“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.
For: The Underrated Characters Event run by @doodle-pops
Warnings: Very mild blink and you might very well miss it angst.
Wordcount: 700 + words
Summary: Underrated character as a sworn shield
He is conscientious about his duties and refuses to ever step beyond the bounds of a sworn knight and protector. If he feels an attachment stronger than one of leal service, he will take care to keep it well hidden.
He will follow you wherever he is permitted to follow, his sword hand ever ready to reach for his sword. He will arrange the household guard around your doors, but he will walk by from
time to time, to ensure that they are carrying out their duties. Sometimes, he will take over the watch around dawn, just so that he can greet you in the morning.
“There is temper in the air, my lady,” he begins, “and the clouds are dark and grey. Would you consider an hour or two in the library after you have broken your fast?”
“Can we go to the conservatory afterward?” You say, eager to begin the day. “I hear a flower not seen by anyone else in this kingdom has already begun to bloom.”
“I will gladly take you there, my lady.”
- Erestor, Turgon, Gwindor, Galdor, Beleg
Bold, gallant, and ever ready for a fight, he will gladly face any danger heading your way with a smile on his face. But only after securing your safety first.
“Stay over there, my lady,” he will cry, “and do not leave until I say it is safe.”
He will fight off the danger, then come fetch you when you are safe. When you declare he is hurt, he brushes away your concerns with a wave of the hand.
“Tis but a scratch,” he will tell you. “All will be well, princess; just you wait and see.”
Once he is rested and healed from any injury he received, he will resume his usual duties.
Sometimes, he will teach you how to better ride a horse. Other times, he will indulge in your entreaties and give you rudimentary lessons in swordplay, laughing quietly to himself while you slash about like a lord deep in his cups. And then there will be the times when he will just sit or stand by your side, his gaze drifting toward you when your attention is elsewhere. There is more than duty in his eyes, but he tries his best to restrain it. Sometimes, he cannot, and he will resort to carefully couched teasing and flirting, wondering if you will ever notice.
- Amras, Elladan, Aegnor, Egalmoth, Argon
He is the sworn shield with an arrogant nature and a quick tongue. Nevertheless, he fulfils his duties with great meticulousness and care, and not a single aspect of your safety is left to chance. He will watch the others and immediately step in when they try to get too close or become too familiar with you.
“Lady Y/n must make her leave of you for the present,” he will say in a manner that is considered out of turn before you could even get a word in, “but she will return once she is finished with performing her courtesies to the others. Pray excuse us.”
No one would dare go against him, though, given his willingness to draw his sword for your sake. So they will bow and walk away, and he will walk you toward a quiet corner, far away from the prying eyes of others, so that you can compose yourself.
“That was unnecessary, sir,” you tell him. “What if they objected?”
“Only a fool would dare object to me. Are you well?”
“I am. Thank you for getting me away from them.”
It is the only way he can show his affection, for a union with you is forbidden to one such as him. Still, he does not give up, seeking a way that would bring you into his world as more than just the lady he had been charged to protect.
- Curufin, Amrod, Elrohir, Angrod
He will serve you as the grave, dutiful knight whose eyes discreetly follow your every move. He is forever courteous and never oversteps his remit as a protector. He shows due respect for the position you occupy, but sometimes—not always—but sometimes, it is hard for him to do so.
Nevertheless, he will bite his tongue and perform his duties without betraying a word of his true feelings.
“It is time for your audience with the ambassador, my lady,” he says. “I was told he would be waiting for you in the solar.”
“Ah, yes,” you reply stiffly. “My father’s efforts to see me wed to this Crown Prince minstrels wax poetic about.”
“It will be a most joyous occasion, my lady,” he says, his voice betraying none of his sadness. “And one that would be spoken about for years. Shall we go in?”
Request: First off I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart, your writing has brought me much joy. May I please ask for some headcanons for the house of Fëanor dating a gn reader who is a powerful mage?❤️ – @verydazedreamland
A/N: Always a pleasure, luv! Thank you for requesting 🤗
Masterlist | Navigation
➽ Feanor
• Fëanor had, of course, been deeply fascinated by your magic the moment he saw it. Not just fascinated—obsessed. He was relentless in his questioning, dissecting your abilities with the same manic energy he applied to his crafts. When you demonstrated a spell that conjured fire in your palm, he scoffed. “Impressive, but do you shape it? Do you command its form, its intent, its very purpose?” He immediately tried to argue that his own control of fire through forge and creation was more refined. You ended up in a heated (literal) duel where both of you nearly set half of Formenos ablaze before someone intervened.
• He was the worst about stealing your books and magical tools for his own research. “I borrowed it,” he insisted, holding a tome clearly marked with your warding spells. “You had it sealed with magic. So that means you wanted me to open it.” His grin was infuriatingly smug. The book had exploded with a harmless but embarrassing puff of glitter when he cracked it open, a security measure you had placed specifically to deter thieves.
• He refused to acknowledge that your power sometimes outstripped his in areas unrelated to craftsmanship. When you levitated an entire banquet table just to clear space after a feast, he acted unimpressed. “A minor parlour trick. If I had wished to move the table, I would have built something far more elegant than lifting it with brute force.” He was absolutely seething with jealousy but would never admit it.
