Hello! I’m Kay, not new to writing but new to writing for the Silmarillion, and possibly the Rings of Power.
My favorite characters are Maedhros, Caranthir, Elrond, and Gil-Galad, my beloved. 💕
Thank you for taking the time to check out my work!
I’m currently debating taking requests. For now feel free to send any in, and I might use any suggestions. I’m always looking for inspiration, so you are welcome to send in any general questions or asks as well!
“Why is my second born sulking around the house like a wounded puppy?” Nerdanel asks in response to the perpetual frown on Maglor’s face. It’s been there for a week now, and no matter what her or her other sons try, it won’t budge.
“I’ve no idea what you’re speaking of, mother,” Maglor responds. His voice is totally flat, unlike his usual tone, which is musical and bright as he speaks.
Nerdanel takes a good look at her son. His completion is sallow, and his hair has lost its shine. Even his eyes, usually so full of light, are dulled and gray. She is concerned by this recent change in his appearance. It can only mean one thing. Her son has had his heart broken, and is now at risk of fading from this world.
“Why don’t you visit (Y/N)? I believe you missed your weekly lunch yesterday, and I’m sure she would love to see you,” Nerdanel says.
At the sound of your name his face crumbles and tears gather in his eyes. He can’t bear to hear his mother speak of you, to ask him to go to you. Not when you don’t share his feelings. How can he explain he once dreamed of asking to court you, and now he can’t even hear your name without a painful ache in his chest?
His mother does her best to soothe him, asking him to explain what is going while she rubs his back. Her gentle coaxing has all of his bottled up feelings exploding forward.
He tells her the story of what happened a week ago. How he was walking home from giving a harp lesson when he came up behind you walking in the garden with his cousin, Finrod. He intended to make himself known, hoping to join you wherever that may lead him.
***
“Oh, can I really play that song when it is one of Kano’s signatures? My playing cannot compare to his!” Finrod explains.
“It’s also one of my favorites, and a perfect song to dance to! I am quite sure you will do the piece justice and make it all your own!” You reply, voice rising in excitement.
“I’m not yet convinced,” he joked with a smile.
“Then play one of your favorites! Or, even better, one of your own compositions. Everyone in attendance will be a grateful audience. None of us have yet had the pleasure of listening to your playing for a whole evening, and I’ve been bragging of your skills for some time now!”
“Hush! I’ve already agreed to play, you need not flatter me.”
You laughed, refusing to respond to his teasing.
“And how many will be in attendance?”
“Oh, not too many! Maybe twenty, twenty five at most!”
“And how many of those will be of the house of Feanor?” He asks slyly.
“Seven, I suppose. You know it would be horribly rude to not include them all,” you explain.
“But isn’t there one in particular whose company you seek? One who never misses a gathering you are present for?”
“No! I’ve got no clue who you mean,” you say over his laughter. “I will not be teased, Finrod! Stop this questioning so we can end our walk in peace!”
***
He could listen no longer after that. He fell back even further, hoping to avoid your notice all together. The day suddenly felt cold, the light of Laruelin no longer the shimmering gold he loved so well. His feelings for you, once so sure, were now crushed at his feet. For he could tell from your conversation it was Finrod you loved, not himself, and he shared as much with his mother.
He returned home that day and hadn’t left since.
“That is not true, Makalaure. Why, she was just here two days ago to invite you and all your brothers to the gathering! She asked for you in particular, but Maitimo told her you weren’t home,” Nerdanel explains to her son.
“Well of course she did. She could hardly plan a gathering to announce her courtship with Finrod and not invite Tyelko and Curvo. She’s too polite to exclude the rest of us,” Maglor reasons.
“Announce her courtship with Finrod! How on earth did that little bit of conversation convince you so!” She exclaims. She can’t understand how her son has spiraled so far.
It was well known around Tirion, if not in her own home, that the lady in question only had eyes for the second born son of Feanor.
Their conversation is interrupted by the very brothers Maglor spoke of. They’re returning from a hunting trip their cousin Finrod joined them on. The three of them walk happily into the house, taking over the room with their booming laughs and loud conversations. Nerdanel can tell the sight of Finrod pains her son, and she knows she must put a stop to his torment.
“I understand I am to congratulate my nephew on his betrothal to Lady (Y/N),” she starts. The boys all laugh louder than before, until they see the look of Maglor, hear his biting words.
“You would laugh at her, reject her, who loves you so well?” Even heartbroken he can’t help but jump to your defense. How could anyone laugh at the thought of being with you? How could his cousin not see the gift he was bestowed?
“I cannot reject what is not freely given. She loves well, yes, but not me,” Finrod says with a smile. His voice is soft, reassuring after seeing the pain his cousin feels.
“I don’t understand. I heard you talk of her favorite songs, heard you promise to play for her. What reason could she have to ask that of you, if she is not in love with you? For she knows I would play for her every minute of the day if she wished it so,”
“My dear cousin! I suggest you go to her at once. Let her explain her reasons, for I will not betray her confidence. I will, however, reassure you that this is just a misunderstanding. Go, now, and listen to what she has to say!” Finrod explains.
His family all but throw him out of the house, yelling encouragements as he disappears down the lane.
***
When Maglor arrives at your door, he isn’t sure anyone is home. He knocks and knocks to no answer. He presses his ear to the wood, listening for any signs of life. He hears you moving slowly, and waits a few more minutes for you to answer.
His mind has been racing on the journey over here, wondering what Findrod could have meant. He can only hope your feelings for him have not been misplaced as he imagined.
You open the door to him, sagging heavily on the frame as you do so. It’s like looking in a mirror, something Maglor has avoided this last week. You have the same sallow complexion, with dull hair and eyes to match. You greet him quietly, your usual energy missing. It seems he isn’t the only one who has suffered from the absence.
Though he can tell you aren’t feeling up to company, you invite him into your home with a tired smile. He follows you inside and plants himself across from you in the sitting room. He’s just barely too far to reach out and touch you, though his fingers itch to glide against your skin as if he was playing the strings of his harp.
He doesn’t know how to start. It feels silly now, that he is jealous you asked someone else to play their instrument for you. He can see clearly how the separation affected you. Just being in each other’s presence has brightened you both slightly. The color returning to your cheeks makes him more hopeful than before.
He makes several false starts, tripping over his words when you urge him to speak. You share a timid look, and it is exactly what Maglor needs to gain some of his confidence back.
“I overheard you in the garden, with Finrod. I was jealous you asked him to play for you. Please forgive me for feeling so,” he says, deciding it’s better to just come out with it all at once.
His mysterious absence suddenly makes sense to you. You can see why he canceled your plans, and hid behind his brother when you knocked on his door with an invitation to your party.
“I promise you, dear one, there is no need to feel jealousy. For your playing is my favorite sound in the world,” you confess.
“Would you forgive my vanity if I were to ask you why you do not want my harp for your party? Surely you would want to share your favorite sound with your friends, no?”
You consider this question, turning his words over in your head. You can admit you have a high regard for Finrod. The golden prince is one of your good friends, and you are fond of his harp as well. But you have only ever seen him as a friend, where Maglor sees him as a rival for your affections. You must let him know that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“At every party you are always tied to your harp, unable to leave it for even a moment as everyone loves to hear you play. I was hoping by asking Finrod to play that you would have time to spend with me, maybe even join me for a few dances. I admit it’s a selfish reason to keep such a talented entertainer from his instrument, but I never imagined it could hurt you so much,” you explain.
Maglor feels the pieces click together as you speak. It’s not that you didn’t want to hear him play, or that you wished to show your friends the talents of your new love. Rather, you wanted to spend the night by his side, dancing, drinking, laughing along with him.
He can no longer bear the space between you. He inches forward, until he can reach out and grasp your hand in his. The ache in his chest disappears the second he feels your skin against his. He can tell by the look on your face that he has eased your burden as well, and he resolves to keep going until you are fully returned to yourself.
“It might please you to know that while my fingers move along the strings, my eyes follow you around the room. I fumble over notes while your radiant smile distracts me, and I can’t seem to care because every song I play sounds better with you listening,” he starts, kissing your hand and begging you to let him finish.
“I sit and play for so long because I don’t want the evening to end. I’d rather let my fingers bleed than be parted from you.”
You can feel tears slip down your cheeks, letting Maglor wipe them away as he finishes his speech.
“Well that settles it. I will tell Finrod his services are no longer needed,” you say, standing up with the intention of writing to him at once.
