Elrond Week

May the blessing of Elves, and Men, and all Free Folk go with you. ☆Elrond Week was hosted from July 10th-16th 2024!☆ run by @meluiloth

[elrondweek]

Elrond Week

Welcome to Elrond Week, a fandom event dedicated to Elrond Peredhel, a beloved character in the Tolkien legendarium! This event will run from July 10th to July 16th, so save the date and I hope to see you there! Any kind of fanwork is welcome, be it art, writing, headcanons, playlists, moodboards, gifs, and whatever else you can think of - get creative and have fun!

Prompts

Rules

FAQ

-your host, @meluiloth

[erathene]

Instinct (Part 2)

Summary: Elrond is restless, and cannot shake the unease that plagues his mind. Suddenly, his gift of foresight shows him a vision of his adopted son Estel in trouble. It will take all of his fatherly instincts to patiently wait for news of Estel's wellbeing, having sent Elladan and Elrohir straight into the face of danger.

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: Elrond & Estel, Elrond & Elladan and Elrohir.

Warnings: Generous amounts of canon-typical violence, including graphic descriptions of blood, injury, and loss of consciousness. Angst including self-doubt and anxiety. Mention of death.

AO3 Link: Instinct

Author's note: Here it is! Part 2 of the fic I created for @elrondweek with the prompts "Family and Love". Originally this was going to be 2 parts, but it looks like there will be a Part 3! 😅 I feel like I'm turning up the dial on the whump and angst in this part, so please heed the warnings. Enjoy!

......................

"Tracks."

Elladan paused to look at the section of ground where Elrohir was pointing, crouching low to get a better view of the imprints left in the dried mud. The tracks were not fresh, but neither were they old, and the size and shape provided little doubt as to who had made them.

"Definitely orcs," noted Elladan quietly with a frown, his distaste for the foul creatures evident in his tone. He swept a few fallen leaves away from the area with his hand to further examine the tracks, only to see an additional shape that was unlike the rest. "And human." He glanced up to exchange a knowing look with Elrohir.

Estel.

The brothers did not have to converse any further to confirm they were on the right path. Ever since their father had reluctantly revealed his vision, the twins had been determined to locate their brother and bring him home. Both Elladan and Elrohir hated seeing their father worry incessantly for his youngest son. They were even more determined to cut down and destroy the orcs; the foul creatures would soon know it had been a grave mistake to launch an assault against the house of Elrond.

It was a mistake they would never forgive. Not after what had happened to their beloved mother. They would track these beasts down and cut them limb from limb.

And they were close.

---

Ragged gasping was the first thing Aragorn heard as he began to come round from his unconscious state. His lungs drew in hungry breaths as if searching for oxygen in the air around him. His eyelids were too heavy to lift, and a high pitched ringing blasted in his ears. Valar, everything hurt. He slowly became aware that he was sitting on the cold earth, albeit slumped sideways against the trunk of a large tree; the surface of the bark touching his cheek was coarse and rough, and the scent of sap passed through his nostrils with each gasp he took.

Breathing was far more difficult than he remembered.

No sooner had this thought wandered through his mind, his senses encountered a further onslaught of pain. White hot burning radiated through his entire body, causing him to groan weakly. Dizziness made his head spin and he kept his eyes firmly shut, for if he opened them he would surely see the world gyrating. The ranger's mind flickered between the experienced healer in himself, inwardly trying to examine every inch of his being for the source of the agony, and the injured patient who wanted nothing more than to surrender to the pain and slip into oblivion. His next breath caused him to descend into a coughing fit, and he desperately clutched his side in an attempt to lessen the torment.

As he began to regain control and steady his breathing, Aragorn idly wondered how it was he found himself here and in this state. He had been travelling alone, that much he remembered. He had departed through the gates of Rivendell over a fortnight ago, but at present he was unable to recall the purpose of leaving his father's halls. Flashes of his journey came through now; picking his way through the wilds, the first signs of winter beginning to show. Crossing small streams edged with ice, brushing past foliage crisp with frost. His breath rising like smoke in the frigid morning air. Staying off the road. The landscape around him empty and peaceful.

Until the orcs had appeared.

The village under attack. The citizens defenceless. The filthy orc with its filthy hands around his neck, choking him, air unable to reach his lungs...

Remembering these events was enough to drive his eyes open with panic. His hand automatically went to his closest weapon: a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He willed the ringing in his ears to abate as he listened for any unusual sounds. True to his instincts, unnatural crashes through forest undergrowth could be heard, and they were far too close for comfort.

"That filthy whelp is around here somewhere, find him!" the harsh command was barked out by one of the orc leaders, it's voice carrying through the trees. Aragorn's panic rose. He had to move, and move fast.

It took all his strength to rise to his feet. His hand shook as he gripped the tree, willing the black spots that clouded his vision to recede. The sound of orcs on the move was growing louder by the second. He had only taken a few paces forwards when pain flared to the right of his navel, causing him to inhale sharply and reach for his side. His palm came away warm and wet with his own blood; he made a mental note to check the wound properly when he was clear of danger. For now, applying pressure and getting himself to safety was the best he could do.

Aragorn half walked, half ran falteringly through the trees, trying his best to stick behind shrubs and undergrowth to avoid being seen. He was thankful for his ranger's cloak which blended him into the landscape, his hood obscuring his human features, but at present it was his only defence. He was in no position to outrun these beasts, and without knowing how many remained he was hesitant to draw his sword and fight. He could hide, but his scent would not be hidden for long and they would surely track him down with ease. His threw a quick glance over his shoulder, noting how the assailants were edging closer on his location. The orcs were tightening the noose.

Not far away to his right, the land dipped away down a steep embankment to a river. He hesitated for a moment before switching direction, having concluded that it was his only option. In his haste, his feet slipped out from beneath him on the muddy riverbank, causing him to land less than gracefully into the shallows of the perishing water. His pain flared angrily with the fall, and he silently prayed to the Valar that the orcs had not overheard neither the splash nor his cry of suffering. The sounds of the orcs nearby thundered louder than ever. His heart raced in his chest and his lungs heaved as he looked up and down the river, searching for options.