• He had a tendency to dramatically proclaim your superiority when it suited him. If someone else dared to belittle magic in comparison to smith-craft, he would immediately shut them down. “You dare to question the power of my beloved?” he’d sneer, eyes aflame. “They can summon a storm with a whisper. I have seen them bend the very elements to their will! Tell me, what have you made that can compare.” The poor elf he was berating had only suggested that magic wasn’t as tangible as physical creation.
• He loved when you weaved spells into his creations. The first time you enhanced one of his swords with an enchantment that made it cut through nearly anything, he held it reverently, eyes alight with pure awe. “This is perfection.” Then he turned to you with an uncharacteristically soft expression. “We should create everything together.”
• He hated when your magic got the better of him. The time you charmed his cape to stick to his shoulders no matter what, after he kept discarding it dramatically during arguments, was an infamous incident in the household. “You think this is funny?” he demanded, tugging fruitlessly at the fabric. “You shall rue this day.” You did not, in fact, rue it. You laughed until your sides hurt.
• He had an unfortunate tendency to get too involved in your spellwork. If he saw you preparing a complicated ritual, he would immediately offer (force) his assistance, despite not actually understanding half of what you were doing. “Magic is but another form of craft,” he reasoned, grabbing an ingredient he did not need to be touching. The resulting explosion singed his eyebrows. He sulked for three days.
➽ Maedhros
• Maedhros was more measured in his fascination with your power, though it was clear he found it deeply impressive. He had a quiet, steady admiration for the way you wielded magic, often watching you in silence as you worked. Sometimes you’d catch his thoughtful gaze, and he’d simply say, “It’s…beautiful. The way you command it.” There was a kind of reverence in his voice, as if he saw your magic as an art form rather than just a tool.
• He was, however, keenly aware of the dangers of magic. “Don’t push yourself,” he would warn whenever you performed powerful spells, his voice low with concern. If you overexerted yourself, he would immediately step in, catching you before you could fall. “You do too much. You don’t always have to prove your strength.”
• When he sparred with you, he made sure you fought fairly—no overwhelming magical barrages, no instant teleports. He insisted on strategy and balance. “You can’t rely only on magic,” he told you as he disarmed you during a training session. “A blade is just as effective when wielded correctly.” He handed you back your sword with a smirk. “Try again.”
• He hated feeling helpless when you were injured or drained from magic. The first time he saw you collapse after a particularly intense spell, he panicked. “No, no, stay with me,” he said, his voice tight with barely restrained fear. He held you tightly until you stirred, his grip not loosening for long after.
• He got far too used to your magical conveniences. If you teleported something to him once, he expected it forever. The day you refused to summon his forgotten sword before a battle, he gave you the most betrayed look imaginable. “You did it yesterday.” You stared at him. “And now I’m teaching you responsibility.” He groaned in exasperation.
• He hated your invisibility spells. You once used one to sneak up on him, whispering his name just to startle him. His sword was out before you could blink. “Don’t do that,” he snapped, shoving his blade back into its sheath. “Do you want to get stabbed?”
➽ Maglor
• Fiund your magic utterly enchanting. He had an almost poetic appreciation for it, often weaving its imagery into his songs. The first time he saw you manipulate water into dancing shapes, he composed an entire ballad about it on the spot. “It moves like music,” he said, watching the shifting patterns with awe.
• He was the most dramatic when things went wrong. If you accidentally hexed an object and it backfired on him, he acted like he had been mortally wounded. “This is betrayal,” he declared when his harp started playing dissonant notes at random due to a misfired spell. “You have cursed my art!” He refused to admit he actually found it funny.
• He loved being part of your magical experiments, though he was more cautious than Fëanor. “Are you certain this won’t explode?” he asked warily as you handed him a glowing crystal. When it did explode, he sighed heavily, rubbing soot from his face. “I knew it.”
• He always wanted to see the artistic side of your magic. “Make the lights dance,” he’d say, gesturing toward the sky. He loved when you conjured illusions—patterns of stars, shifting mirages of golden fire. It was pure wonder to him.
• He had a habit of using your magic against you in the pettiest ways. If you irritated him, he would immediately find a way to use a spell you taught him in revenge. “Oh, you’re tired?” he said sweetly, levitating his harp just out of your reach when you tried to take it from him. “If only someone had the energy to retrieve it.”
• He despised teleportation spells when used on him. The first time you teleported him mid-sentence just to cut off his lecture about proper song structure, he was furious. “I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A POINT,” he roared as he reappeared across the room. You had never laughed harder.
• He was, however, always grateful when your magic protected them. “You are a wonder,” he murmured after a battle where your wards had shielded them from an ambush. “I would compose a hundred songs in your name.”
➽ Celegorm
• Celegorm was delighted to be dating a powerful mage. He saw it as the perfect complement to his own skillset—he was a master hunter and warrior, you were a master of the arcane. “You do the magic, I do the stabbing,” he declared proudly. “It’s balance.” You reminded him that your magic could also do the stabbing. He didn’t seem to see the issue.
• He constantly tried to convince you to use magic to cheat at hunting. “Teleport the prey into my hands,” he said, grinning. You refused. “Alright, fine, just use magic to slow it down?” You refused again. “What about a tiny spell? A suggestion in its mind that it wants to be caught?” He was relentless, but you never gave in.
• Huan adored your magic. He was particularly fond of the spells you used to conjure floating lights, chasing them like an overgrown puppy. Celegorm pouted every time Huan responded to you faster than to him. “I raised him,” he grumbled as Huan happily sat at your feet. “And now you’re the favourite.”