“You will need his services, dear one. I already have plans for that night,” Maglor declares.
“Plans? You made other plans?”
“Yes, I have. I believe I owe the most beautiful elleth in Tirion a dance, or two, or five. I think I will spend all night with her in my arms, and I will have no time to play my harp, even if everyone in the room wishes it so.”
You turned back to him with the smile he had almost broken his heart over.
***
“Can you believe Kano thought she was in love with Finrod?” Celegorm asks his brothers. They nod in agreement, watching you both from across the room.
The two of you have never strayed more than a few inches away from each other all night. If you aren’t wrapped in Maglor’s arms for a dance, his hand is holding yours tightly. He is determined to stay by your side all night, leaving your feelings for each other plain for everyone to see.
You couldn’t be happier with your little party, even if you haven’t made time to properly greet all of your guests. Though Maglor did take a moment to personally thank Finrod for playing, and even complimented him on the quality of the music. You smiled at them both, glad the little bit of jealousy had passed.
***I've been working on this piece for months I hope you guys liked it!***
Merci, je suis votre blog régulièrement, j'adore vos histoires 🥰
Hello!! Sorry this is so late but I hope you enjoy!
***
“Why did you run away?” Gil-Galad asks timidly, aware of the silence you stand in.
It’s so different from where you were a minute ago. The ballroom had been too loud, too crowded, too much. All eyes had been focused on you when Gil-Galad announced your courtship to the room, a feeling you’d never had before.
You don’t respond right away, instead taking a few moments to regulate your breathing. You only look at him when you feel composed. In your mind, this is how a ruler of kingdoms reacts, calm and collected. An image you desperately want to pull off.
“I needed a moment to myself. I apologize for worrying you, but I’m ready to rejoin you now, my King,” you say.
Gil-Galad smiles softly as he steps closer. He sees right through your act. He doesn’t point it out because he knows you feel insecure about ruling beside him, like you aren’t worth it. He will do whatever he can to help build your confidence.
“I think I’d like to say out here a moment. It’s so terribly hot in there, and I need to cool down. Could I trouble you to wait for me?” He asks instead.
You feel so lucky as you stand next to him, someone who knows you almost better than you know yourself. It’s not long until you feel yourself relaxing again.
You rejoin the party on Gil-Galad’s arm, sticking close in case the feelings get overwhelming once more. You know if you run out again, Gil-Galad won’t be far behind.
Hii, I checked out you works and just let me tell you you're so so talented. I have a little request if that's alright!
Caranthir+"Are you alright?"+fluff
Thank you so muchh
Thank you very much!! Caranthir is one of my favorites, I love this request! Hope you like it!
***
“Are you alright?” Caranthir asked in response to a yelp from the other side of the room.
“Yes! Everything is fine!” You called back to him.
Maybe it was the way your voice shot up an octave in response, or maybe it was the way you kept your back to him as if concealing something. Whatever it was, Caranthir knew it was definitely not fine.
He walked over to investigate, his steps quiet to hide his purpose. What he saw annoyed him to the point of making himself known.
“What is that thing doing in my halls?”
“What thing? Oh, this?” You question, cradling a small kitten to your chest. He could see the black fur clinging to your robes already.
“Yes, that! I can feel myself sneezing already. You have to get rid of it at once!”
“But he’s hurt! I can’t leave him out in the wild like this!” You hold the kitten out to him, letting him see the back leg stuck at a strange angle.
He frowned, knowing already that he wouldn’t win this argument.
“My dear, once the bone is set you will have to find another home for him,” he cautions, not wanting you to get too attached.
“It will take weeks to be set. I suppose we can revisit the conversation then,” you reason, turning back to continue your healing ministrations.
Caranthir watched as you worked, seeing you coo and whisper to the kitten to keep it calm. He couldn’t help but admire the way you cared for the animal. Though that didn’t change his mind about keeping it in his home.
Too soon his thoughts were interrupted by your task being complete. He thought to himself that the smile you wore after an accomplishment was your best.
“Here, hold him while I clean this up,” you said, pressing the kitten into his hands before he knew what was happening.
His protests were loud and incessant while you put away your things. Caranthir paused only when the kitten snuggled into him and closed his eyes to sleep.
Daeron + "When did the rain stop ?" + angst and fluff (both is better but can be only one, it's fine)
Hope this can help you ! No pressure to complete it if you don't feel it 💚
Have a good day !
- @laisrinel
Thank you for requesting! I’ve never written for Daeron before, so I hope I do him justice!
***
“When did the rain stop?” A voice asked from the bed in the corner of your home.
You turned towards the sound, to the stranger you had found wandering in the wild. When you found him he was completely soaked through to the bone, and you knew you couldn’t leave him to elements. He had fallen asleep as soon as he’d put on the dry set of clothes you’d given him.
“It stopped just a few minutes ago. The hills are no longer filled with sad music, and the sun comes out once more,” you replied.
He took a moment to listen to the silence surrounding the two of you. It was true, he had given up his singing when he walked across the threshold. The only sound he heard was you breathing across the room.
His eyes swept your figure, something he hadn’t allowed himself until this moment. He was surprised to find himself filled with song he thought had left him forever. Songs of love and beauty rather than death and despair.
Though he sensed they wouldn’t be far off. One thing was clear to him, that you were human. He thought of his home in Doriath, the friends he left behind. His longing wasn’t reduced in your presence, just changed.
He saw it in the way you moved to him. He would love you with all his heart, to the last of your days, until the sad songs took hold of him once more.
Saw your drabble requests open and wanted to give it a go!
Maedhros+ "How long has it been?" + Fluff
You're an amazing writer!!
Thank you so much! I love hearing from you and hope you enjoy!!
***
“How long has it been?” Maitimo asks, coming up behind you as you pick strawberries in your garden. “How long since I have had the pleasure of being in your company?”
You laugh, refusing to turn and look at him. You can feel him pout as your basket fills with the ripe fruit.
“I believe it’s been ages,” he continues, trying to distract you from your work.
“Ages, you say?”
“Yes, ages! And yet you refuse to grace me with your smile, to let me look upon your beautiful face!”
You turn, finally giving in to his dramatics. You love to tease him when he gets like this, so sweet and loving. It’s a side of him you only see when the two of you are alone.
“I could have sworn I saw you just a few hours ago, before your meeting,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him close.
“If you had to listen to my father drone on and on you’d think ages had gone by as well,” he jokes back to you.
You hum in response, leaning into his embrace as his arms wind around your shoulders. You smile up at him with a look of admiration.
“If you’re finished teasing me, I think I’d like to spend the rest of my day with you,” Maedhros confesses.
“Oh good, you can help me finish picking berries!”
A knock sounded softly through your chambers as you prepared for bed. It was almost eleven at night, and you couldn’t imagine who was coming to see you so late. You sat your brush down on the vanity and quickly made your way to the door. You grabbed a robe to throw over your bedclothes, hoping the person on the other side wouldn’t care about your state of undress.
The door cracked open just enough for you to stick your head through, and you were extremely surprised to see who was on the other end.
“Elrond? What are you doing here?” You hissed into the night.
It was no secret to the entire court that you and Elrond did not like each other. Well, more that he didn’t like you. Though he was warm and agreeable to the population of Lindon, you couldn’t help but feel excluded from his usual kindness.
When you first met he was rather short and cold, making an excuse to escape from your presence. The next few months when he saw you he tended to move the other direction. Any conversation you tried to start ended swiftly, with no pretense of politeness to be found. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t seem to make him like you. This fact frustrated you so much that you were determined to ignore him and his many slights.
“Good evening, my lady. I am here at your request. Ask of me what you will,” he responded, looking anywhere but your face.
You stared at him in silence, confused by his statement. What did he mean at your request? As if you would ever ask him to your chambers!
He finally met your eyes when he realized you weren’t going to respond. He held up his right hand, waving a piece of parchment he thought you’d recognize. You quickly ripped it from his grasp, eyes roaming the page to your complete horror.
“Dearest Elrond,
I write to ask you to come by my chambers tonight, when you are freed from your duties. I must ask you a question that has long been on my mind. I fear I will not be able to sleep until I speak with you.
Yours Truly”
“I did not write this!” you exclaimed, shoving the note back at him.
“Of course you did! Why else would I be here?” Elrond argued back.
“This is not my handwriting! There isn’t even a signature on it!”
