompts down, maybe 30 for the Tyelpe and Gil Galad Brothers AU?

I like this, I like this prompt a lot.

From this prompt list.

30 - "Oh, thank all that is good that I found you, did - ow! Why did you do that?"

When the battle was raging in Nargothrond, Celebrimbor had to keep an eye on both Gil-Galad and his younger cousin.

Of course, he managed to lose both.

And when he'd found Finduilas, pinned to that tree, and quite dead, he had feared the worst for his little brother.

"Lord Celebrimbor!" Someone calls as Celebrimbor is helping one of Orodreth's advisors organise the what refugee stragglers they have managed to find and group together.

Analoth is a young elf, born on these shores around the same time as Finduilas, and had been her lady-in-waiting since both of them could walk. She had not taken the news of Finduilas' death well so it is a surprise to Celebrimbor that she looks quite so...alive.

"Lord, I have seen another group of refugees, coming up from the south. They must have been hiding in the woods." Her eyes have a fiery hope in them. "They might have Prince Ereinion with them."

Celebrimbor's whole heart clenches at the mention of his brother but he manages to keep his face straight. Best not to show anything until there is something more substantial than a hope.

Analoth's face falls slightly. "Is this not good news?" She asks, sounding hurt that Celebrimbor had not taken the news as well as she had hoped.

"No, no it is. Anymore people who survived is a blessing." He turns back to Fanaril, who's gone on to make the necessary annotations to their map while he talked.

"I'm going with Analoth to help scout out this new group. We can finish this later."

"Right, my lord." They roll up the paper and tuck it safely in their bag. "Safe journeying."

Celebrimbor nods and turns back to Analoth. "Show me where they are."

"Not far. I saw them while looking for wild mushrooms. Mushrooms are hardy and I thought some might have survived the orcs destruction. I found a good patch not far away and I saw them coming but I didn't want to wander too far unless...unless it was a trick of the Enemy."

"That was wise," Celebrimbor says, checking that his sword is easy to remove from the scabbard on his back. "On both counts: the mushrooms was a stroke of genius I wouldn't have thought of. When we return, please spread the word to keep an eye out for them."

"Of course."

Celebrimbor lets out a soft sigh and smiles imperceptibly. It's by no means a fix for Analoth's grief but Celebrimbor hopes that keeping busy will help her as it's always seemed to help him.

Analoth starts beside him suddenly and speeds up. "Ah, there's my basket! We're here."

She snatches her mushrooms from the ground and straightens up, looking around. The forest is blackened and still on fire in some places but it is not difficult to see far here.

"Analoth, I cannot see anyone."

She slumps down. "Oh. I swore I could..." She sighs and rubs at her eyes like she's about to cry. "...I guess it was one of the Enemy's tricks."

"But you did good," Celebrimbor says softly, reaching out to gently rub comforting circles into her shoulder. "You managed not to fall for it."

"Yeah." She doesn't sound very happy about it. "I guess...I don't know what I guess."

"Let's go back to the camp, alright? We'll take your mushrooms and I'm sure someone can make something warm to eat out of them."

It takes a little bit more coaxing but Celebrimbor manages to steer her back around and they stumble through the blackened remains of the forest to where their small group of refugees have found a place to huddle.

"Ana!" Someone calls as they get closer and Analoth's older sister appears from the crowd.

"Mina?" Analoth says in surprise and is wrapped in a tight hug by Minloth. Celebrimbor steps away to let them have their reunion and looks instead for Fanaril.

Obviously, while they were away looking for Analoth's hallucination, an actual group of refugees appeared which meant-

His eyes fall upon a familiar head of silvery-gold hair, still tied back with the silver hair pins Celebrimbor had made him for his last begetting day.

Gil-Galad is sitting on a fallen log, swinging his legs and looking a little lost as people swirl around him with greetings for each other.

Celebrimbor passes a few people he knows on his way over but he spares them little more than a smile.

"Gil?" He asks softly and his little brother turns around sharply. Celebrimbor can feel muscles he hadn't known were tensed, relax, and he smiles.

"Oh, thank all that is good that I found you," he says, crouching down in front of him. "Did-" he starts but does not get to finish as Gil-Galad aims a really hard kick against his shin. "Ow! Why did you do that?"

"You left me!" Gil-Galad says, crossing his arms. There are furious tears glittering in his eyes. "You promised Atya that you would protect me and you left me."

Celebrimbor hates how much his voice must break when he speaks again. "Oh Gil, I'm-"

"No!" Gil-Galad looks a little surprised by the force of his words but carries on all the same, "I was scared and it was so loud and busy and I had no idea where you were. You're my brother, you're meant to be there for me, you were meant-"

He cuts off abruptly with a hiccup and he starts crying.