• He was far too reckless when asking you to enhance his weapons. “Make my arrows explode,” he said excitedly, handing you his quiver. You stared at him. “Do you want to set yourself on fire?” He seemed completely unfazed by the idea. “I’ll dodge it.” You absolutely did not give him exploding arrows.
• He loved practical magic the most—the kind that made his life easier. When you first demonstrated a spell that could clean gear instantly, he immediately demanded you apply it to all his equipment. “This is the greatest use of magic I’ve ever seen,” he declared as his previously bloodstained armour gleamed good as new.
• He was the worst when you tried to meditate or concentrate on spellcasting. “What’s this one do?” he asked, poking at your ritual set-up. “Tyelko, don’t touch that—” The ensuing magical backlash sent him flying across the room. He groaned from where he landed. “Okay, so that’s what it does.”
• He hated when you teleported away mid-argument. The first time you vanished before he could get the last word, he just stood there, absolutely livid. “YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE!” His voice echoed through the halls as he stormed around looking for you. You heard him ranting even after you’d reappeared hours later.
• He had the absolute gall to demand magic be used for his own convenience but complained when you used it on him. The first time you levitated him out of bed when he refused to get up, he flailed wildly. “THIS IS A VIOLATION OF MY RIGHTS,” he shouted as he hovered helplessly in mid-air. You let him drop unceremoniously onto the floor.
• He had no patience for subtle spellwork—he wanted big magic. “Make the sky change colours,” he urged. “Make fire rain from above—wait, no, don’t actually do that, that was a joke.” He did not like when you demonstrated the actual scale of destruction you were capable of. “Alright,” he muttered after witnessing a storm you summoned, “remind me never to piss you off.”
• He was oddly tender when he saw you exhausted from spellcasting. He never said much in those moments, but he’d gather you in his arms without question, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You push yourself too hard,” he murmured. “Even magic has limits.”
➽ Caranthir
• Acted unimpressed by your magic at first. He hated admitting he found things fascinating, so he pretended it was nothing special. “Hmph,” he grunted the first time you summoned an entire storm with a flick of your hand. “I suppose that’s useful.” You could see the barely restrained awe in his eyes, though.
• Was the worst at dealing with magic he couldn’t control. The time you enchanted his armour to be lighter and more flexible, he refused to wear it at first, claiming it felt wrong. “It’s unnatural,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t like when things don’t behave as they should.” He did end up wearing it, but only after grumbling for a week.
• Took issue with your lack of structure in magic. “How do you know what will happen?” he demanded as you prepared a spell without extensive planning. “It’s instinct,” you said. He hated that answer. “Instinct is how people get killed.”
• He was secretly fascinated by the precision of your magic. He’d never admit it outright, but he observed your spell with the same scrutiny he applied to trade and strategy. He especially admired enchantments that required delicate calculations. “It’s like forging,” he mused once, watching you weave a complex spell. “If you get even one thing wrong, the whole structure collapses.”
• He hated when you used illusions against him. You once created a fake letter to trick him into thinking Curufin owed him money. His reaction was immediate and furious. “THAT BASTARD—” He had already stormed off before you could tell him it was a joke. You had to physically stop a fight.
• He found magical transportation deeply unsettling. The first time you teleported him without warning, he staggered and nearly fell. “DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN.” He needed a full minute to stop looking like he was going to punch something.
• He was surprisingly gentle when tending to you after spell exhaustion. He wasn’t good with words, but his actions spoke for him—holding you close, wrapping his cloak around you, silently pressing a flask of water into your hands. “You should rest,” was all he said, but his grip on your wrist lingered.
• He loved when you made magic useful to him. When you placed protective charms over his belongings to prevent tampering, he looked genuinely pleased. “Good,” he muttered, nodding approvingly. “This will stop certain people from touching my things.” He shot a glare at Curufin.
➽ Curufin
• Was thrilled to be dating a mage. He saw it as an opportunity for limitless collaboration. The first thing he did was start drafting projects that combined his craft with your magic. “We’re going to make something unique,” he promised, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Something legendary.”
• He was absolutely insufferable when you first tried to enchant one of his blades. “Ah, no, you’re doing it wrong,” he declared, immediately trying to ‘fix’ your spellwork. “Curufin, I have been practising magic for decades,” you reminded him. “And I have been forging for centuries,” he shot back.
• He had no patience for spells that weren’t immediately useful. When you demonstrated a beautiful but functionally useless illusion, he just stared. “That’s it?” he asked. “It does nothing?” You sighed. “It’s art, Curufin.” He frowned. “Art should do something.”
• He had a deep interest in magical artefacts, constantly pressing you for knowledge. “How was this enchanted?” he asked, holding up an ancient amulet. “What’s the method? The materials?” He was relentless in his questioning, absorbing everything like a sponge.
• He hated being bested. The time you outwitted one of his traps using magic, he refused to let it go. “I am the master of strategy,” he huffed. “You cheated.” “I used magic.” “Same thing.”
• Incredibly smug when your magic enhanced one of his creations. The first time you strengthened his armour with an unbreakable spell, he smirked. “So you admit it,” he said. “My work is worthy of magic.” You rolled your eyes.
• He was oddly soft in moments when magic drained you. He never said much, just guided you to sit, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Reckless,” he murmured. “But brilliant.”