Elrond examined the note himself, cheeks coloring pink when he realized indeed there was no signature. His embarrassed response made you take pity on him, and you lowered your voice before you spoke to him again.
“That note is not from my hand. I am sorry you came all the way here. I’m sure you would much rather be anywhere else.”
Elrond said nothing, just stared at the note in his hands, trying hard not to crinkle the edges. You couldn’t imagine what he was thinking at this moment. It must be something bad for he had gone completely still, refusing once again to meet your eyes.
“Maybe I can help you find the rightful author? I know you would not wish anyone a sleepless night,” you tried again, hoping to get a response from him.
“It wasn’t you?” He looks down at you in confusion.
“No, my lord. It was not.”
You watched as Elrond crumpled the parchment in his hands, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. You bent down to the floor to pick it up as he turned and walked quickly away.
“Elrond, wait!” You called after him. You could only hope he would come back as you were in no state to go chasing him around.
He stopped walking but remained with his back to you. You unfolded the parchment. taking a look at it once more. You searched the note for any clue as to who could have written it.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would swear this resembles Celebrimbor’s writing. But that cannot be, can it?” You questioned more to yourself than to Elrond.
“That cannot be. I had a meeting with him today, if he needed to speak with me so urgently he would have done so then,” Elrond responds, turning back to view the note once more.
“Who would you suggest?” You asked. Elrond hesitated before answering you.
“It does not matter, if it isn’t you.”
“What on middle earth are you talking about, Elrond!”
The two of you stood there in the doorway to your chamber staring at each other. Elrond’s look was one of nervousness and trepidation. Yours was filled with confusion and wonder. Yet your eyes stayed locked together, hoping the other would break first.
“I thought you wanted to ask me to the Yule celebration!” Elrond exclaimed.
“Why would I ask you to the Yule celebration! You can’t stand to be in the same room as me, let alone have a conversation!”
“I can’t speak to you because I don’t know how! Your beauty, wit, and charm have intimidated me every time I get close. I find myself unable to speak two words together in your presence,” he confesses.
You softened at his words, glad to know he didn’t actually dislike you. In fact, a lot of your past interactions started to make sense. Your mind was racing as you remembered how he looked at you from across a room.
“Elrond, I did not know you felt that way,” you said, letting your fingertips reach for him, not quite close enough to touch.
“Yes, well, now you have the truth. I will bid you goodnight, seeing as I have needlessly interrupted your evening. My sincerest apologies, my lady.”
You grabbed his arm before he could turn his back to you once more. Instead you pulled him closer, taking care to rub his shoulder reassuringly as he turned pink once more.
“Elrond, would you please accompany me to the Yule celebration tomorrow?” You asked.
“Please, do not pity me. Ask only if you truly wish it,” he responded.
“Elrond,” you moved closer, reaching your hand up to gently cup his cheek. Only inches of space remained between you. “Would you accompany me to the Yule celebration, please?”
A smile graced his lips, the first one you could ever remember seeing. He nodded his consent, too happy to find words. Instead he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. You were entirely surprised by this, so much so that you didn’t react until he pulled away, surging forward to keep your lips connected.
The kiss was only broken when you heard footsteps. Celebrimbor was making his way down your hallway, and you felt heat rise in your face at being caught kissing the herald. You could only imagine Elrond felt similarly by the way he jumped apart from you. Your hand fell back at your side, tingling from the warmth of his skin.
“Don’t stop on my account. High King Gil-Galad will be happy to know the mistletoe he insisted on decorating with is being put to good use. As well as my little note,” Celebrimbor said as he passed, failing to hide his smirk at the revelation your meeting was a set up.
You both looked up, seeing the green leaves you had failed to notice before. Elrond placed one more kiss to your lips, insisting the first one didn’t count because you didn’t see the mistletoe. You allowed him this liberty, and bid him goodnight with the promise to see him tomorrow.
***This was supposed to be out before Christmas but oh well. Hopefully some of you will still enjoy it!
***Happy Holidays! My apologies for not editing this more, I wanted to get something out to everyone before Christmas. I hope you all enjoy! ***
Headcannons set before the darkening of Valinor
Maedhros
Maedhros notices the Mistletoe as soon as you walk in the room. It is placed carefully in the doorway of the exit to the Yule feast. He isn’t one for public displays of affection, so the sight has him slightly concerned.
Not that he didn’t want to kiss you, of course. He wanted that very much. Just not in front of his fathers or brothers or anyone in Tirion, really. His kisses and caresses are a private matter.
He could tell you desire that moment with him. Your eyes glow with affection as you watch couple after couple take their turn under the doorway. You are too shy to ask him, however, fearing he would turn you down.
He keeps you out later than he probably should. Most of the guests have left and only a handful of stragglers linger. You take his arm as he leads you out of the door, pausing when you reach the threshold you’d been eyeing all night.
Maedhros leans down, intending to place a peck on your cheek. When he sees the look in your eyes, so full of love, he can’t resist pressing a chaste kiss to your lips instead. You are so stunned you hardly respond. When you break away you share a gentle smile and let him lead you from the room.
Maglor
Maglor doesn’t concern himself with the Mistletoe. He is more concerned with making sure you are enjoying your evening. Every smile you give him brings out one of his own, brought on from his jokes and songs.
He wouldn’t mind a kiss, but he isn’t one to try and force it. If you drift towards the doorway with him close behind, he would quickly show his enthusiasm. However, if you made no move towards it, he would content himself with just being in your presence.
The night is filled with lively conversation, music, and dancing. When you get separated, Maglor makes sure to keep his eyes on you from across the room. You ask him to join you outside for some fresh air towards the middle of the night when you are overwhelmed with the celebration.
Maglor joins you as you head to the door. You slow down when you reach the mistletoe, looking up at him shyly through your lashes. He turns you to him, reaching down to tilt your chin up to him. His lips come down on yours in a featherlight kiss.
You feel so light as he pulls away, taking your hand to lead you to the gardens.
Celegorm
Celegorm is the one who put the mistletoe up in the first place, and he intends to pull you under it as often as he can. It’s one of his favorite traditions, one where he can show you off.
He spends hours before the Yule feast devising little excuses to keep you with him. There are only so many reasons to wander in and out of the doorway where the bundle rests, and he has them all written down.
It takes almost no time for him to put his plan into action. First, he forgets something at home and insists you see him to the door to retrieve it. Next, he conveniences you to step outside to see a tree sprouting new leaves. Over and over he commands your attention to these distractions.
His kisses get bolder as the excuses get thinner. One to your hand, your cheek, your forehead. The last one culminates with Celegorm’s hands on your waist and yours on his shoulders as he brings you in for the longest kiss of the night, planted right on your lips for everyone to see.
Caranthir
Caranthir doesn’t notice the mistletoe. He is too busy wishing he was at home, until you walk in and engage him in conversation. He finds he is actually enjoying himself, and is rather sad the few times you leave him to speak with others.
Since he hadn’t seen the mistletoe, the thought of the kiss is something he doesn’t entertain. He is instead focused on the shape of your hands, how they would feel in his, or pressed against his shoulder in a dance. You are unable to keep still, and those hands dance at your sides as i f teasing him.
He is so thrilled spending the evening with you that he doesn’t even notice the commotion the doorway has caused for others. He isn’t aware of what is going on until you boldly pull him out of his seat and right under the leaves, asking him if he is familiar with the tradition.
His shock is visible, cheeks flushing pink as he tries to come up with a response. You hesitate for a moment, unsure if he doesn’t know or just doesn’t want to kiss you. You rest your hand on his left cheek, leaning in to gently kiss his right, You hope your forwardness won’t leave either of you embarrassed. The feeling of your hand spurs him on, and as you pull away he pulls you closer. It’s your turn to blush when he presses a firm kiss to your lips.
Curufin
Curufin holds the ladder when Celegorm puts up the mistletoe, so he is also well aware of it before the feast starts. He follows Celegorm's lead and brainstorms ways to make the feast his best one yet.
He is more tactful than his older brother, so his plan involves one big distraction instead of many small ones. He spends time making several decorations in the forge, placing them around the doorway before the night begins.
You compliment their beauty, and Curufin asks if you’d like to take a closer look. You agree quickly and make your way to admire his work. The detail up close is extremely special, and you only turn from it when you hear Curufin clear his throat behind you, gesturing up to the doorway.