In that moment, Aragorn caught sight of a large log wedged in rocks on the opposite bank. Foliage still decorated the branches, and it was big enough to serve as a hiding place, but he knew the orcs would still be able to follow his scent. Now desperate to evade the enemy, he mustered some of his waning strength to scoop handfuls of wet mud and dirt from the water's edge, running it through his hair and over his face. As he smeared the muck across his neck and shoulders, the biting sting of another open wound made itself known and he remembered the arrow he had ripped from his flesh. He winced. Covering an open wound with mud would probably do him no favours later, but the alternative of being caught would be infinitely worse. He piled more mud on his limbs and down his side where the larger wound was still weeping fresh blood. The smell of the filth was enough to set his stomach on edge, yet this gave him the reassurance that his true scent would be masked.

With some difficulty, he pushed himself to his feet, and clutching the wound at his side he waded across the sweeping current towards the trapped log. The water, which came up to his waist in places, was biting cold and left goosebumps on his skin. Once he reached the rocks, he wasted no time concealing himself within the twisted boughs, sinking into the water up to his neck and using the leaf-lined branches as his disguise. The chill of the water took his breath away, and he had to clench his jaw shut to stop his teeth chattering.

He had concealed himself just in time. From his hiding place, Aragorn watched as an orc appeared from the tree line at the top of the embankment. The monster looked around carefully, sniffing the air for any trace of the human and stepping down to the water's edge. The ranger silently cursed himself for not obscuring the footprints he had left behind in the mud.

A second orc appeared on the ridge, calling down to the first in black speech and sending further chills across the hidden man's skin. Aragorn did not need to understand the creature's foul utterances to know they were still looking for him. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. Both orcs were now looking at the mud beneath their feet and exchanging grunts. They might be slow-minded, but not completely stupid, and they would soon work out that Aragorn had entered the water.

A third, larger orc then appeared on the scene, his weapon and armour marking him out as a leader. He saw his two subordinates apparently loitering by the water and cursed them. "Get back to hunting, scum! If that human's flesh isn't roasting on my campfire tonight, it will be yours instead!"

Aragorn exhaled in relief as the orcs dissipated back into the trees. With the immediate danger gone, his adrenaline was quickly replaced by physical suffering once more. His head ached and he felt weary; he did not need to be an expert healer to know that blood loss from the untreated lacerations was the likely cause. Not yet ready to abandon his safe space, he rose from the water and dangled his arms and chest over a sturdy bough, letting his limbs float in the swift current. A shiver of cold coursed through his body. He would leave the water in a minute, he just needed a quick rest, and this feeling of weightlessness was a welcome reprieve. His head came down to settle against the bark of the log. Just a moment to rest. His mind felt foggy, coherent thoughts evaporating. Just a minute. His eyelids closed. Rest.

---

Elrond paced his study. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. No matter how many times he traversed the soft rugs or glanced across at the open window, his entire being remained restless.

Just over a week had passed since he had seen Estel in a vision of foresight. Since then, Elrond had barely eaten, had taken no rest, and had done little else other than roam the various rooms and hallways of Imladris. As the days crept by, he could no longer pretend that his worries and woes were not devouring him from the inside. Renowned for being as kind as summer, Elrond's temperament had changed, becoming as chilled and cold as a midwinter's night. He had always treated all of his household staff with respect, regardless of length of service or rank. Yet now he had become irritable, snapping at those who brought him meals when he had no desire to eat, or brought him steaming cups of tea instead of news of his sons.

The sons he had willingly sent into the mouth of danger.

In the immediate aftermath of the vision, Elladan and Elrohir had insisted their father to tell them what he had seen. Elrond had granted their request, albeit reluctantly; the scenes he had gleaned through foresight were not ones he wished to relive again, nor implant into the minds of his family. However, both Elladan and Elrohir were well aware of their father's gift and how it occasionally appeared without his will or consent.

They were also well aware of how the visions appeared clearest when the subject was near death.

"Estel will be alright, father," Elladan had reassured his father as the brothers readied for their departure in the stables. Elrohir nodded in Elrond's direction as he tossed the saddle over his horse and began to tightly secure the fastenings.

Elrond's brow creased as he brought his hand to the bridge of his nose. "Arathorn suffered greatly at the hands of orcs; I worry the same fate has befallen Estel," he said quietly.

Elladan looked over his shoulder to see several of the household staff approaching, their arms laden with weapons. The twin's blades had been sharpened at the forge, and their quivers restocked by the arrowsmiths. He took his own equipment and quickly loaded it to his steed.

Elrohir crossed the stable to collect his sword, and place his hand on his father's shoulder. "We will find him, Ada. No matter what it takes."

Elrond shook his head in the face of his eldest son. "I should have done more. I should have kept him here where he was safe, away from--"

"What does your instinct tell you?"

The lord of Imladris was temporarily taken aback by his son's question. He placed a trembling hand on his chest, touching his collarbone, as he searched his thoughts. Somewhere, deep down, he knew his youngest son was not lost. Not yet. Regardless of the horrors his foresight had shown him, his instinct as a father told him they had not won out. Estel was alive, he could feel it. 

Elrond blinked as the recollection of his final conversation with his eldest sons slid away, returning his study to the forefront of his sight. The sentiment he felt down in the stables of his son's wellbeing clung to him like a shadow as he continued to pace the room. Yet it was not enough to fully dissipate his concerns; he would not be content until Estel walked through the gates of Imladris, until he could hold him in his arms once more.

He said a silent prayer to the Valar that his instinct was right.

[elrondweek]

Belated thank you for hosting! The prompts were great and I’ve enjoyed all the entries. This was my first fan event but it seemed quite smooth to me. Thanks again.

Thank you for participating and sending this kind note!! I'm so glad your first time doing a fandom event was a good one! I hope to see you next time! and until then have a wonderful year!

[elrondweek]

Elrond Week Has Finished!

Well, everyone, Elrond Week has concluded officially - I'll still be checking the tags for late submissions, but Elrond Week is officially over. I'm overwhelmed by how much love and support this challenge has received, and it's been such a joy to host and see all of your pieces! There is so much love for Elrond in the Tolkien fandom, it's amazing!

Thank you all for participating, and for sticking with me from the beginning (and amidst whatever little hiccups I had); this was my first time ever running an event, so I'm sure it was rough around the edges, but you all made it so wonderful and I'm looking forward to next year!!

-your host, @meluiloth

[elrondweek]

Hello! I want to thank you for organizing and hosting this event. It was great and exciting, I really enjoyed participating!

Thank you so much!! Your submissions were lovely to read, so thank you for participating!