➽ Amrod
• Loved using your magic for fun—and sometimes, for chaos. He quickly realised that certain spells could be used for pranks, and he was far too eager to participate in your mischief. When you enchanted his brother’s boots to stick to the floor, Amrod collapsed in laughter while Amras cursed you both. “Oh, this is brilliant,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “We are keeping this spell.”
• He had an unhealthy enthusiasm for magical transportation. The first time you teleported him mid-stride, he whooped in excitement instead of being disoriented. “Again!” he demanded. “No one will ever catch me if I can blink out of the way!” He started pestering you to teach him how to teleport, despite having no magical aptitude whatsoever.
• He was infamously reckless, and your magic became his favourite safety net. He leapt off a cliff once, fully trusting that you’d catch him with levitation magic. You did, but not before letting him plummet just long enough to hear him scream. When he landed safely, he glared at you. “That was unnecessary,” he huffed. You raised a brow. “Was jumping off a cliff necessary?” He grumbled something about ‘dramatic flair.’
• He was the first to challenge you to a magical duel—not because he thought he could win, but because he wanted to see how far he could push you. He came at you with twin blades, grinning wildly as you dodged and countered with spells. When you finally pinned him to the ground with vines sprouting from the earth, he just laughed breathlessly. “That was amazing,” he admitted. “Alright, your magic wins.” Then he grinned up at you. “But I almost got you.”
• He had no patience for long magical incantations or rituals. If he needed something done, he wanted it immediately. “Can you just zap the firewood into a pile?” he asked one evening, rubbing his hands for warmth. You made the logs explode instead. He stared at the smouldering debris and then at you. “Right,” he said slowly. “That’s on me. I should’ve been more specific.”
• He was a terrible student when you tried to teach him minor magic. He had the attention span of a squirrel and constantly got distracted. “Are you even listening?” you asked as he poked at the runes you’d drawn. “Yes, yes,” he waved you off. “Something about channelling energy, focusing my—ow!” He yelped as he electrocuted himself. You smirked. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”
• He loved it when you used magic to enhance his hunting. When you silenced his footsteps with a spell, he grinned like a child with a new toy. “I’m unstoppable,” he declared before vanishing into the forest. He promptly fell into a hidden pit because you forgot to mention the spell only silenced noise—it didn’t help him see better.
➽ Amras
• He was a bit more wary of magic than his twin. He respected it but didn’t fully trust it—especially after witnessing some of your more volatile spells. “You do realise half of these things could kill us, right?” he asked dryly after you accidentally blew a hole in a tree during an experiment. “If you ever turn on us, I’m running first.”
• He was extremely particular about magical interference in his domain—hunting. “No magic,” he warned before a hunt. “We do this properly.” That rule lasted until you found a particularly massive beast and he muttered, “Okay, maybe one spell.”
• He was a nightmare to keep track of when he decided to avoid your magic. The first time you tried to locate him with a scrying spell, he dodged it by moving constantly, making your vision blur with shifting images. When you finally found him, he smirked. “Magic’s powerful,” he admitted, “but I’m faster.” You had to grudgingly agree.
• He refused to let you teleport him. “No, I’ve heard the stories,” he said, backing away when you reached for him. “I’ll walk, thank you.” The one time you teleported him anyway, he appeared upside down in a tree. He hung there, blinking. “I hate you.”
• He was actually quite good with magical traps. The first time you showed him how to weave a snare with enchanted threads, he caught Amrod in it immediately. His twin dangled from a tree, yelling. Amras smirked at you. “Best lesson ever.”
• He had a deep appreciation for your ability to manipulate light and shadows. When you used magic to blend into the darkness during a hunt, he was genuinely impressed. “Alright,” he admitted. “That’s actually useful.”
• He was constantly suspicious of enchanted objects after you pranked him too many times. He refused to sit in a chair if he even suspected you had tampered with it. “I know you did something,” he said, glaring at the completely normal chair. He eventually sat—only to find himself stuck in place. You laughed while he cursed.
➽ Celebrimbor
• Celebrimbor was utterly fascinated by your magic. Unlike Fëanor, who saw it as a challenge, he saw it as an art that could enhance craftsmanship beyond imagination. He was constantly asking to study your spells, sketching runes in his notebooks. “What if,” he mused one night, “we infused enchantments directly into the metal during forging?” The resulting experiment ended in an explosion. He was delighted.
• He was extremely meticulous with magical theory. If you cast a spell in front of him, be prepared for an onslaught of questions. “What’s the range?” he asked after you demonstrated a shield spell. “How long does it last? Can it be layered? Does it dissipate naturally or require a dismissal incantation?” You groaned. “Can’t you just enjoy the magic?” He grinned. “This is how I enjoy it.”
• He was the only one who actually studied your spellbooks instead of just skimming for the flashy parts. The first time he cast a minor enchantment correctly, he looked so pleased with himself. “Did you see that?” he asked, eyes bright with excitement. “I did it!”
• He was always working on enchanted objects, many of which he designed specifically for you. When he presented you with a ring that amplified your power, he watched you put it on with something close to nervous anticipation. “Try it,” he urged. You cast a spell and felt it surge through you, stronger than ever. His smile was pure joy.