You giggle, giving him your full attention and stepping completely under the mistletoe. He steps with you, bringing you closer to press kisses up your neck and to your lips. You leave the feast absolutely breathless.
Amrod
Amrod shows up late with his twin, but quickly picks up on the buzz the mistletoe is causing among the crowd. He sees couples take their turns, causing his thoughts to drift to you.
He searches you out knowing if he can’t find you the leaves mean nothing to him. He tries to play it cool, but his brother knows his eyes are only looking for you. When he finds you you are off in your own world, enjoying the night with your friends and ignoring everything else.
He tries to cut in several times but you don’t give in to his wishes. You playfully turn him down with a wink and smile each time, encouraging him to come back for more. You give in only when you’ve had enough fun, and agree to let Amrod walk you home. He tries to play it off, acting like the mistletoe isn’t there when you walk under.
You stop, frowning up at him and pulling him back under the leaves. You wait impatiently as he leans in, planting three kisses in quick succession to your lips. You let him walk on only when you are fully satisfied.
Amras
Amras comes late with his twin, and it took him almost all night to notice the mistletoe. He is usually more perceptive, but tonight his thoughts are consumed by you and how beautiful you look.
He notices you dancing and can’t help but ask to join in. You quickly agree and spend the night held close in his arms as the music flows around you. This feeling is more than enough for Amras.
Your big twirls around the room have the two of you inching closer and closer to the doorway all night. It finally hits him when he sees the other couples getting close under it. He remembers the tradition and hopes you do too.
He blushes at the thought, asking bluntly if you’d want to take a turn under it. You laugh at his lack of tact and admit that you have thought about it while you danced with him. Your words sparked his motion, and he brought you over right after.
You are both full of nervousness which makes the kiss short and sweet. You both giggle as your lips meet, teeth clinking together as the laughs sound out loud. The kiss isn’t exactly what you imagined, but it is still the perfect kiss for you.
Walking through the markets of Tirion is typically an experience you love. There is nothing better than mingling in the crowd, stopping every now and then to make a purchase from a vendor, and breathing in the fresh air of Valinor. Today, however, the journey is producing nothing but anxiety. For you are carrying a package of great importance, a dress you handmade for the feast taking place in a week's time.
You are on the way to the fabric shop in order to show your friend, the owner, your creation. You had spent the last month hand making the dress, and that included going back to the shop several times to get odds and ends to perfect the piece. Your friend got progress updates every visit, and at the last one she requested to see it when it was finished. Of course you were happy to oblige her.
“I can’t believe my eyes! I don’t know which is better, the dress itself or how you look in it!” Your friend gushes as you try on the dress for her. You smile at the compliment, appreciating her kind words..
“Thank you! You do not think the lace work is too much? I am afraid it overpowers the dress,” you confess, running your fingers over the folds of the skirt. The lace was a point of pride for you. Your family passed down the art of lace making, and it’s your first time incorporating it into a dress.
“Not at all! The white of the lace contrasts beautifully against the emerald fabric. The design is intricate, yes, but not overly so. I only know one other in the entire realm who can make something as beautiful as this!” She reassures you.
“Well, keep that information to yourself, or I may get jealous and have to start all over!” You joke back to her before twirling around one more time.
The bell on the door chime and three large elves walk in, signalling the end of the meeting with your friend. Two of them wander around the shop while the third walks up to the counter and requests some fabrics and thread to be packaged for him. You recognize them as proud princes of the Noldor, and leaving the shop suddenly becomes your top priority.
You walk back into the changing area and quickly switch back to your normal robes. The dress is gathered in your arms as you head up to the front to pick up the covering you discarded when you walked in. It’s important to cover it as soon as possible to hide it from any prying eyes in the store so you can have a proper debut at the feast. You look over your shoulder, back to the changing room as you exit to make sure you left nothing behind.
Suddenly you feel a body crash into yours. You look up and apologize, seeing the smirking face of the blonde prince looking down at you, apologizing himself. He looks absolutely wild, with leaves and twigs stuck in his hair. His look indicates he isn’t as sorry as he seems, and you see a streak of brown across his cheek. You look down at his torso in horror, noticing it is caked with mud.
Your eyes flash to your dress, and it too is now stained brown. The fabric of the dress itself as well as your handmade lace is covered in the substance. You tell yourself not to cry, but the tears still gather in the corner of your eyes. The month you spent on the dress flashes through your mind. All that time wasted in a second, and for what? What business does a feral prince have in a fabric shop?
“Oh Tyelko, must you wreak havoc everywhere you go? Look what you did to this dress! Please, allow my brother to commission a new one for you,” the second elf steps next to his fair brother, dark hair flowing in waves down his back. His smug face infuriates you, and the tears dry quickly.
“I did not commission the dress. I made it myself, with my own two hands,” you seethe back at him. To their credit, the brothers finally start to look remorseful.
“At least allow me to purchase some more fabric for you. We will even deliver it to you personally, mud free,” the fair one responds with a small bow.
“I thank you, but no. I would never be able to make another dress in time for the feast,” you reply. You feel numb as you look between the princes and the ruin in your arms.
“Tyelko! Curvo! Leave, now, before we are all banned from the shop forever!” The third prince at the counter with your friend yells to the other two. They hesitate, not appreciative of being admonished yet desiring a way out. Finally they take their leave with slight bows of their heads.
You throw your dress onto the counter, taking in the full extent of the damage. The entire front piece is smeared with mud, deep into the weave of the fabric, and lace is crumpled and stained beyond repair. You can’t picture any way to save the dress and stand there staring in shock as the third elf leaves, package in hand.
Your friend joins you, offering words of comfort and trying to help think of ways to fix the dress. You let the tears pour down your cheeks, trying hard not to completely lose your composure. You are so focused in your despair that you miss the door as it chimes again and your friend walks away to tend to the returning customer. She goes into the back of the store for some forgotten thread, and the elf wanders your direction.
“My brother did this?” A voice behind you breaks your trance.
“If your brother is the blonde with the tunic full of mud, then yes, he did,” you respond, wiping the tears from your cheeks.
“Who made this dress? It’s beautiful,” he says, stepping close to examine the piece. He runs his fingers over the stitches, making note of how the fabric is woven together. He even touches the mud splattered lace, noticing how it sits against the bodice. He makes no mention of your emotional state, for which you are thankful.
“It was beautiful,” you agree simply.
“It still can be. I have lace, finer than this, that would fit the composition. Please, let me bring it to you as an apology,” he says.
“I thank you, sir, but I have no interest in your lace. I want this lace, unspoiled, as I sewed it myself onto the dress. I spent weeks weaving the pattern! It was so perfect, and it has come to ruin before I could even wear it,” you choked out.
“Ruined? With a little bit of fabric it can be fixed in no time,” you can tell the elf is getting frustrated with your response, but you can’t help the feelings coming onto you.
“Prince Morifinwë? I have your thread ready to go!” Your friend calls out into the room. He turns towards her, and you use the opportunity to gather the dress once more in your arms and take your leave, abandoning the slip cover in your haste.
You rush out of the store, past Caranthir’s brothers lounging about as they wait for him to be finished. They call out for you, but you ignore them and run the other direction out of the market.
When you finally reach your home, you leave the dress outside, resolved to stay home during the feast.
You are so distracted you miss the dog following behind you, his giant paws gracefully hitting the earth. He sniffs around the dress before snapping it up in his jaws and running away to rejoin the three princes on their trek home.
***
All of your friends spent the next few days taking turns trying to convince you to go to the feast despite your ruined dress. They offered to wash out the stains, or help fashion a new dress, or let you borrow one of theirs. You declined all offers, too sad about your own work to be persuaded.
Finally, you are convinced that skipping the feast would only make you feel worse. You could still have fun, even if you couldn’t display your beautiful accomplishment. You look around for the dress, but don’t know exactly where it has gone. You assume one of your friends had taken it to try and wash out the stains and decide instead to wear an older dress.
In the midst of getting ready you hear a knock at the door, distracting you from your preparations. You wonder if one of your friends has come with a backup dress after all and make your way there. When it swings open, you find yourself at a loss for words.
Caranthir stands in front of you, box in hand, looking every bit of the prince he is. His dark hair flows over his shoulders, straight and shining. You notice the black fabric of his tunic is embroidered with an emerald green thread, bringing out the color of his eyes. He radiates a nervous energy you hadn’t picked up from him before.