I definitely wouldn't have been able to host Elrond Week if not for the support and kindness of all of you!

[fandomsandfairytales]

Fic Recs for Elrond Week 2024

Hello! Here’s a last-minute handful of Elrond-centric fic recs to wrap up Elrond Week 2024. (Time got away from me this week!)

These fics are all rated G or T, and I’ve loosely categorized them into groups so it’s a bit easier to parse through them. I also noted ones I recc’d in my 2023 Fic Recs list, which I posted on my main blog, @awwyeah107. I'm tagging each author in this list once (if they have a Tumblr account), although there may be more than one story from an author in the list.

Also, to clarify, none of these were written *for* Elrond Week—these are all simply fics about our beloved peredhel that I've enjoyed and wanted to share/recommend.

Massive shoutout to @meluiloth for putting on Elrond Week! I’ve greatly enjoyed seeing all the posts this week cross my dash. Also, thank you to all of the fic authors, fan artists, and meta writers out there who celebrate Elrond ❤️

Elrond & [Biological or Married] Family

The Complexities of Avian Biology by @runawaymun Celebrían takes on a charity case. Elrond helps, because of course he does. Some Celrond fluff by request. (Oneshot, G, 776 words)

Without depth or bound by waitingfover Love is never an easy emotion to navigate, particularly if you also hate the other person's guts. or Elrond doesn’t like Celebrían’s attitude, Celebrían hates Elrond’s guts, Gil-Galad is determined to play matchmaker, and Celebrimbor just wants to be left out of this drama. (23 chapters, complete! T, 29k words)

Wealth Enough of Joy by @starspray Elladan and Elrohir are born at twilight in summer. (Oneshot, G, 1.6k words. Recc’d this in my 2023 Fic Recs list)

Athelas by erulisse_starchild Estel gets a lesson in herb-lore from Elrond. (Oneshot, G, 831 words)

Hiding Places by @sweetteaanddragons (Drag0nst0rm on AO3) It had been a long time since Elrond was last under a bed. The novelty was probably good for him. (Oneshot, G, 437 words)

Kind as Summer by @arofili (starlightwalking on AO3) Elrond and his family, after the First Age. A collection of ficlets from tumblr prompts, loosely related to one another. (8 chapters, complete! G, 2.1k words)

More than the Stars Above by sweetteaanddragons (Drag0nst0rm on AO3) Elrond had lived without his parents for this long. He could certainly continue to do so if they proved to be indifferent. That didn't stop his hand from shaking when he reached out to knock on the door. (2 chapters, complete! G, 5.6k words. Recc’d this in my 2023 Fic Recs list)

Blossoming Red by @bralesscommie Snapshots of Elrond throughout his life. A character study. Elrond dealing with his trauma, and finding his rare moments of joy. (Oneshot, T, 4.9k words)

Elrond & Friends

Demons by @theheirofashandfire (ScribeofArda on AO3) On a dark night in Imladris, with the Watchful Peace having come to a bloody end, one elf finds that the darkness brings back unwanted memories of flames and fear. And Glorfindel can remember all of the fall of Gondolin. (Oneshot, T, 4.5k words)

Old Swords by StarSpray Elrond and Gandalf chat about Glamdring. (Oneshot, G, 661 words)

Primary Sources by @cycas (bunn on AO3) Bilbo Baggins, now living in Rivendell is working on his Translations from the Elvish and needs some help. He learns a few things about Elven board games, plumbing and housework in Rivendell, a little bit about the War of Wrath, and something about Elrond's family. It might just be that making songs about Eärendil in the House of Elrond was not something that Elrond himself considered to be over Bilbo's head. (Oneshot, G, 4.4k words)

Kidnap Fam

Note: All of the Kidnap Fam fics here are Elrond-centric—either they are from his perspective, or they primarily focus on Elrond and Maglor and/or Maedhros.

And Love Repaid by sweetteaanddragons (Drag0nst0rm on AO3) It was never about owing. (Oneshot, G, 2.3k words)

See How They Grow by @grundyscribbling (Grundy on AO3) Elrond wasn't born a great healer. Some would have said living among Feanorians was an unlikely place to start that journey. (Maglor probably would have agreed with them.) (Oneshot, G, 11.7k words)

Rosemary, Fennel, & Rue by grundyscribbling (Grundy on AO3) Maedhros stumbles onto an unhealthy secret Elrond has been keeping. Elrond is surprised to find Maedhros has experience in these matters. (Oneshot, G, 5.7k words)

Once They Were Wolves by @elentarial (BaccaratBlack on AO3) After receiving an unexpected Midwinter gift, Elrond learns something new about one of his captors fathers. (2 chapters, complete! G, 2.4k words)

Quiet by sweetteaanddragons (Drag0nst0rm on AO3) Dust blanketed Maglor’s harp where it sat undisturbed in the corner. (Oneshot, G, 566 words)

Series

On Elrond Peredhel by @elvinye (leodesic on AO3) A series examining Elrond's kidnap-adoption [and Elrond himself] from a variety of different perspectives. (In-progress series of 13 works, each between 1-2 chapters, all rated T or G. Only AO3 users can read this fic.) (Note: For anyone who does not ship Russingon—like me—the series does contain it, but it is minor and can be skipped over fairly easily.)

Return to Aman by cycas (bunn on AO3) A series of stories about Elrond's return to Aman at the end of the Third Age. All these assume that Maglor son of Fëanor was one of the other unnamed Elves who accompanied Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo on the ship when they left Middle-earth. Point of view is usually either Maglor or Elrond, but occasionally someone else (Celebrian, Lalwen, Nerdanel...) (Complete series of 15 works, each between 1-5 chapters, all rated G. Recc’d this in my 2023 Fic Recs list)

AUs

The Last Homely Hostel by sweetteaanddragons (Drag0nst0rm on AO3) Barin was nearly entirely sure this hostel wasn't supposed to be here. It won't be the last unexpected appearance of the night. (Oneshot, G, 5k words)

we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin Elrond and Elros are sent to live with their distant cousins in a house that is crumbling slowly to pieces. They aren't especially happy about this. For Maedhros and Maglor, the twins are a rare chance to start living again. It will take a lot of work to turn a house full of ghosts into anything resembling a home. (70 chapters, in-progress! G, 259.5k words. Only AO3 users can read this fic. Recc’d this in my 2023 Fic Recs list)

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@elrondweek

Other Fic Rec Lists: 2023 Fic Recs (on my main blog)

[leucisticpuffin]

On a summer evening in Rivendell, Elrond's little family are busy designing a sensory-play room for the twins. (If Elrond ends up hiding in there too after stressful councils, no one's going to say anything.)