• He had a terrible habit of muttering spell theories at inappropriate times. You once caught him whispering about rune structures during a feast. “Tyelpë,” you hissed, nudging him. “We are eating.” He blinked at you. “Oh. Right. Food.” He barely paid attention as he continued scribbling in his notebook.
• He was absurdly competitive when crafting magical items. If you enchanted something, he immediately tried to improve upon it. “Your fire gem is strong,” he admitted, inspecting it, “but what if we stabilised the energy with an embedded lattice structure” The next day, he presented you with his version—twice as refined. You gaped at him. “Did you sleep?” He waved you off. “Details.”
• He adored seeing you work, often sitting silently just to watch your magic unfold. When he saw you manipulate raw energy into a tangible form, he whispered, “It’s beautiful.” It was rare to see him so openly in awe, but when it came to you, he always was.
Author's Note: So, I went to bed last night and was smacked with this idea. It kept me really entertained so I hope someone gets a giggle out of it, cause I did.
Summary: You are a traveler seeking to journey as far as possible to protect a precious box from falling into the wrong hands. A stop at a Noldor camp leads to an unexpected encounter—what starts as a simple act of feeding a hungry hound soon brings you face-to-face with a certain elven prince.
Warnings: nightmares, ripping out hearts, scars, burning someone alive, angst, Amras feeling angry about the past, Rhoswen being a rather sassy dog, and Amras not being an eager dog owner.
You lay on the cold stone bed, enveloped by the cave’s suffocating darkness. Shadows consumed every corner, broken only by the faint glow of a single flickering candle. The rhythmic drip of water echoed through the cavern, each drop amplifying the tension in the air. Your breath came in ragged gasps, the weight of fear pressing down on you.
You couldn’t move. You were rooted against the stone bed like a tree — allowing you no control of your body as you couldn’t even lift one of your fingers. The only things you were able to control were the flow of your breathing and the movement of your eyes which did not allow much as even they were stuck staring at the ceiling where the roots reached toward you like hands growing out of the earth.
Something grew beside your cold stone bed. You watched as a tall dark figure made from shadows rose before your eyes with no face and spikes growing out of its head like it wore a crown. Terror filled every vein of your body as you stared at the faceless shadow. It then opened three eyes. They glowed with bright light like stars, nearly blinding you as they fixated on you with hatred and cruel malice.
“If I am to be denied of your death and the fulfillment of my curse…” the shadow spoke, its voice dark and cold.
It then raised its hand and plunged its claws through your chest. A scream ripped out of your throat as the shadow then pulled out what seemed to be your still-beating heart. You stared in horror, gasping for air as now a large gaping hole rested against your chest.
“... Then you shall be forever bound to walk this world! You shall never escape your judgment and eternal torment. This is my degree upon you, last living child of my enemy,” the shadow declared, peering over your face. You saw as the shadow gripped your heart, its claws piercing through your heart’s flesh, causing black veins to appear.
You felt unimaginable pain like your heart was still in your chest and it was being suffocated to death. Your body started twitching as your vision darkened and the last thing you heard was the three-eyed shadow’s wicked laugh.
You jolted awake, keeping yourself up as you breathed heavily and felt cold beads of sweat run down your skin. You calmed down when you found yourself in the camp. The bonfire had long since gone out and your travel companions slept soundlessly. A horse, belonging to one of your companions, snorted when it saw you awake before continuing to eat its belly full of grass. You looked over to the horizon, seeing the sun slowly rise in the distance and the land covered in morning mist. You shivered slightly from the morning chill before releasing a deep breath.
It was just a nightmare.
You moved yourself to sit comfortably and placed your hand on the spot on your chest where you could feel the scar through the fabric of your clothes. The line stretched across your chest and between your breasts and ended at the bottom of your chest bone. The scar ached when you traced it with your finger. You could still feel the lingering burn when you thought of the day you received it.
When that thought crossed your mind, you instinctively grabbed your bag and opened it. You peered inside, checking on the carved wooden box that rested safely within. Its presence brought both relief and emptiness, as it reminded you of what it contained—and what you were missing.
You glanced toward the north before turning your gaze to the south, where you were headed. A deep emptiness filled you as you realized the reason behind your journey. You were fleeing—escaping as far as possible, seeking refuge where the dark lord could not reach you, and where the box would remain safe. For if he were to acquire it, it would mark the beginning of your eternal suffering.
Pillars of smoke rise high toward the night sky. Amras jolted when he found himself standing on a familiar beach and felt the burning warmth of fire against his face. Dread filled him when he saw the swan ships burning before him, illuminating the beach. He looked around but found himself standing alone on the shore.
"Amrod!" he yelled but heard no answer.
"Amrod! Where are you!" he screamed.
He then heard a pained scream coming from the burning ships. He felt his blood run cold as he recognized the scream to be the scream of his twin.
“Amrod!” he yelled when he saw a figure in the flames.
“Amrod! Get out! “ Amras tried to run toward the ships but then he found himself unable to move. Hands and arms held him back, making him unable to go to his twin.
“Amrod! Get out of there!” Amras screamed, struggling against the arms that forced him back and made him watch as his twin burned alive.
“No!” Amras cried in pain and agony as he could feel his twin’s life diminish, leaving his soul to endure the cold and emptiness that followed.