“My Prince, I was not expecting you. I fear I am not prepared to receive you properly,” you confess, looking down at your sorry state of half readiness.
“I promise not to take up too much of your time,” he responds, gliding into your home and setting down the box on your table. He waits somewhat impatiently as you untie the ribbon and lift the lid.
You gasp, seeing the dress you made in perfect condition. You reach into the box, delicately running your hands over the lace. It looks exactly the same as the original, and you wonder how he was able to get the stain out.
You look up at him, swallowing your tears, and his expression softens. The impatience melts away, and nervousness takes him once again.
“I tried to keep the dress exactly as it was. I had to replace the front piece, but was able to use the same fabric. Your stitches are hard to replicate, but I think I managed well enough. And the lace...” He falters at the end of his statement, blushing faintly.
“What about the lace?” You ask.
“I was able to copy the pattern and remake it by my own hand,” he explains.
You look at him in amazement. The lace had taken you weeks to complete after years of practice, and he had done a perfect replica in a matter of days. It was nearly impossible, and you wrack your brain to think of how it could be done. You don’t know how you are ever going to repay him for it.
The tears will not be stopped, and they start to fall in big trails down your cheeks. You try to express yourself with words, but they will not come easily. Instead you end up a stuttering, choking mess. Not only are you impressed with his skill, but with his kindness towards you.
You are so overcome with feeling, you don’t notice Caranthir’s face scrunch up in confusion. He can’t imagine the reason for your reaction. He thought you'd be happy he was able to salvage the dress, maybe even grateful to him. Instead you are crying uncontrollably, more upset than you were in the fabric shop.
The natural conclusion to his thoughts leads him to anger. He assumes you are distraught at his gesture, disappointed that he had shown up at your door with his patch job. You couldn’t even pretend to appreciate his effort. To think he has spent the last few days with you consuming his thoughts, his hands working tirelessly to try to impress you, making up for the poor first impression of his brothers.
“I did not know the dress would be so repulsive to you after my hands have touched it. You are under no obligation to wear the offensive material,” Caranthir states plainly, doing everything he can to conceal his rage before turning and seeing himself out of your home.
You call after him, willing him to stop and listen to the explanation for your tears. He hesitates for only a moment before continuing on, storming off in a fit of temper. You can’t imagine the reason for his anger, and wish to explain away any offense and show your appreciation.
He doesn’t turn again, and you give up calling after him. The only thing you can do is finish preparing for the feast. You know you will find him there and have a chance to explain while proudly wearing the dress.
***
You feel many friendly eyes on you as you enter the feast with your head held high. You greet your friends and they gush over the dress, asking you how you were able to pull off such a fix. You are distracted by the sight of the prince, sulking alone while his brothers mingle among the crowd. You politely excuse yourself from your friends, promising to give them answers when you return.
You manage to keep your courage, even in the face of Caranthir’s dark scowl in your direction. He refuses to look at you as you stand in front of him, instead looking over your head as if you weren’t there. You are determined to thaw out his icy demeanor.
“I wanted to thank you for mending my dress, but you ran off before I got the chance,” you challenge the prince, feeling rather annoyed by his childish behavior.
“Spare me. I know you are only wearing it because you pity me,” he shoots back at you.
“I am wearing the dress because someone was kind enough to mend it for me when I did not have the heart to do it myself. It is a kindness I have never encountered in all my years. I was overcome by it before, and I am sorry for not expressing my appreciation properly. This is a gift I will cherish long after I retire the garment. Please, do not let any mistake by me ruin this beautiful feast for you.”
The monologue leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but notice the blush across Caranthir’s cheeks. The color suits him beautifully, though you have a feeling he doesn’t share that opinion. He remains silent, lost in thought, and you decide to bother him no longer and return to your friends.
The prince watches you go, admiring how the fabric clings to your frame. The dress really is a marvel, and he wonders what is more impressive. Your creation of the garment, or how well you wear it.
He replays your words in his mind, willing his cheeks to cool so he can join in the festivities. Could he have been too hasty with his judgement before? He could tell from the strength of your voice and the honesty in your eyes that you only spoke the truth to him.
He isn’t sure he did anything so special. He only wanted to see the smile you wore when he first walked into the fabric shop return. As his hands joined fabric together he saw only your face in his head, and found himself having to redo many of the stitches due to this distraction. If this was truly worthy of praise, he was glad to have heard it from your lips.
Always an introvert, he sticks close to his brothers throughout the night. Though he says little, he often looks to where you sit with your friends. If his brothers notice his distraction they keep it to themselves.
It’s Caranthir’s turn to cross the room as the tables are cleared and everyone makes room for a dance. He isn’t one to dance himself, can’t even remember when the last time he stood up at a gathering like this. But how can he resist, when you look so beautiful in your lace?
He manages to keep the blush off his face as he asks you to dance, but can’t help how his cheeks flush when you place your hand in his. It’s a feeling he wants to remember, the softness in your skin and the admiration in your eyes. He knows the hours he spent stitching were well worth this pleasure.
Maedhros would ask to court you only when he was absolutely sure he knew your heart better than anyone else. This to say he would wait years to ask you, and make sure the moment was absolutely perfect. His gift would be extremely thoughtful, tailored exactly to your interests. He had been making notes in his head as soon as he’d known you, giving himself plenty options to choose from.
You’d mentioned a book to him once, one that you’d wished for but hadn’t been able to procure yourself. You confessed you didn’t know where one could be, as no one you knew had a copy, and the book had seemingly passed into legend. Your musings had stuck with Maedhros for years, and he knew this was just the thing to win you.
He would make it his mission to find the book, traveling from Tirion to consult with his kin, members of the Valar, and even Rumil himself, to no success. After weeks of searching he found it in the most unlikely place, in the study of his father, collecting dust on his shelf.
When he gave you the book, on a private picnic, you were shocked. You knew you’d only briefly mentioned your desire to him once years ago. You were so touched by his careful attention to you, it caused tears to well in your eyes. Maedhros panicked, thinking he had done something wrong. You assured him he hadn’t, and accepted his courting proposal with ease as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.
Maglor
Maglor had been writing songs for you since he first laid eyes on your ethereal beauty. As he got to know you, the songs encompassed your kindness and intelligence as well. He couldn’t compose a tune without your likeness in his head, a voice that mimicked yours whispering words in his ear.
Not that you knew any of this. He never played these songs for anyone, let alone you. They were his own private musings, never to be heard outside of his room. Though the more time he spent with you, he found it harder to keep his affection concealed.
You were a fantastic singer, with a melodic voice that was sought after by many an elf in Valinor. Your love for music rivaled his, and the interest brought you close together. You noticed he was shy to play his originals for you. You expressed many wishes to hear them, and after taking the time to perfect them he complied.
The songs he sang about a fair maiden had your heart beating fast in your chest. You couldn’t imagine his muse, how blessed she was to have such songs sung about her. His devotion was clear in each note. When the songs were finished, you asked him who had inspired the songs. He confessed his love for you right then and there, his heart bursting with song when you confessed the same. Somehow, he managed to write even more beautiful compositions during your courtship.
Celegorm
Celegorm was quicker than his brothers, deciding to court you after only knowing you a short time. He fell for you fast, and had no problem sharing his love with the world. Because he didn’t know you as well as he would like, he resolved to tempt you with every possible gift he could get his hands on.
He enlisted his brothers to help him. Maglor helped him serenade you with his harp, Curufin made you a silver bracelet, and Caranthir embroidered you a handkerchief. He was shocked none of these gifts worked. You politely turned down every single one after complementing the talents of his brothers. You weren’t convinced he was sincere, or that he understood the significance behind the gift was more important than the gift itself.
He takes counsel from Maedhros, who suggests you are waiting for a gift by his hand, not one of his brothers. He realized he needs a more personal touch to his approach. He knows your favorite thing in the world is spending time with him, especially when he comes back from one of his long hunts with Orome. The two of you are usually attached at the hip in the days after, refusing to leave the other for too long. You always listened intently as he described the lands he travels to, so different from what you know.
When he gets back from the next one, he carries with him a bundle of wildflowers and a new appreciation for the distance he travels. He gives them to you with little ceremony, laying his feelings bare with an invitation to join him on the next one. You readily accept this proposal, finally satisfied Celegorm understands what courtship means.
Caranthir
Caranthir is the brother who will have the most trouble recognizing his feelings for you. He spends so much time thinking the world is against him, he knows there is no way a gentle soul like you could show him a genuine interest.