For Day 5 of @elrondweek (a little late because of absent-mindedness...) Please click on it to see all the details!!

A lot of research went into this painting (and a lot of thought about how you'd crease a multisensory environment in a fantasy world with no electricity for pretty lights and bubble lamps) so here are some notes and headcanons:

Lighting: A number of elves who studied under Feanor later lived in Middle-earth (especially Eregion) and continued making crystal lamps and light-altering gemstones. The crystals in the small jar are a kind which glows for several hours after being “charged” with sunlight. They are used for decoration and in situations where a flame would be impractical or dangerous, e.g. a child-safe nightlight. 

Light projection jars: Glass jars decorated with colours and patterns. When a light crystal is placed in the jar, the colours are projected across the floor or wall. (Elladan and Elrohir are still a little young to be trusted with heavy glass jars, so for now these will be kept in a locked chest and used with adult supervision). 

Fabrics: Samples of cloth with lots of interesting colours and textures for the kids to choose from. Some (like the star cloth Elrohir is admiring) will be draped from the walls or ceiling of the sensory room to create a dark, cosy environment, and others made into blankets, cushions, etc. 

Star cloth: Cloth embroidered with tiny, faintly-glowing gems, resembling the night sky. First created in Valinor by a member of the textiles guild, it was popular among older elves who wanted to remember the skies of Middle-earth. It was expensive and difficult to make, and fell out of fashion when the Noldor left Valinor. The craft was revived in second-age Eregion, and easier methods of making it were developed. 

Toys: Elladan is playing with a painted wooden rain-shaker. Other sensory toys pictured include a colourful spinning top and a set of tactile wooden balls. They’re gathering a collection to keep in the boys’ toy-chest. Elrohir prefers the tactile objects, while Elladan likes any toy that makes a noise.

Room decor: Inspired by Art Nouveau aesthetics. The rug is based on an antique Donegal carpet, and the wallpaper on Arts and Crafts designs. 

Clothing: Inspired by paintings and antique garments: the twins and Celebrian are (loosely) based on paintings by John Singer Sargent and Henry Arnould Olivier, while Elrond’s robes are based on a 1905 House of Worth tea gown.

There are a number of flowers and plants in this painting; their meanings in flower language are as such: 

Bonsai pear tree: comfort

Irises (in the stained-glass window): wisdom

A vase of white lilacs: joy of youth, youthful innocence

Traveller’s joy (in the patterned wallpaper): safety

Primroses (Elladan’s hairpin and the embroidery on the twins’ dresses): early youth

Daisies (Elrohir’s shoes): innocence

Forget-me-nots (Celebrian’s dress): true love

Lily-of-the-valley (Elrond’s hairpin): sweetness, return of happiness

[dilettantefeminist]

Elrond Week Day 7: Sanctuary and Departure

Prompts: Third Age, Legacy, The Undying Lands

Before he departs for Valinor, Elrond spends a moment in the library of Imladris

If Lord Elrond spends long hours pouring over ledgers, if he recalculates the count of grain and the weight of the orchard harvest, and if he combs the most recent census for familiar names, he thinks he can withstand these last days. In a fortnight he will journey from Imladris, where every detail is touched by his vision or by his hand, and he will not return. He will board Círdan’s ship with the ring bearer and the others and he will leave Arda. He will leave his daughter, now mortal and in the early delight of a young marriage. He will leave too his sons, who will watch over her and over their Valley, keeping it safe for an age of Men.

Celibrían, the missing remainder of his soul, awaits him in Valinor. Some days it seems to him that she is in the next room, just out of reach. Other days he thinks he dreamed her. The closer their reunion draws, the greater his anticipation, until it feels dangerously close to the desperation that marked their parting. So he makes plans for those who will pass through Imladris and revises them endlessly and drives Erestor mad with his questions. Have we enough wood for the winter to come? It will be colder now. Did I see we have children in the last census? Have we any toys for them? Is one cook enough for our expected guests?

One morning Erestor tells him that the librarian of Imladris wishes to speak with him and it is only then that Elrond realizes he’s not thought of the library. The omission shocks him; he wonders that he could have overlooked something so important.

His librarian sits alone at a reading table surrounded by piles of books. lanthir is the last of the large staff that once kept the collection organized, fetched scrolls and folios for visiting scholars. He agrees at once with Elrond’s suggestion to send the healer’s collection to Minas Tirith and has also taken the liberty of pulling these, a selection of volumes that he hopes will travel to Aman. There are exactly one hundred and at first Elrond sees no theme or order to his choices, but as Ianthir describes them he finds himself nodding. There are the histories of course, twenty that cover the events of the past two ages. There is epic poetry but there is also a forge plan with the architect’s notation in Khuzdul, an illustrated field guide to the plants of Rhovanian, and a Mannish children’s fable about chickens.  

lanthir does not intend to leave Imladris, or rather, he says he does not intend to leave the library. Elrond searches his face, asks him gently if he would not like to see the Blessed Realm, to explore its immense collections of knowledge. The other librarians have sailed one by one, drawn by this promise. They were each allowed to take one book from the library; Elrond wonders which ones they selected.

lanthir will not sail. He feels, he tells Elrond, more comfortable among these books than among his kin. There are so many in the cities of Aman. He seeks quiet. And there will still be visitors to their valley. They will be Men, likely as not, but does Elrond know that they have over 1532 items in Westron? Elrond does not know. He smiles despite himself and does not argue. After so many years of being left, he is finally learning how to leave. Already the weight of Ianthir’s fate sits lighter on his shoulders.

When they have finished talking Elrond walks into the open gallery and sinks into one of the high-backed chairs scattered throughout. He can see gardens through a nearby window, and he closes his eyes and allows himself to imagine the hedgerows becoming wilderness, the library walls crumbling under the work of root and vine.  