Celebrimbor gently takes his hands in his, wanting to just pull him straight into a hug but not sure whether that would really be appreciated right now.

"Gil," he says and his brother looks up at him, "I'm sorry."

There is a moment where Gil-Galad just stares at him, searching his face for something that Celebrimbor can't quite work out, and just as Celebrimbor thinks that his apology is going to be rejected, Gil-Galad sobs and pushes himself right into Celebrimbor's arms.

"Please don't leave again Tyelpë," he mumbles into the front of Celebrimbor's shirt. Celebrimbor rests his cheek against his brother's hair, still fluffy from childhood even as he gets into his adolescence.

"I shan't. Not if I can help it Hánya."

It's more than his promise to Finrod in a back corridor of Nargothrond. It's more than a half-conversation had with his father in the night. It's more than a hundred words said.

It's simply that Celebrimbor loves his brother with all his heart and he would kneel here, in this thick mud among the burned remains of one of Beleriand's great forests forever if it would bring even an ounce of happiness to him.

"I give you my word," he finishes, in barely a whisper, and he knows the seriousness of such oaths.

#does this parentage provide so much angst potential? #Yes #Gil-Galad #Celebrimbor #OC: Analoth #OC: Fanaril #OC: Minloth #Silmarillion #Tolkien #Fanfiction #The Curious Case of the Parentage of Ereinion Gil-Galad #Gil-Galad Curufinrodion #Fae's Stuff #Fae's Fic #Prompt #Prompt List 3 #Ask #ibrithir-was-here

[last-capy-hupping]

Ice, Ice, Ice, Baby.

(We’re finally crossing the Helcaraxë, and Findekáno is not handing being ghosted well. Not at all.)

#silmarillion #fingon #maedhros #russingon #fanfic #house of finwe #silm typical angst #helcaraxe #fingon’s wife #turgon #gil galad #deaths #funerals #igloos #cute baby #Finno’s cheating heart

[the-writing-goblin]

I am once again thinking about how good the story of the second age is, and all the fun things you could do with an actually decent adaptation. Consider:

Galadriel should be exactly the same as she is in Lord of the Rings. She is older, weirder and more powerful than any elf other elf in Middle Earth. Other elves are just as unnerved by her as mortals, and dealing with her is stressful at the best of times.

Elrond should be an absolute infant. Just, complete baby face. But everyone treats him super respectfully and he has a lot of power and influence. The energy should be the same as when the super ancient and powerful vampire or faerie or whatever looks like a ten year old girl.

ALSO there should be a tall, menacing elf with visible tattoo and facial scars who just. Stands behind Elrond looking intimidating all the time. The least elf-looking elf ever. All the other elves are uncomfortable around them. Elrond should treat them like their an Aunt or Uncle. The elf is one of the few surviving hard-line Feanorians, all of whom follow Elrond. The longer you can go without explaining this, the better.

Gil-Galad is very tired, and spends a lot of time balancing one of the most famously unstable political systems in all of Arda. Galadriel and Elrond both have factions they support to strongly to be relied on to be impartial. The reason he doesn't worry much about what Celebrimbor's up to is that he's the one member of the family who is highly unlikely to attempt something batshit nuts, and his followers are mostly moderate.

Celebrimbor and Annatar/Sauron should spend the whole series playing complicated mindgames with each other.

Annatar is playing four-dimensional chess from the beginning. For him, this is an all or nothing gamble. If he can't make the rings he won't have the power to seize control on his own. He should spend a lot of time having Light Yagami-level monologues where he tries to figure out what game Celebrimbor is playing while outwardly pretending to be harmless and normal and only succeeding at this about 75% of the time.

Celebrimbor should start of thinking the stakes are considerably lower. Like... is Annatar hiding something? Yea, but he figures Annatar doesn't actually have permission from the Valar to be here or something. Not, ya know, Annatar is secretly Satan in disguise. In the first act there should be an almost comical disconnect between the amount of energy Sauron is putting in to these mind games versus Celebrimbor.

Bonus points if as Celebrimbor figures out the truth, you intersperse more and more of his family backstory. The guilt he is still carrying for a lot the things that happened in the first age. Early on bring in the fact that Finrod went into Sauron's jaws alone and it was Curufin's fault, use this as angst material. And then as he figures out who Sauron really is, drop Maedhros and Thangorodrim in like a nuclear bomb.

Because Celebrimbor has seen this play before, and he knows what Sauron does to people. It wasn't even personal then, what Sauron is going to do to him will be so much worse.

And Celebrimbor chooses to forge the three rings anyway. He doesn't give up their locations, even with everything Sauron does to him at the end. And that should be devestating.