You are the only person who doesn’t see his temper first. You see him as strong, intelligent, and handsome. You are charmed by him, and find his demeanor intriguing, not intimidating. Once he realizes your feelings are true, he lets himself fall for you. However, he doesn’t think he will be able to explain to you the depth of his feelings. He resolves instead to show you.
You don’t come from a noble family. You have no great ancestors, and live a simple life. Though you love Caranthir truly, you don’t think you are enough for him, which leaves you guarded. He wants to show you that you deserve the world, and let you lead your life forevermore as a princess worthy of a descendant of Finwe.
The gift comes in the form of a new robe, handmade by Caranthir in the colors of his house, the star of Feanor proudly embroidered on the back. You hesitate to accept, not sure if you are worthy of such a gift. He confesses that he is the one not worthy of you, and you spend the beginnings of your courtship assuring each other of the depths of your feelings and the strength of your bond.
Curufin
Curufin, master of the forge, has always presented you with ornate gifts. He loves the process of creating almost as much as he loves your reaction to his handiwork. You look at him with love and admiration shining bright in your eyes, as if Curufin crafted the stars themselves. He would try, if he thought that would please you.
This constant stream of gifts comes back to haunt him when it comes time to make a courting gift. For years he had been showing you his love, but you had yet to realize it. After all, he often used his talents to share with everyone, not just his beloved.
It took him a while to come up with something he was sure wouldn’t escape your notice. Though you accepted his gifts graciously, you rarely wore the jewelry. It was a little too flashy for your taste, and you reserved them for celebrations or special occasions.
Curufin restrained himself in order to create a necklace and earrings that were rather simple, featuring your favorite stone in a sterling setting and... nothing else. None of the artistic flourishes he usually used, but with his initials set subtly in the chain. You cherished this new set, and wore it every single day of your courtship.
Amrod
Amrod loved you playfully, teasingly, purely. He often invited you along to explore the wilderness with him and his brother, and he loved how you cared for his twin as well. He felt like you were already a part of him.
You loved to laugh, and the high point of your day was often the banter between you and the twins. Though you tended to tease Amrod more, feeling a little more comfortable with him. You had always felt this way, as if your soul knew his before you met in Valinor. It was just easy with him.
Amrod himself liked to tease you about a future courtship. It was assumed by all who knew you that the two of you would enter into such a union, yet Amrod wanted to keep you on your toes. He insisted the proposal needed to be a complete surprise, even though he hinted at it more than once.
It was a true surprise when Amras led you into a clearing and disappeared, leaving you alone with Amrod. He handed you a crown woven from your favorite flowers, vines, and twigs. The pattern was intricate, and when he placed it delicately on your head it was a perfect fit. You wore it to dinner that night with his brothers as he finally announced the courtship.
Amras
Amras loved you quietly from the start. He was a bit more sensitive than his twin, a little less confident. The love he had for you felt overwhelming, and he wasn’t sure how to express it. He took to writing his feelings down in a journal the brief moments he was alone. He didn’t have much time, so the entries were short yet full of praise for you.
He often spends his time with you testing out these words, noting when he made you laugh or blush. You thought he was extremely funny, and any complement he gave would set your cheeks on fire. You were an open book, so easy for him to read, which only made his love for you swell.
Still none of his words felt quite right. He was sure you didn’t understand the depth of his feelings, and he didn’t know how to craft a speech that would leave you with no doubt of his intentions towards you. He started reading poetry, wondering if anyone had ever felt this way before. The verses sparked inspiration within him.
Finally he read through his journal and composed a letter, one that described his love for you in great detail. He left it at your doorstep when you weren’t home, nervous to see your reaction. He found you later, running though the forest in search of him, and your courtship was sealed between the trees.
“You’d do better to hold your sword like this,” Maedhros instructed you from across the training field. He had been observing you practice, making note of your weak points. It gave him an excuse to approach you, disguised as an attempt to help. The problem was, you weren’t exactly looking for any.
You turned towards him, marching closer with purpose. He demonstrated his grip, holding his arm out for you to take a look. He then brought his sword forward to show you a swing, illustrating where he found a weakness in your follow through. Instead of watching, you brought your own sword up, clashing against him as you pushed forward, blade first.
You managed to catch him by surprise, disarming him of his sword before kicking, taking his legs out from underneath him. His back hit the hard ground and he looked up at you, shocked, as you notched your blade under his chin.
“I think I hold my sword just fine,” you smiled down at him, locking eyes while he tried to catch his breath. He watched as you turned, walking away from the training ground like you didn’t just take down the Crown Prince of the Noldor without breaking a sweat.
Maedhros didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed. His feelings were getting more confused as he laid there. He supposed he’d have to see you again to figure it out.
Maglor
All night Magor watched as you danced along to the music flowing from his harp. Your moves were fluid and enchanting, causing the usually perfect elf to stumble over his notes. You didn’t take notice of his mistakes, or any of the potential suitors hovering around. You were too focused on the feeling of the music flowing through you, unlike any playing you’d heard before.
He hid behind the harp all night, unsure of how to approach you. Even though you turned to him after each song, clapping and smiling like he was playing music just for you. Thankfully, you weren’t as shy as he was.
“If someone wanted to learn to play like you, who would they seek to teach them?” You asked him at the end of the party, as he was packing up his harp to leave. He considered your question carefully, taking time to build his confidence with his answer.
“I’m not quite sure. I taught myself to play, and I’ve never given a lesson before. Though I could be persuaded,” he replied, smiling down at his instrument.
You laughed, a musical, tinkling sound erupting from your chest. It filled Maglor with light. The sound to him was better than his compositions, and he wondered if you would consider singing with him instead.
Celegorm
“And who is this fair lady who dares to be more beautiful than Varda herself while she sits in her gardens?” Celegorm says, leaving his brother in the dust as he saunters to where you rest. He walks with confidence, like a prince who has never been told “no” before. You are familiar with this type and aren’t impressed by his flowery words.
“Who is this insufferable charmer?” you reply, barely giving him a glance as he stands in front of you. That look is enough to tell you he is handsome, devastatingly so, and you are determined not to fall under his spell.
“You mean to wound me, my lady, but any words from those lips are music to my ears,” he flirts. You scoff, shocked that he thinks these tacky one liners will work on you. You’re even more shocked that maybe they are working, if even just a little.
“If you think I’m going to fall at your feet with fictions like these, you are mistaken. Come back when you’re ready to speak with me honestly,” you say, looking to drive him away before you get yourself into more trouble than you can handle.
“I most certainly will,” He throws you a wink before walking away to rejoin his brother. They venture out of the garden, but not without Celegorm looking over his shoulder at you, smiling like he wasn’t just harshly rejected.
Caranthir
The elf in front of you reaches out a hand, waving it in front of your face as you sit on the ground. You’re dazed from bumping into him, and then bumping into the ground. The hand moves impatiently, waiting for you to grab it so he can pull you up.
He tires of waiting, and instead he uses both hands to grab your shoulders and pull you up to your feet. You blush at the contact, not used to skin to skin contact. He notices your blush and turns a little red himself. You giggle to yourself, nervous, and a scowl instantly breaks out onto his face. He turns to go without a word.
You move to follow him in order to apologize, but when you take a step you feel a twinge in your ankle. You gasp when your foot meets the ground and Caranthir hears this, turning to you with concern. He sees your pained expression and walks back to offer you his arm, which you gladly accept as he walks you back to your house.
“I want to thank the elf who helped save me from my own clumsiness, but I’m not sure who to address my thanks to,” you say as you reach your door. He tells you his name and you turn it over in your mouth, loving the way it sounds.
“Please allow me to know your name, so when I come tomorrow to check on you I know who to ask for,” he replies, blushing hard as he does. You love the color of his cheeks, and can’t wait to see just how red they can get.
Curufin
You’d never been to the forge this late before, but it was nearing dinner time and your brother had yet to arrive home. Instead of finding him, you found an elf with raven black hair and a look of concentration you dared not to break.
It was broken, however, when he heard you call your brother’s name over the sound of him pounding away at his anvil. There were only a handful of people left in the forge, surely you wouldn’t have any trouble finding the one you were seeking.
Though five minutes later you were still wandering around, distracting him from his work with your glowing skin and shining eyes. He wanted to hear you call his name instead.