Twenty yeni past he entered the library and, as he hurried through in search of a map, found the Lady Celebrían ensconced in the chair in which he now sits. Elrond cannot recall a time when he did not love her. That he tell her was impossible then, so he satisfied himself with small moments in which he could watch her unobserved. And then he walked into his library and she was before him, lit by rays of late afternoon sunlight. She raised her eyes to him over the cover of her book and he was ruined, all his carefully considered arguments for silence buried under the weight of her presence and the sliver of hope afforded by her smile.

He rises to search the nearby shelves and inhales sharply when his hand closes over the slim volume, still in its place.

“I wonder if you could recommend something for me to read, my lord?”

What possessed him, Elrond will never know, but he had selected this book of poetry. It was not one of the Elvish canon but a mannish book of poetry, one whose tone might be described as earthy. It had taken him another three months and the knowledge of her imminent departure to gain the courage to speak to Celebrían plainly, but that day in the library had been the unofficial beginning of their courtship.

When Elrond sails he does so with Ianthir’s collection and, wrapped in a cloth of Celebrían’s weaving, the little book of poetry. He will give it to her as they begin again, a reminder that even in their shared grief for those they leave behind, they are rooted in joy.

_____________________________________________________________

Author’s note: I imagine Ianthir’s collection to be a sort of gold record for Middle Earth. What book would you add to it?

@elrondweek

[just-little-human]

Elrond Week (@elrondweek)

Bonus Prompts: Healing

Healing has always been both a calling and an art for him.

The hands of a ruler are the hands of a healer. However, Elrond always believed that he and Elros shared the meaning of this phrase: Elros was a wonderful, great ruler, and Elrond became a healer.

The art of healing was something that could never be fully learned, and therefore Elrond never refused new knowledge, new ways, new methods. His heart rejoiced and his soul sang as he was immersed in healing as his hands brought life.

Life, not death.

As it should always be.

[raointean]

Elrond Week Day 7 - Sanctuary and Departure

In which Elrond is stubbornly refusing to speak with his parents after arriving in Valinor and Celebrían has a clever solution.

Celebrían sighed exasperatedly as she noticed Elrond reading his book on their couch, pointedly not looking at the letter-writing materials not five feet away from him. “Are you intending to ignore your parents for the rest of time?”

Elrond hardly even glanced up at her as he responded. “No, of course not. I am simply waiting for them to reach out to me first.”

Celebrían pursed her lips and sank down into a nearby chair. Her husband had been in Valinor nearly a year and a half already; this had gone on long enough. “I do not pretend to know Elwing’s mind,” she began, treading lightly on the delicate subject. “But do you not think it is possible that she may be waiting to see if you even wish to speak to her after all this time? You were very young when you were… separated, and she knows this. Perhaps she is trying to be sensitive of the possibility that you have moved on and is trying to give you space so as not to cause conflict...?” 

The ‘As you so often do?’ in her head remained unsaid.

Elrond shot her a look that told her he would not hear any more on the topic and said nothing. They were so much alike, Celebrían thought to herself, although she knew neither of them would admit it. She had only met Elwing once or twice, but even from that she could identify their similarities. Both of them were stern and intimidating people at first glance. Under Elrond’s commanding exterior lay layers upon layers of kindness and generosity and, while Celebrían did not know Elwing well enough to say the same of her, there was no way anyone could genuinely be that stern.

At both of their cores, however, lay deeply wounded, anxious, and insecure people. Celebrían knew from long experience that, while a certain level of healing was possible, the scars of such wounds stubbornly remained. 

Upon their first meeting at a holiday party in Tirion, Elwing had pulled Celebrían aside as soon as she possibly could and questioned her about Elrond. How he was, what he was like and, most importantly, what his opinions of his mother were. Celebrían, taken aback by her directness and still recovering from her… ordeal, had unfortunately answered honestly: Elrond was occasionally curious about her, but usually changed the subject whenever she came up.

The woman had been heartbroken, but concealed it well. Celebrían had tried to reach out a few times after that, but Elwing had always respectfully declined. Now, Celebrían couldn’t help but feel that their current predicament was her own fault. If she had given a kinder report of Elrond’s feelings about her, perhaps Elwing would have the courage to reach out.

But it was no matter, Celebrían had a plan…

Not two seconds later, there came a knock at the door. Right on time.

Elrond rose from his seat to get the door and Celebrían followed close behind, saying, “That must be the geologist I told you about.”

Celebrían had met many of the elves that lived in their area, including a couple that lived on the far end of the valley. She and the wife, Amaurëa, had become dear friends and soon discovered that their husbands both shared a passion for rock, stones, and minerals. While Elrond’s fascination with such things had remained a hobby, her friend's husband, Elcair, had made a profession of it. 

Though they had been visiting Amaurëa's family for the past two years, Celebrían had invited them to call at their earliest convenience to see what Elrond had brought with him from Middle Earth. It was a giant chest of stone and mineral samples, all meticulously sorted, cleaned, and cared for. Elrond had decided to bring it just in case there were elements in Middle Earth that were not present in Aman. Despite the chest being two feet wide and four feet long, he insisted that he had only brought his favorites. 

Celebrían opened the door to see two elves. One, the woman, short and slender with a flattering green dress. She wore no cloak in the warm spring air. The other, her husband, stood head and shoulders above her, his athletic build honed by centuries of hiking, cliff climbing, and spelunking. He examined the ornately carved doorframe instead of looking Celebrían in the eye. 

“Welcome!” Celebrían cried, reaching out to clasp her friend's hand. “How was your visit? I know you have been missing your mother terribly.”

Amaurëa stepped inside with a courteous smile. “It was wonderful. Ammë is well, and so is my new brother.” 

Her eyes slid to Elrond, standing just behind Celebrían's shoulder and he was quick to introduce himself. “I am Elrond, Cel's husband. It is a pleasure to finally meet one I have heard so much about.”

Amaurëa's smile grew wider at his friendly greeting and Celebrían, who knew her well, could see her relax. “Well met, Elrond. This,” she gestured to her husband who had finished examining the doorway and moved into the hallway, “is my husband, Elcair.”

Elcair nodded to Elrond rather stiffly, looking almost nervous. “Well met.”

He didn't go on so, after half a beat, Celebrían invited Amaurëa to the sitting room. “Come, I think I still have some of your favorite tea blend. I daresay Elrond and Elcair should like to get to their rocks.”

At this, Elcair's eyes visibly brightened, although he tried to conceal it. Elrond also noticed and began leading him to his personal study. “Yes, I think we will,” he said to their wives. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Amaurëa.”