#silmarillion #rings of power #kinda #sort of the opposite of rings of power #celebrimbor #annatar #elrond #gil galad #wild tonal shifts in this post #oh well #I think this story should have wild tonal shifts tbh #I am unwell about these elves #lotr

[echo-bleu]

End of the Year Fic Recs

thank you @thescrapwitch and @sallysavestheday for tagging me!

This is a wonderful game, I love reccing fics and I should do it more. I'll keep it all Silmarillion for the recs, since that's the bulk of what I've read this year. I haven't had the spoon to leave proper comments on some of these, so hopefully reccing them can count too?

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

- The Harrowing by @chthonion. I am forever in awe of this whole series and of Chthonion's writing. Somehow every single sentence is relatable and at least half of them are a punch in the gut, but in a healing way. A delightful Frodo, Celebrimbor and Finrod working through their trauma and Annatar, remade as an elf, learning how to be a good person (and a person at all, really).

- we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin. Truly delightful 70s AU as narrated by 8 year old Elrond, who just makes my heart melt in every chapter. Maedhros and Maglor as traumatized foster parents doing their best, the twins with their antics and their fears and joys, it's such a breath of fresh air and I can't get enough of it.

- Hanged Man by @tethysresort. Second age fic about the fall of Eregion and the start of Imladris with so much interesting worldbuilding and plot, and characterization of Elrond and Glorfindel especially that I really loved.

- Everlasting Song by @amethysttribble. This is perhaps a little more niche, a crossover with A Song of Ice and Fire, but I'm not an ASOIAF fan at all and I have like two whole memories of the books and I'm still finding absolutely delightful. Top-notch characterization of the Fëanorians, and it really keeps you on your toes.

- Aurë entuluva by @theheirofashandfire. Just very recently caught up with it and I love it to bits! The time loop is all kinds of angsty and breathtaking, and I really love the world that is being constructed afterwards. Wonderful Russingon, and I'm also, especially, in love with her Curufin and Celegorm.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

- Wayward Son by @thescrapwitch. Angst exactly like I like it. Fëanor and Maglor, and it will make you cry. @thescrapwitch writes Maglor just wonderfully and I really love this Fëanor that will do absolutely anything for his son.

- On the difference between hostages and sons by leodesic (and the rest of the series as well). Absolutely delightful Elrond and Elros, as seen by Gil-galad when they first come to his court. I love Elrond defying expectation, and this was such a wonderful read.

- the world to come by arriviste. Arda Remade, told through the shadows and the gaps of what's missing. It's eerie, and I love a well-written eerie fic that leaves you feeling a little off-balance. Wonderful reflection on the price of perfection.

- Sea-Bells and Sunlight by @actual-bill-potts. Finrod, Lúthien and Beren in Mandos. This broke my heart in the best way.

- in the breaking by @thelordofgifs. Short but terribly impactful study of Maedhros and Maglor before the end, one of the best I've read of them.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

- A Farewell to Arms by MorwenSteelsheen (LOTR, Farawyn). Such a wonderful characterization and development of Faramir and Éowyn's relationship in a slight canon divergence where Éowyn arrives in Gondor two years before the end of the war of the Ring.

- The Splintered Light by @thearrogantemu. The whole series. These Gifts That You Have Given Me (Silvergifting) is well-known in the fandom, I think, and I absolutely loved it, but the other fics set in the Fourth Age were among the first I read in this fandom that I just fell straight in love with.

- The Host of the West by @mynameisjessejk. Various fics of the Otter Mayhem and Otterless Mayhem series could have gone into every category here because I love them all, but this is the one I chose because I reread it yesterday for the fourth (fifth?) time and it still had me bawling my eyes out. Probably my favourite Finrod, and definitely an inspiration for my own writing. The whole series is about healing and redemption and elf therapy and all of it is delightful.

- The Peril (and Potential) of Unleashing Lightning in a Fishbowl by @dawnfelagund. This one took everything I thought I knew about Caranthir, threw it out the window and gave me a truly brilliant characterization I didn't know I needed in my life. The worldbuilding is also delightful, and so is Amarië.

- Aranya by SpaceWall. I read this recently and it's really staying with me. Some people in my asks have expressed interest in fics that take the Valar to account for their mistakes, and this is a wonderful one. With a bonus revolution. I really love the non-linear storytelling as well, a hard-to-use tool that is done wonderfully here. Plus the title is inspired.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

- your veins are empty of dust. Character study of Nerdanel as feels her family die across the sea, and she sculpts. This is also the fic for which I made the art I'm probably the proudest of to date.

- your smile tells me I'm safe. Modern AU with aro Maedhros and a Russingon QPR.

- silver. Míriel, Celegorm and Celebrimbor, and living with chronic illness.

- the light that you keep burning there. Part of a much larger AU where the second and third kinslayings don't happen, but this one is about Maedhros, Maglor and Fingon in the later years, as the world crumbles, trying to remember what (who) they're fighting for.