“Can I help you?” He asked finally when you passed close by his work station. You told him your brother's name, and he suggested taking a break to help you find him. You apologized for pulling him from his work, but he assured you it was no trouble.
He uses this time to study you, to notice the shade of your hair and the multitude of colors in your eyes. He knows exactly what he will be making in the forge next, a set of silver earrings with gems to beautifully highlight your complexion. He will get started as soon as you exit the forge, not wanting to waste a minute of inspiration.
Amrod
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Amrod apologizes as he finds you lost in a book, hidden away in the deep parts of the forest. You startle, unaware of his presence until his voice rings in the quiet. It echoes across the trees, bouncing from branch to leaf before reaching you.
“I didn’t know anyone else knew these woods,” you confess, smiling up at him from your perch on the ground. He smiles back, timidly, unsure of how to continue the conversation. He can tell you are feeling just as shy, and is determined to put you at ease.
“It will be our secret,” he finally settles on saying. You agree and share your intentions of coming back tomorrow. He takes the hint and mentions his plans to do the same, though they didn’t exist before this moment.
He can hear the sound of his brother getting closer. Though they share everything, he has the urge to keep this place, and you, to himself. You notice this agitation and give him a quiet goodbye.
“Until tomorrow,” Amrod says, lingering in your presence as long as he can before he leaves you alone in the small clearing. He rejoins his brother, but his thoughts stay with you.
Amras
Amras notices strange footprints in the dirt as he and his twin track rabbits in the forest. They appear to be that of an elf, and while Amrod takes off after the animal tracks he follows the ones that look close to his own.
The tracks end abruptly at the base of a tree, and Amras decides he must go up and follow the trail to the end. His hunting instincts won’t let him leave it alone. The mystery is too intriguing for him, pulling him up the bark of the tree.
He finds you perched on a branch, sketching a bird’s nest high up in the leaves. Your hand moves confidently across the page, eyes moving between the nest and the drawing with ease. He is content to watch you silently, not wanting to disturb your process.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not polite to stare?” You ask, eyes never tearing away from your work. He feels embarrassed until he sees your playful smile.
“My mother would be most ashamed of me,” he jokes, causing you to laugh with him. He wonders how long he can last up in the tree until someone comes looking for him. Hopefully long enough to convince you to come down with him.
Elrond sees you for the first time across the courtyard. You’re carrying an armful of scrolls, trying hard not to crush any while you walk hurriedly towards the library. Hair falls from a braid and into your eyes, and you shake your head to try to and move it out of your face. It doesn’t work, and the furrow of your brow may be the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
He moves in your direction, hoping to offer your arms some relief from the burden. Maybe he can even earn himself a smile in the process. But you move too quickly for him to catch you with anything but an all out run. He resigns himself to watching you walk away so as not to scare anyone in the courtyard, though he feels wrong doing so.
***
The second time his eyes land on you is during an official dinner with the High King. He is seated across from you, at the end of the table where no one but you notices him fumble over his words. You are given a warm introduction from Gil-Galad himself, where he introduces you as a scholar from Eregion who is here to make use of Lindon’s archives. You thank him and answer questions from the other guests with a smile, happy to share your knowledge.
Elrond is captivated not only by your beauty, but your intelligence as well. You are well spoken and he thinks to himself how he could listen to you talk about almost anything. As the dinner progresses your attention land on him, and he is given leave to ask questions all his own. He discovers your love of music, and your admiration of his friend Celebrimbor. He finds you are prepared to stay in Lindon for some time, and a great smile breaks across his face as he realizes he will have more opportunities to meet you.
“What has you smiling so, Lord Elrond?” One of the dinner guests asks from down the table, breaking the two of you from your private conversation. Elrond blushes, the color so faint it’s not noticeable to any in attendance but yourself. You turn to the guest and repeat a joke you’d heard once, making the whole table laugh. You wink at him once the attention is turned back to some other matter, and he is grateful you saved him from embarrassment.
Elrond has the idea to escort you back to your chambers after dinner is finished, but he is beaten to it by another guest. You graciously accept, bidding him goodnight with another wink before making your exit.
***
When he meets you for the third time, you’re deep in concentration, copying words from one scroll onto a fresh one. You’re sitting outside on a bench in the garden, hunched over to keep the sun out of your eyes. The scroll rests in your lap, and he notices once again your beautiful locks swinging loose onto your face.
“Good afternoon, my lady. How does this fair day treat you?” He calls, tearing your eyes from your work.
“Very well, Hearld Elrond, I thank you for asking,” you reply, moving your things aside to make room beside you on the bench. You wave him closer, and he comes with hardly a thought.
You tell him it’s fortunate he was nearby, as you are due for a break and don’t think you would have taken one without his interruption. His heart sings to hear your thanks to him, and he loses himself as you explain your day’s work.
He watches you flex your fingers, working out cramps from holding your quill. His fingers itch to touch yours, wishing to soothe the uncomfortable feeling. His hands are so close, the reach wouldn’t be much at all…
He is snapped out of his daydream by a messenger sent from the King to inform him of his tardiness to the weekly council meeting. He jumps up, and you take his hand, apologizing for keeping him from his duties. He assures you the fault is his, hating to see the concerned look on your face.
The feeling of your hand, so soft and small in his, emboldens him. As he bids you goodbye he leans forward, pressing his lips to your cheek. He hears your sharp intake of breath, sees you flush as he pulls away. He has to pinch himself in order to rush off to his meeting when all he wants to do is spend the next few hours with you.
You watch him dash out of the garden, wondering where exactly all that confidence was hiding. This cannot be the shy elf you met at dinner the other night? You smile to yourself, touching your cheek as you get back to work.
***
Your fourth meeting seems to be designed by the Valar. You look ethereal in a green silken gown, hair pinned back to reveal your shining eyes. He can’t believe you’re here in front of him, glowing brighter than the light of Ithil. All of the elves in attendance of the feast are dressed in their best, but he can’t be bothered to notice a single one with you in his sight.
He sees you laughing with Celebrimbor across the room, and he can’t take not being by your side for another minute. He politely excuses himself from the table of the High King and makes his way to you, weaving his way through the crowd effortlessly.
Celebrimbor greets him warmly, and her returns the greeting in a similar fashion before turning to you. He takes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to brush softly. You flush pink, the same look you had in the gardens that he remembers fondly. Celebrimbor quirks a brow, remaining silent but looking between you both like he has just discovered a new ore.
The three of you make conversation for a while, with Celebrimbor sharing the news from Eregion and notes on his latest works. You both try to listen, but can’t help stealing glances at each other. Before long the realms musicians start playing their instruments, and elves around you all start to dance.
High King Gil-Galad joins your party to ask you to honor him with your first dance. You graciously accept, leaving Elrond and Celebrimbor on their own to continue their conversation. Elrond wishes he had asked for your first dance, and listens distractedly while he keeps an eye on you.
“Do you know, Elrond, that I came here intending to escort Eregion's best scholar home after the feast?” Celebrimbor asks, a smile hidden behind his wine glass.
Elrond’s face falls at the revelation. He forgot, in his rapture, that you are only visiting Lindon. He hasn’t yet considered that you will have to return home, depriving him of your warmth and grace. Celbrimbor notices the change and his grin widens.
“I was not aware you had an alternative motive for your visit, Lord Celembrimbor,” Elrond manages to respond.
“I did. It seems, however, after speaking with her, that she is not ready to leave. In fact, she doesn’t think she will be ready to leave anytime in the near future. I’m puzzled by this, as she was confident before she left that this work would only take a few months. Now, it might take years. Can you imagine what brought this on?” He prompts suggestively.
“No, my Lord, I cannot. I can only imagine it is of the highest scholarly import,” Elrond says.
He can feel the relief flow through his body. The song ends, and so does your dance with Gil-Galad. He sees another elf moving your direction and decides he needs to act before your next dance is promised as well. He excuses himself from Celebrimbor and makes his way to you on the dance floor.
You beam up at him when he asks you to dance, and he vows to himself to do anything in his power to keep that smile on your face the whole night.
A soft knock on the chamber door breaks High King Gil-Galad’s concentration. He stands from his chair, taking time to stretch the muscles in his back and shoulder to rid them of their stiffness. Walking to the door is a welcome relief from the official correspondence he is tasked with writing to other rulers in the realm. He wonders who is gracious enough to interrupt his solitude.