Amaurëa nodded her farewell and followed Celebrían into the sitting room. Celebrían set the tea to steep, inwardly rejoicing that her plan had gone smoothly thus far. 

“How long do you think it will take them to realize?” Amaurëa asked her. She was in on the plan, of course. 

Celebrían glanced in the direction of the study. “As clever as they both are, they are discussing rocks so, it could be some time…”

—----

“Do you think the geology of Middle Earth differs much from that of Valinor?” Elcair asked suddenly as they walked down the hall.

He was an odd elf, Elrond observed. Quiet, blunt, absorbed in his own world; Elrond could respect that, even relate to it at times, but still… odd.

“I am not sure,” Elrond replied, opening his office door and ushering Elcair inside. “I have not traveled widely yet, but what I have seen here in this valley is not at all different from what I am familiar with. Although…” he said thoughtfully. “Are there any volcanoes here?”

Elcair chuckled and shook his head. “Alas, no. I have never had the privilege of seeing them in person. My research on that topic has been limited to accounts of those who have seen them, and discussions with Aulë. He is a fountain of geologic knowledge,” he was quick to clarify, “but he has an unfortunate habit of failing to look at the bigger picture.”

Interesting, Elrond thought to himself. He had not thought that the vala of stone and metallurgy would focus on anything narrowly. Then again, Aulë was the creator of the dwarves…

“You are not missing out on much,” Elrond reassured him, unlocking his chest of geological samples. “I spent much time near the volcano, Oroduin, in Mordor during the War of the Last Alliance. I would be happy to share my observations with you, but I do not recommend going anywhere near an active volcano. It took decades for me to breathe easily again.”

Elcair opened his mouth to respond, but was quickly distracted as Elrond opened the chest. Several shelves unfolded from it: one for sedimentary rocks, one for igneous rocks, one for metamorphic rocks, and two for minerals. 

They were separated by type of course, but their order was… unconventional when compared to most geologists’ collections in Middle Earth. They ordered their samples alphabetically or by density, but Elrond- Elrond ordered his collection by Music.

There was Music in everything the Ainur had created, though few were attuned to it. In fact, Elrond had met no one else but his own son, Elladan, who could hear the music of stone as he could. The igneous rock with its quick tempos and sharp sounds, the metamorphic rock with its melodies that bent this way and that, the sedimentary rock with its slow tempos and melodies that told the stories of a thousand different deaths, the minerals with Songs as varied as the colors in the air.

Elrond could listen to them for an Age if no one disturbed him.

Elcair seemed almost equally enraptured, but he eventually turned to question Elrond. They spoke for nearly an hour of volcanic mechanisms and of the types of stone it produced (Elcair found a particular affinity for obsidian), and Elcair told Elrond of the many advances he had made in examining sedimentary samples; separating them out and identifying them one bit at a time.

Eventually, during a lull in the conversation, Elrond asked him a personal question. “When did your family come to Valinor?”

It was entirely possible that he had been born in Valinor, but with a Sindarin name like “Elcair,” his family almost certainly had its roots in Middle Earth or Beleriand.

Elcair gave him a strange look, almost meeting his eyes. “Do you not know?”

That was… an odd response. Elrond did not know who he was related to, although perhaps it was a well known family, but Elcair had not mentioned any family name. “Apologies, I do not. I do not know your family name, and your given name only tells me that you are likely Sindarin or Silvan.”

Slowly, carefully, as if explaining a simple concept to a child who should know better, Elcair said, “My mother is Elwing and my father is Eärendil…”

Oh, oh. Of course! Elwing and Eärendil had been very young when they had fled Beleriand; Elrond had always known that. They had been young and in love and had lost the chance to raise their children; it made sense that they would try again.

In a way, Elrond was happy for them. Happy that they had been able to move on with their lives after everything that had happened, everything they had been through. Alongside that, though, an ancient pit of bitterness reopened in his chest at the thought that they had been able to move on from him.

As soon as that feeling bubbled up into his mind, he tried to push it away. It wasn’t fair to them and it wasn’t helpful to him. He had lived well over six-thousand years without them and become a powerful and well-respected man, loved by many. That would not change, regardless of what his parents thought of him.

“So, Celebrían did not tell you?” Elcair asked tentatively. He seemed anxious, worried that he had offended Elrond.

“No- No, she did not.” This whole time, she had known. Known and said nothing! And yet, Elrond could not find it within himself to be angry with her. He had been stubborn in his refusal to speak to his family, he knew, and if she had mentioned a brother, Elrond knew he would have refused to see him as well.

“You… are my brother, then?” Elrond mused.

Elcair nodded, almost shy now. “Yes, and we have a sister between us, Elinn. I thought you knew about her, but since you did not know that you and I were brothers…”

His rambling trailed off as Elrond tried to digest all of the new information. He was an older brother, with two younger siblings. His parents had had two new children after losing their first two. Even if he did reach out to them now, what sort of place would he have in that family? That of a bastard son with no ties but blood?

As if sensing his turmoil, Elcair picked up an oolitic limestone sample and pressed it into Elrond’s palm. It was highly textured, but the ooids themselves were smooth. More than that, its music was soothing like- well, like sediments coalescing in ocean currents. It brought him back to the present.

Staring at his shoes, Elcair asked, “So, since Celebrían did not ask me here at your behest, may I ask- Why have you not reached out to us yet?

Elrond sighed, examining the limestone in his hand. What he wouldn’t give to be an ooid right now; just a tiny ball of calcium floating in the sea. Things would be so much simpler. “I only knew Elwing- our mother - for the first six years of my life, most of which I cannot remember. Our father, I knew for even less time, and I did not know of you and Elinn’s existence until just now. I fear that forcing myself into… your family- I would simply take up space that isn’t there.”

Elcair looked over at him sharply, though Elrond did not meet his gaze. “Do not say that! Nana has been more anxious than I have ever seen her from the moment we got news of your ship. As soon as Atto returned from his sky-voyage at the beginning of last spring, he was much the same. Elinn has been urging Nana constantly to stop waiting for you to reach out and just write first herself because she wants so desperately to meet you! And I-”

He halted before going on, as if admitting some long-kept secret. “I have been wondering what you would be like ever since I first heard your name. For decades- centuries, I have listened at the docks for news and stories of you. I cobbled together an image of what my older brother might be like and, for a very long time, you have been my greatest role model, even though I have never met you.”