- if I am to braid my mystic crown. The Silmarillion retold through worldbuilding headcanons about braids.

Tagging @unforth @foodsies4me @wren-of-the-woods @camille-lachenille (I don't know who has already done it, so feel free to send me a link if you have!)

#fic recs #echo's fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Elrond and Gil Galad before the fall of Eregion

This piece makes a bit more sense if you’ve read my Headcanons about Elrond and Celebrimbor’s relationship. You absolutely don’t have to to understand it it just provides some context.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Gil Galad pleaded as Elrond grabbed his armour. ‘You said yourself you have a bad feeling about all this, you know you’re rarely wrong when it comes to this sort of thing.’ Elrond began to strap on his breastplate as he replied with a tone that Gil Galad knew meant he would not be persuaded.

‘I have to go. Tyelpe’s safety depends on it. I will not let him die, he’s some of the last family I have left on these shores.’ Gil Galad spoke more quietly here ‘but what about Celebrimbor. I saw you when you came back from Eregion the last time I hadn’t seen you so upset in many years. The things he said to you- and banishing you! His own kin who was only trying to help him! He’s not himself and I’m not sure if going back there is a good idea. I don’t want to see you get hurt if your efforts to reach out are rejected again.’

‘I care about him still. You’re right he was not himself but the person he was is not dead. I love him, as my own blood, and will still do all I can to help him.’ Elrond spoke this as if it was an obvious statement of fact. Why wouldn’t he still love a cousin whose comments on his mental state had left him in tears?

‘You forgive far too easily. And give your love too freely even at times when people are not deserving of it and cannot see its great value. It’s hurt you before and it will continue to. You have a right to anger and in many situations it is a much healthier response.’ This was an issue that had come up many times before between them, though normally in relation to a certain minstrel. And it still upset Gil Galad to think that someone so kind who deserved all the love and happiness in the world would continue being hurt and abandoned by the people who he attached himself to. The people who should have been protecting him.

‘I know that I have a right to anger. I have a right to anger over a lot of things. I could be angry at Eärendil for leaving us. I could be angry at the Feanorians for the kinslaying. I could be angry at my mother for leaving us to die in that kinslaying. But I’ve seen enough anger already and I’ve seen what it does to people and the people around them. So if I can focus on seeing the good in the people who didn’t deserve what happened to them anymore than I did, why shouldn’t I? I can choose to be bitter over what pain was inflicted on me or I can choose to return what kindness I was given, even if it is small in comparison. Because kindness is far more needed than anger and I choose to give it to those who wouldn’t receive it from anyone else. So if I can find it in myself to forgive I will. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?’

And Elrond had tears in his eyes as he looked imploringly at Gil Galad as if he needed him to understand. Gil Galad wasn’t sure he could quite. He could only look in wonder at the person before him. How one could hold so much love for others despite receiving so little from the world made no sense to him. The next time he spoke he realised he had tears in his eyes as well.

‘Please don’t die. I couldn’t bare to see you gone. You are the most incredible person I have ever met. And I am more sure than ever that this world never deserved you. I know I don’t. But please don’t leave me.’

‘I will not die, you need not worry.’ But this was not said reassuringly, more with a certainty and melancholy that Gil Galad had come to associate with Elrond’s foresight. He was telling the truth but it was not wholly a good thing. Then Elrond jested, albeit through his tears ‘I’m made of sturdy stuff, you know, part Maia and all that!’

Gil Galad leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, both their cheeks now thoroughly wet with tears. He pressed his lips tenderly to Elrond’s brow and watched as he turned to leave.

#Silmarillion #tolkien #i know I’ve posted a lot about their friendship #I just really love the dynamic! #elrond peredhel #gil galad #Elrond and Gil-Galad #Celebrimbor #angst #kidnap fam #elrond is really too good for this world

[arafinweanappreciation]

I don't know why but I love Orodreth being Ango's son. Because like Ango is named iron-handed and the dude probably has a temper that can rival the feanorians. But like what if this giant, hot, golden-haired dude, who is terrifying to fight in a battle, has a small son who is soft-spoken, loves books more than fighting, and generally keeps to himself. Like I can imagine Eldalote being protective of Orodreth, especially when they cross the ice.

ooooh yes. there are so many juicy angles to orodreth son of angrod (and gil-galad son of orodreth imo). both the parallel and contrast potential are nigh unmatched. (especially the angst of the soft-spoken "weak king" orodreth up against the image of his fierce, ever-strong father. does he feel like he's struggling to fill his shoes. does he feel like he's failing to preserve his memory. does he think he's disappointing him. I NEED TO KNOW)

#orodreth #angrod #silm #silmarillion #thanks for the ask!