Amras awoke in his bed inside the camp tent, drenched in sweat, the heat clinging to his skin as if he were still trapped in that moment. The fire, the pain, the loss—it all rushed back. He could almost feel the flames on his face again. His ears picked up a soft whine, and when he looked over the bedline, he saw his red and cream-colored hound, Rhoswen, staring at him with a worried gaze. He released a heavy sigh, running a hand through his red hair.
Once again, he was haunted by the death of his twin, and the rage bubbled up inside him as it always did—directed not just at the enemy, but at his father. The one who did not count all his sons and ordered the burning of the ships, unknowingly burning his youngest son alive. And how he responded to the tragedy still filled Amras with rage. Even after all these years, the anger still festered, and it felt as raw as the day it first ignited. He couldn’t shake the feeling of hurt and betrayal, the sense that, even after pledging his oath and committing one of the worst sins known to his people, his father did not show even an ounce of regret for the mistake caused by his hand and inflicting such suffering Amras still felt after all these years.
Amras took a deep breath, attempting to quell the burning anger that still simmered within him. It had been years, yet the bitterness never quite faded. He exhaled and then tried to focus on the day in front of him. He could not afford to let his anger cloud his judgment—not when he and his brothers were already in such a precarious position after the devastating loss in the War of Unnumbered Tears.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He walked toward the small corner of the tent where his clothes were laid out, preparing himself for the day ahead. Rhoswen, followed him closely, her concerned eyes never leaving his side.
As the wagon trundled along, you sat at the back, your legs hanging over the edge, watching the road stretch beneath you. Your fingers absently brushed the contours of the box through the fabric of your bag, feeling the weight of it, a constant reminder of the journey ahead.
Soon, the wagon slowed, and you looked up to see the Noldorin camp ahead. It was one of the many stopping points along the road for travelers to resupply, and you were curious about the elves who called this place home. Their presence was different from the Sindar elves, and you had heard whispers of their deeds from the past. They seemed a far cry from the quiet woodland dwellers you were familiar with.
The wagon came to a halt, and your travel companion, Randy, glanced over at you and the others with a shrug. "Alright, we stop here for a break. I'll try to see if I can buy some supplies, though I doubt these long ears have much they can offer us,” he said, sounding more amused than hopeful.
"Go do whatever you want," he waved his hand like shooing you away. "I’ll let you all know when it’s time for lunch."
You hopped off the wagon, feet hitting the ground with a soft thud, and stretched your legs. The camp buzzed with activity, elves moving gracefully through their daily routines, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place in their presence. But for now, you were just another traveler, waiting for the journey to continue.
You looked around the camp, wondering what to do with the free time you had. Your attention was drawn to the large pond beside the camp. You walked over, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the soft grass and gazed out at the calm water. The sun hung high in the sky, casting its bright light over the surface, making it shimmer with a quiet brilliance. Dragonflies hovered gracefully above the water, their wings glinting in the sunlight. It was peaceful.
You spotted a tree nearby with a sturdy root system, offering a perfect place to sit. You made your way over, and with a small sigh, plopped down against the roots, feeling the rough texture of the bark against your back. Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathed in the fresh air, allowing yourself to settle into the calmness of the moment. The tension in your chest loosened, the stillness of the pond and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze offering a welcome reprieve from the constant rush of thoughts. For now, it was just you, the pond, and the peace of the world around you.
Amras walked across the camp, Rhoswen at his side, followed closely by Ailinor, one of his trusted people.
“I have received word from your older brother, Lord Maedhros,” Ailinor began. “He wishes you to expand your reach in guarding the borders.”
She paused before adding, “He also requests that you join him and your other brothers in hunting down orcs in the northern regions.”
Amras rolled his eyes. "What does he think I’ve been doing here? Guarding the borders is what I’ve been doing this whole time,” he muttered in annoyance, striding toward the main tent.
“How should I respond, then?” Ailinor asked, following him.
“Tell them I’ll be fine here on my own. I don’t need any assistance from him—or any of my brothers,” Amras replied. He then glanced toward Rhoswen, who was sitting patiently at his feet.
Looking at the dog filled him with irritation. Though she had been trained to follow him, her presence often vexed him.
“Rhoswen. Go outside. I wish to be alone,” Amras ordered.
Rhoswen whined softly, standing but refusing to leave.
Amras’s gaze hardened. “Now.”
With a resigned huff, Rhoswen trotted out of the tent.
Ailinor watched the hound go before speaking. “My lord, it may not be wise to keep sending her away.”
Amras let out a deep sigh. “I still don’t understand why I had to take her in the first place,” he muttered, frustration evident in his voice.
Ailinor regarded him carefully. “Our hunting hounds are loyal and fierce fighters. In these dangerous times, it is wiser to have a companion at your side—especially since you often hunt alone.”
“I don’t need company,” Amras snapped. “I’ve been fine without a dog trailing after me.”
“I think the real reason my brothers insisted on me taking her is to keep me company,” Amras then scoffed.
“As if I suffer from loneliness.”
“Still…” Ailinor hesitated. “If you keep rejecting her, she may start seeking the company of someone who actually welcomes her. And when you do need her, she may not answer your call.”
“I highly doubt that,” Amras replied sharply. “And if she does find someone else’s company preferable… perhaps I’ll let them keep her.”
Ailinor nearly flinched at the cutting tone of his words but said nothing.
Amras turned away. “Return to your tasks. I have work to do.”
With a bow, Ailinor left the tent.