A breath of silence passed between them. Elrond could hardly believe that he had played so large a role in the life of someone he had never met. He knew that he was in history books and there were likely people who looked up to him based on their readings, but never so personally. 

Elcair wasn’t finished. “I never even dared to hope that you would share my passion for stone, however much I idolized you. I- There has always been room in our family for you, Elrond.”

Elrond was nearly overcome. He had only just begun to process the fact that he had siblings (siblings! plural!) and this was just too much. So, he pushed his feelings aside for later, focused on the feeling of ooids in his hand, and fell back on learned politeness. 

“I-” he was forced to pause and clear his throat, his voice was clogged with emotion. “I am sorry for not writing sooner.”

Elcair patted his hand, also feeling awkward and off balance after his burst of emotion. “It is no matter now. We have all the time in the world, after all.”

@elrondweek

[just-little-human]

Elrond Week (@elrondweek)

Day 7: Sanctuary and Departure

Their time has come.

Elrond looked at the starry sky and thought without regret that his time had come to go to the Undying Lands.

He did not sail alone, and his heart was light, despite the knowledge that his daughter would not be reunited with him and Celebrían even after many years. However, it was her choice, and Elrond, despite his own sadness, wanted her to be happy.

And the time has come for him to see those who are dear to his heart, but have long left him.

Elrond looked at Gil-Estel, shining brightly in the sky as always, and smiled.

[glorf1ndel]

Elrond Peredhel || @elrondweek

“He was as noble and fair as an Elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.” – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

[elrondweek]

Elrond Week Day 7: Sanctuary and Departure

The prompts for this day are Third Age, The Hobbit, The One Ring, Legacy, The Undying Lands

Today marks the end of Elrond Week, and with it the final years of Elrond's time in Middle-Earth; throughout the Third Age, Elrond remains in Rivendell, preserving the haven he has built. He cares for weary travelers, protects his people, and provides wisdom and allyship to the rest of Middle-Earth during the last struggle with evil. And, when all is said and done, he departs at last for the Undying Lands, leaving behind a powerful legacy.

What keeps Elrond going through the final years of the Third Age, even though he knows the magic of the Elves is fading? Why does he decide to leave for Valinor? Is it difficult for him to leave Rivendell and his children behind, knowing how long he has struggled to protect them? What legacy does he leave behind? How long does the world remember him after his departure? Who does he meet in Valinor?

[thelien-art]

Day 6: Darkness and Loss of @elrondweek

Losing Celebrian

Poppy: Poppy symbolizes death and loss, as well as remembrance and mourning. They are used for healing

Healer braids contain five braids which I headcanon concealed under a coif and pined long veil so that only the ends of the braids, tied off in ribbons, can be seen seriously if there´s a big wish for this I am ready to make a long post of it with drawing reference - different kinds of healers can be told by which color their ribbons are as well as under tunic and how loose or tight the veil is (their uniform is also different depending on if it´s a nurse or a doctor)

Looks like baby girl took off his gloves :/ I usually draw him with stars but not this time as it made the drawing to light

Rambling over healer clothers:

The robes are might out of bleached linen and are combined by deer leather gloves at times

I haven´t decided on a look for them as I would like for them to have visible buttons down, but that way it wouldn't have the slits that shows the color of the under robe, so I´ve decided it goes with a button down jacket if needed.

The colors are meant to be soothing but blood and dirt also need to be visible on them, and they have to be able to handle boiling.

They are meant to be easy to take on and off so they are assembled by an underrobe, a shirt, and then the tunic on top.

The veil are meant to cover all hair - except the tips - and keep it from getting in the way. It is also used to get hair away quick if you need to treat someone fast but don´t have the time to braid your hair away. The five braids are nearly for keeping as much out as possible but also to wear when not wearing the veil to show you have medical experience

- I haven´t figured out the colors yet so this is all I have currently

[just-little-human]

Elrond Week (@elrondweek)

Day 6: Darkness and Loss

He was powerless.

Why all his strength, why his accumulated wisdom, why did he live all these years - if now he was powerless to help the one who was dear to him?

Elrond buried his face in his hands and leaned against the wall. Here, alone, he could afford to do it, but none of his loved ones, none of the elves important to him, should have seen him like this. Especially children.

Oh, their precious children...

Elrond did not know how to look them in the eyes and admit: he was powerless. Celebrían, who was healed physically, was not healed mentally - and he is powerless in the face of her illness.

Grief darkened his heart.

Elrond lowered his hands, straightened up and exhaled. He will try again. He must. Must. For her sake and for the sake of their children, he must help her, he can, he is not powerless.

He can't lose her either.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Fearing Not A Shadow Nor A Chill

Day 5 of @elrondweek. Elrond/Celebrían & Children. Here or on AO3.

-

"I used to long very much," Celebrían had told him once. "For a playmate as near in age as Elros was to you."

Elrond had not answered. He walked beside her, by shores of the Aduin's first strong fountain-streams, and very carefully did not look too plainly upon Lady Celebrían's curved mouth, the yarrow leaf she turned and turned between her fingers.

He needed not to speak. Lady Celebrían, he had learned very quickly, was not one to wait very long to complete her ideas, none of which, she plainly felt, required much counsel or permission at all.

"Amroth was so much the elder, and so much a stranger even to my parents, who loved him as a cousin and as a son. I was lonesome and without companions, and though the joys and secrets of Lórien need not be shared to be true, still I have found them to be the greater when seen by two, and not one alone."

"So it is, in most places I have journeyed to, and not Lórien alone," said Elrond, carefully. It was the early days of their friendship, and already he had learned to be cautious with his mind and words and heart near Lady Galadriel's daughter, grey-eyed Celebrían whose conversations was like the waters of her own lands, leaping, quick and meandering and full of hidden roots to trip upon.

"I suppose, then, you would wish for children, and not one alone. That is good." Celebrían said, as if it were a natural thing to speak of, on the eve of battle, to the king's own herald.

Her eyes shone, too, with a brightness of sun on water, a glimmering laughing attention. Elrond's heart tripped in his chest, slipped from him again and again.

"I said to Elros I would not marry, if I could not present my children to their uncle."

"He must have teased you very badly," Celebrían guessed, looking at him through her lashes rather shamelessly. "I am sorry I shall not meet him; but then he has so very many descendants, some evil and some not, which on the whole may be better. He may not have wished you to know them, but not much can be done on that account; and at least any children of yours shall not lack for kin. How many would you prefer?"