“High King,” you greet, quietly bowing as he opens the door.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Gil-Galad responds, a smile gracing his lips as he opens the door wider to allow you entry to his study.
His breaks are typically occupied with thoughts of you, yet seeing you in the flesh proves so much better. It’s like you heard him calling for an interruption and came forth at once. Maybe he can turn your visit into a dinner invitation, drawing out his time with you into the evening. Or so he wishes in the seconds before you give your answer.
“Well, I was hoping to find your Herald here with you. I haven’t been able to find him anywhere, and I need to consult him on a matter of urgent business,” you confess nervously, holding your hands behind your back. Gil-Galad tries his hardest not to show his disappointment. He should have known you wouldn’t have come for him.
He takes in your disheveled appearance with a look of careful concern. He has never seen you look so out of sorts, and he wonders to himself what could be so important as to have you running around Lindon in search of his Herald. Shouldn’t you know where he is?
He has suspected the two of you of being engaged in a secret courtship for some time now. Convinced himself, really, because how could anyone spend so much time with you and not be utterly in love? The brief moments he has spent in your company have assured him it is true, though he tries not to think of it, tries not to think of you as belonging to someone else.
“I have given Elrond the day off. I believe he mentioned something about going mushroom hunting, so I am not quite sure when to expect him back,” he answered.
The color drains from your cheeks, leaving you looking pale and unfit to leave his sight, though you turn and make for the door without a response to him. He wonders at this, too, as he knows you to have impeccable manners. He cannot imagine you are making an exit without so much as a goodbye.
“My lady, I believe you should have a seat and wait for him to return. You look unwell, and I won’t have you leave in such a state,” he explains, trailing after you, long arms reaching the door to pull it closed.
“Very well. I am feeling a bit faint,” you agree, letting him usher you to a chaise in the corner of the room.
Gil-Galad notices you are still holding your arms out of sight, contorted behind your back in an uncomfortable manner. Once he is sure you are settled, he goes to the door and calls for his guards, instructing them to send out a party to find Elrond and bring him back at once. He does this as quickly as he can, returning to you before you can even blink.
“Now that is settled, perhaps I can be of service as we wait,” Gil-Galad, turns to you, hopeful.
You are entirely embarrassed to be in the position you are currently, but the High King looks so sincere you can’t help but respond. You think to yourself that he must know of your weakness for him. How your incessant thoughts of him led you to where you are now. You thank the stars he is too polite to mention it.
“It is rather embarrassing, High King, and I think I had better wait for Elrond,” you confess, unable to meet his eyes.
Yet you still see his face, how it falls when you give your answer. He nods, solemnly, wishing he had done more to gain your trust in the months prior. If he had, you wouldn’t be suffering now as you are. If he had, you would be asking him for help instead of Elrond. His expression is so moving, you wonder what exactly he is thinking.
You consider your options for a moment. You could be honest with the High King, let him know that thoughts of him had you so distracted on your daily walk that you found yourself tripping over the roots of a tree, sending you tumbling to the ground. You left the gardens with a nasty gash on your forearm, one that required medical attention.
Elrond, you know, would never make fun of you for being clumsy like some of the other elves in Lindon. It’s why the two of you became such good friends in the first place. You both understood what it was like living with traits deemed atypical for elves. It’s the reason you started searching him out rather than heading to the healing halls to be tended to.
You feel the blood start to seep through your makeshift bandage and decide you must reveal your problem to the High King, if only so you don’t faint or bleed all over his study. You carefully bring your arms to rest on your legs in front of you. The crimson stain on your sleeve catches Gil-Galad’s attention, and he moves quickly to your side.
He understands now why you requested Elrond. His herald has trained extensively in healing, though Gil-Galad knows a few things himself. He unwraps your bandage, taking care to jostle you as little as possible. He wonders why you insisted on waiting for Elrond instead of seeing one of the excellent healers of Lindon. Perhaps it would comfort you to be treated by the hands of your betrothed? Though his hands are larger and more calloused from his spear, he vows to do his best to treat you gently. He uses those hands to inspect the wound briefly before stepping out of the room.
You assume he is going to fetch one of the other healers in Lindon, but are surprised to see him return alone with a bowl of warm water, a cloth, and a small healing kit. He returns to your side and quietly begins to dip the cloth into the water before tenderly cleaning the dried blood from your arm. He moves confidently, and you wonder when he had the time to learn healing. Was it in his adolescence, before he became king? Or maybe out of necessity, after a battle? You wish you knew him well enough to inquire.
Things go on in the manner, with Gil-Galad reverently tending to your injury and you trying hard not to swoon over him. Though you suppose you could pass it off as a reaction to the blood loss. Would he believe you, or see through the ruse? You aren’t sure if you’re ready to test your acting skills in front of the most important audience in Lindon.
“If I dared to ask how you came into this injury, would I receive an answer?” He questions you, looking into your eyes in a way that makes your heart seize.
“I’m afraid, my King, that it's a rather silly story. And to tell you the truth, I couldn’t bear it if you laughed at me,” you confess, tearing your eyes from his and instead focusing on the golden threads of his robes.
He takes a moment to breathe, considering your words. How could you ever think that he would laugh at you? He is puzzled, unsure how to make his feelings in this moment clear. He moves on instinct, taking one of your hands in his left and raising his right to your cheek, tilting your head so you’re looking into his eyes once again.
“I would never laugh at you, melwa,” he says breathily, sincerity shining in his eyes.
Your breath catches in your throat as you take in his words. The High King before you, staring reverently, is the stuff of dreams, not reality. Maybe you hit your head during your fall, and the last hour has been nothing but a hallucination. If that’s true, then you want to take every advantage of it.
You press forward, slowly, feeling your nose bump into Gil-Galad’s. He tilts his head slightly, allowing his lips to slide against yours so gently you can hardly feel them. You kiss him back, increasing the pressure between you both. His hand squeezes yours and you squeeze back, smiling into the kiss. His right hand slides from your cheek to your neck, making your skin tingle in a way entirely foreign to you.
This feeling spreads outward from your chest as Gil-Galad pulls away for a second before swooping back in for more, lips insistent and soft as they press into yours. How you’ve dreamt of this moment, not knowing how his desire mirrors yours. You feel it now, the passion in his kiss.
Without warning the door bursts open and Elrond comes tumbling inside, tripping on his robes in his haste. He looks up and sees your tender embrace before you jump up from your position in Gil-Galad’s arms. You feel your face burn in embarrassment. What must your friend think, seeing you in such a position, desire laid bare?
“I’m sorry for the interruption, my King, but I was told Lady (Y/N) needed me immediately, and that I could find her here,” Elrond explains his sudden intrusion. You refuse to look back at Gil-Galad as you speak.
“I thank you, dear Elrond, but the High King graciously assisted me with my problem, and I no longer require your assistance. I hope you can forgive my intrusion on your free time,” you respond sheepishly.
Elrond gives you a gentle smile, eyes flickering between you and Gil-Galad, who has not moved from the couch. He assures you it is no trouble at all, and you can tell from the look in his eyes that he will be getting the full story from you the next time you two meet. A bow is given before exiting, the door closing quietly behind him.
The room feels oppressive now with the weight of your actions. You don’t know how you’re going to face the High King after your impropriety towards him. How could you kiss him like that! He, who is so good to his people he can’t deny them anything!
“I must apologize to you, my lady, for losing my senses. I should not have kissed you so. I will find Elrond and explain the situation. I hope I did not damage your courtship with my hasty actions,” you hear from behind you. Gil-Galad projects his voice, but you still notice the tremble.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning. I am not courting Elrond, or anyone for that matter,” you respond, turning to him. You want to ease the burden on his mind, let him know he did nothing wrong. If any wrong was done, it belongs to you alone.
He stands suddenly, his tall frame towering over yours. His expression turns from dejected to hopeful as he thinks over your words, what they could mean for him. He has never been sure of your feelings for him, but if he ever had a chance he knows he must take it now.
“And if someone asked to court you, what might your answer be?” He asked, hands reaching for yours once again.
“I would have to confess the truth. My affections are spoken for, and I could not accept any courtship proposal save one,” you respond, scared to look up at him. Could he know your heart, though you haven’t spoken a word of it to anyone?
“And if I was that someone?” He presses closer.
“I would have to accept,” you confess, smiling up at Gil-Galad from beneath your lashes.
His smile grows bigger by the second, and as you look on, captivated, you understand why they call him radiance.