While sitting beside the tree, you ate lunch one of your companions had kindly delivered to you. You started with the cooked vegetables, which you found more palatable. Eating meat was difficult for you, though you didn’t want to waste anything or insult your companion’s kindness in sharing their food with you. It's just you weren’t accustomed to a diet with meat, and the meat in your lunch felt especially dry, leaving an unpleasant texture on your tongue. Despite the discomfort, you kept eating, focusing on the vegetables, and being grateful for the small meal.
You chewed on the piece of carrot, your mind wandering as you enjoyed the small moment of peace. But then, your ears picked up a soft whine, drawing your attention. Turning toward the sound, you spotted a hound watching you intently. Her fur was long and beautifully red and cream, a striking contrast to the greenery around you. Her body was large yet slender, a perfect balance of strength and agility, with dark, soulful eyes that seemed to study you. She wore a golden collar around her neck, and a quick glance confirmed she was a female. You recognized her to be one of the Noldor’s renowned hunting hounds, known for their size, strength, and swift speed.
The hound continued looking at you, tilting its head. You then noticed it eyeing the meat in your lunch box.
Your eyes flickered between the dry meat in your lunch and the hound. An idea crossed your mind. While the hound didn't seem underfed, you wondered if she might appreciate the food more than you. You hesitated for a moment. You probably shouldn't feed someone else’s dog without permission, but you were having trouble finishing your lunch anyway.
You looked around, scanning the camp, but saw no one calling for the hound. Feeling a bit bolder, you decided to offer her the meat. You picked up the pieces and extended your hand toward her. The hound eagerly approached, her dark eyes watching you as she sniffed the food. Without hesitation, she accepted the treat, devouring the meat without an issue.
A small smile tugged at your lips as you dropped the remaining meat pieces to her. With the last of the meat gone, you enjoyed the rest of your lunch in peace, feeling a small sense of satisfaction as the hound enjoyed what you could not.
After finishing the last of the meat, the hound looked up at you with a gaze that seemed to ask for more. You chuckled softly, shaking your head.
“I’m sorry, friend. I don’t have anymore,” you said, offering her a gentle smile. “Thank you for helping me eat, though. I don’t have a strong liking for meat.”
The hound tilted her head as if she understood, then took a few steps toward you. She sniffed at you, her nose brushing against your clothes before moving toward your bag.
You instinctively pulled the bag back, a small laugh escaping your lips. “No. There’s nothing there for you,” you said.
The hound looked at you then suddenly flopped down beside you, rolling onto her back and exposing her tummy. You couldn't help but giggle at the sudden change in her demeanor. It seemed she had decided you were her friend now.
You reached out, rubbing her soft belly, and the hound let out a contented sigh, clearly relishing the attention. The sound made you smile more. You then took hold of the golden collar around her neck and looked at the name tag, where the name had been written in Sindarin.
“Rhoswen?” you murmured, reading the name aloud. “A beautiful name for a beautiful hound,” you added, smiling at the creature, who seemed to grin at the sound of her name, her tail wagging slightly.
Rhoswen shifted her position slightly, looking up at you with what could only be described as affection. You chuckled softly. What a strange hound.
“Alright then,” you said, giving her belly one last gentle rub. “Stay here if you wish, but be sure to respond to your master, whoever they might be,” you told her with a teasing smile.
Rhoswen simply flopped back down, content to remain by your side, as if perfectly content to bask in the moment of peace. You relaxed, feeling a sense of calm in her company.
The night arrived like a gentle summons, cooling the air and painting the sky with stars. You and your travel companions had decided to stay in the camp for the next few days due to the lack of supplies. Despite the Noldor’s resourcefulness, even they faced challenges from time to time, and the next supply run would not happen until the day after tomorrow. Randy was annoyed by this but decided you could stay and perhaps fulfill a few commissions set by the Noldor—simple, small jobs travelers could do.
You didn’t mind. Your new hound friend had taken a liking to you, following you on your short trips and flopping down beside you to enjoy your undivided attention when you returned to the pond for some peace. You knew you shouldn’t pamper her too much, as it might risk upsetting her master. Strangely, though, you saw none of the elves looking for her. Well, you always had a soft spot for animals, so it was difficult to deny her the attention.
But it did make you wonder about the identity of her master.
Amras was inside his tent. Thanks to the peace, he was able to fulfill some of the work his brother required of him. Now, he could take some time off and perhaps clear his mind of the thoughts that had been occupying it. He looked outside and found the entrance empty. It had been peaceful without Rhoswen around, but perhaps to avoid upsetting his brother, he should check on his temporary canine companion. He left his tent to look for her.
Amras scanned the camp until his eyes finally landed on his hound, lounging beside you, a human maiden, stroking the dog’s fur. He felt annoyed—not at you, but at the hound for easily finding excuses to slack off. He walked over.
Your peaceful moment with Rhoswen was interrupted when a red-haired elven man approached.
“Rhoswen,” Amras said, his tone firm. “Is this where you’ve been slacking off instead of staying where you belong?”
Rhoswen huffed at the sight of him, clearly unimpressed.
You quickly glanced at the elf, taking in his attire. Unlike the others in the camp, his clothing was distinct, marking him as someone of importance. With your experience around hunting parties, you quickly deduced—he was the one in charge.
“I… apologize if I disrupted Rhoswen’s duties,” you said. “I assumed she was free to wander, as no one came looking for her.”