Elrond, more ancient than some of the rivers and mountains of Imladris, wise in languages and laws and magics, stared.

Smiled, too, a little helplessly. He could not ever quite stop turning towards her when she looked at him with all that bare attention, and he never would; and knowing he never would did not much help in delaying love from taking root.

"A maiden," he said. A woman-child, with Elwing's quick hands at the loom, and Celebrian's way of worrying at the corner of her mouth with her thinking - he saw it, that sure alighting of love.

Celebrían nodded. As if it were that simple - as if it were an agreement, a handfasting, a promise.

"It will be good for the boys to have a sister," Celebrían said. "I used to long very much for a playmate near my age, and another a little my elder, to hide mischief from our parents better."

Elrond, old enough to remember when islands rose at the will of the gods, and all the sea-loving birds flew Westwards in a rush, smiled at her, helplessly enchanted.

-

The days of their early friendship: war ravaged the lands beyond Elrond's hidden valley fortress still. He had not known how to love her. His heart sang, assured from the first, a winged thing certain of its perfect flight - but he had not known her, truly.

He had not meant to be more than a host, her mother's friend - for whatever little that meant. Celebrían was not one to care very much for other people's good intent, when hers was so often an improvement.

For many years they were half-stranger and half-lovers, looking at each other with clear eyes. Over riverbanks and running fountains, desks and dances and the narrow, narrow curving staircases of Imladris, where the brush of a sleeve against a curling palm could be hidden, almost an accident, almost nothing.

To be wed was a thing the Noldor choose only in times of peace, though the the Sindar delayed seldom. Elrond's parents had not waited, and not their parents either; but he did. He was only himself, and too himself to dare otherwise.

Celebrían, he knew, would not have been against a bold flight of passion, not least eloping while her father tarried - would serve him well, she thought.

For Elrond only she delayed. Went patient with her words, and deeds, and the turnings of her mind, as she never had before, or would again.

He thought of it, afterwards, when her ship went where the gulls loved to go, to the place where Elwing's tower rose high, and beyond. All that times spent, that half-time.

There had been a sweetness, too, in the stretching of anticipation, but he could not be certain, afterwards. How they had tasted in his mouth, those kisses ungiven; if his hand had stung to brush her silks, if it had hurt half as much as remembering it would for many centuries.

-

Twins, they had, on purpose. Celebrían was determined, and determined to wait until Elrond was certain he could stand to want it - two little souls, as near in age as Elros had been to him.

Two were enough, they both agreed. Two sons, alike to each other to the tilt of their noses and the curl of their braids. Celebrían's children, restless and in love with the world.

Elrond's children, too, though it felt marvelous and absurd and terrible, many times, to claim such joy as his own. His children, who held his hands as they crossed the many bridges of Imladris, and brought him small treasures, and shared the same closeness he had once known with his own Elros.

Elrohir liked to run, to sing, to make mischief and pull laughter out of Imladris's people like a spark out of a flint - a brusque little surprise, flaring and vulnerable.

He had Celeborn's mouth, and Celeborn's way with beasts and rooted things, and rarely was he ever alone, pockets full of little lizards and shoulders covered with dark eyed minks, ancient serpents twining around his small, very breakable wrists.

He made friends wherever he went, respectful and cheerful and terribly silly; Glorfindel, once of Gondolin by way of friendship with Turgon and Finrod before him, spoke at times with Celebrían of her uncle.

He never made a comparison, never said the words; but it was perhaps a good thing Elrohir had been born of a people and a time with no need for the raising up of new kingdoms. It was perhaps a sorrow, too, but Elrohir never seemed to feel the lack of greatness very sharply, nor the pulling tides of the past either.

Elladan was not so.

Elladan spent half his childhood trying to escape the valley, and the other half hiding wherever he could, in a dozen secret little places that became veiled even to Elrond's senses far too quickly.

He felt sadness very keenly, his mind open like Elrond's to the many voices of the wind and the water and the earth, yet more like his mother's kin, in how the shadows on the hearts of those near and far struck fear and unease and anger in him.

He wept very often, and afterwards laid on their chests, all exhausted weight and heavy eyelashes. Elrond held him the tightest; Elrond was very determined to do so always.

For comfort, Elladan liked to play with the rings in his father's hands, to follow the trail of Iathrim inkings and hunting scars beneath Celebrían's skin. And then of course his brother came to find him, whenever he was distressed, as Elros had found Elrond in Amon Ereb and Sirion and Mithlond, wherever in dying Beleriand that long terrible war brought them.

"This is very good," Celebrían conceded, pressing her nose against their sons's sweet curls, one after the other.

Celebrían pressed her palm to his, her long marked fingers against his rings, Vylia flaring cold and alive wherever at her touch. Her attention set upon him was no less heady. His breast sang towards it only the most surely, whenever his wife's sly joy pressed against his mind; and for an instant the shadow of what might be was easy on it, nearly easy.

She had always seen him very easily, Celebrían Galadriel's daughter. Braver than he, and less patient, was the Lady of Imladris.

"Very good, and no one left lonesome; but I do recall there is a thing not yet done, that I would like to accomplish, and Elros Peredhel would be sure to tease us both very badly, if we both put it aside, on his account."

She came last, the maiden-child with a worried mouth. Tall and fair and not quick to laughter, eager to learn, his stubborn-minded cupbearer and apprentice and scribe.

Then Elrond was happier still, for many years; he had half-forgotten the old images of foresight. It was a long time before his daughter Arwen took to the loom, sitting intent and silent by her mother's bedside, weaving love into a cloak fashioned for warmth; a traveling garment, spelled against the sting of salt.

[isilwhore]

@elrondweek Day 6: Darkness & Loss

Elrond comforts Isildur during the Siege of Barad-dûr. He knows how it feels to lose a brother.

(The relationship between Elrond and Isildur is overlooked and underrated. It was a strong friendship - a bond of kinship, even; because although an age has passed, Elrond could still see the tenacity of Elros present in this family.

Of course, Elrond held no ill will towards Isildur for making a mistake, especially one born out of grief. Elrond knows all about forgiveness. Fostering his surviving son and later descendants exemplified Elrond’s compassion and the lasting respect he had for this line of Men.)