Amras regarded you with polite indifference. “No, there’s no need to apologize, my good lady. Rhoswen has a habit of slacking off, so this is hardly a surprise.”
“Now, come along,” Amras commanded.
Rhoswen barked but simply laid back down beside you. Amras looked at the dog with irritation—how audacious of her to disobey.
“You little mutt,” he muttered.
“I might be partly to blame,” you admitted. “I was having lunch when she appeared. I was struggling to eat the meat, so I didn’t see any harm in giving it to her. I didn’t realize that was the quickest way to become her favorite.”
“I apologize.”
Amras sighed. “No need to apologize. It seems I’ve ended up with a hound who’s easily bribed with food. If only she actually did a good job, perhaps she would earn her treats, if she wants them so badly.”
Rhoswen only growled at him in response.
“I… thought she just seemed lonely and wanted some company,” you said. “And, well… I’m not very good at saying no to animals.”
Amras looked at you curiously.
“I just realized,” Amras said, studying you. “You knew Rhoswen’s name, and it’s written in Sindarin.” He tilted his head slightly. “You understand the Sindarin language?”
“I am well-versed in the tongue of the Sindar elves,” you replied.
“That is impressive. Few humans speak our language fluently,” Amras remarked.
“Well—I had time to learn,” you said with a small shrug. “I actually learned from the Sindarin elves themselves. Thanks to them, I became quite fluent.”
He observed you for a moment as if weighing your words. “Since we have begun speaking, may I ask—who might you be, my lady? It seems Rhoswen has taken quite a liking to you.”
“I’m…” you hesitated. “Just a simple traveler. My companions and I stopped here for the night due to a lack of supplies.”
“Well, the next supply run should arrive the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m sure we can offer compensation through small tasks, should you be willing,” he said.
“That’s generous of you, my lord. As long as I have a safe place to rest, that is enough for me,” you replied, rising to your feet. Rhoswen whined in protest at being forced to move.
“Go on now. I can’t pamper you forever,” you said gently.
Rhoswen huffed before trotting away, most likely returning to her proper place.
Amras watched her go before looking back at you. “I thank you. Perhaps, with you around, she might actually do her job.”
You chuckled. “She listens just fine. Perhaps you should take a gentler approach with her. Like children, they tend to misbehave if you only bark orders at them.”
Amras raised an eyebrow, considering your words. “I shall see.” Then, with a slight nod, he added, “I bid you goodnight, fair traveler.”
“And to you as well,” you replied with a warm gesture of farewell.
As you walked away, Amras lingered for a moment, watching you. Your expression had been a familiar Sindarin gesture of goodwill—not something commonly seen among humans. Mildly intrigued, he turned back toward his camp, thoughts of your meeting lingering in his mind.
Request: Amras in a ritual gone wrong. Doodle-pops got me into him with the underrated character event
Pairing: Amras x Human Reader
Genre: Time travel au
Summary: Sitting on the arm of your sofa, he takes your hand. “No, I am indeed your husband. We’ve been married for 43 years, my love,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair from your face.
AN: I get you anon, Mina has the tendency to make me obsess over previously unimportant elves (looking at you Rog). Inspired by Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. I hope you enjoy this~
Next up- Sinister love with Maedhros. Fall trope event list
Half a vial of the silver lakes of Lorien, two feathers of the Syian beasts of Orome, extract of the kroh blooms from Kementari’s gardens, and a personal possession of the desired person—all placed in the elaborate circle of creation sketched from the soot of the ever-burning fires of the Hall of Mandos. That was what the book had mentioned.
Amras had read it a hundred times, copied it into his journal twenty times. His room now contained an absurd amount of Syian feathers, enough to alarm any Maia of Orome.
He had planned every step, with meticulous care. Yet, it had failed.
Time travel, as the text warned, was difficult. Now, standing in front of your confused face, his heart ached, questioning if it ever truly mattered.
“Who are you, sir?” you ask politely, closing your book and offering him a pleasant smile. The room was warm, snug. You looked so comfortable in that chair, settled against the familiar faded red sofa, your eyes heavy with sleep.
As if stepping into an undisturbed past, Amras gently helps you adjust your posture, ensuring your back won’t strain during the night. “I am your husband. Amras.” He repeats, as he had in the last few years of your life.
He watches the familiar conflict in your frown. “My husband...?” you murmur, doubt clear in your voice. “You must be mistaken,” you insist, as always.
Sitting on the arm of your sofa, he takes your hand. “No, I am indeed your husband. We’ve been married for 43 years, my love,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair from your face.
It had been longer in his time—2,376 years in his present. An eternity.
He lifts your hand before your eyes, the wedding band gleaming on your finger. “See? These are our rings, my love.” He watches the emotions flood your gaze—astonishment, joy, sorrow, guilt.
But he doesn’t show you the ring he wears on a chain around his neck. The ring that was once yours. In this past, you still wore it.
You look at him, clutching his hand, your palm so warm. The Edain were always warm, as if the flame imperishable escaped through every pore of their bodies. “I forgot...” you whisper, voice faint. “Forgive me, please. I forgot.” You close your eyes, struck by the awareness of your failing mind.
He knows that look—the creeping dread as you realize what’s slipping away.
“It’s alright. I’m here to remind you, my love.” Amras kisses your forehead. “I’ll always remind you.”
He remembers this day of his life. The day he returned from a week in Himring. The day you forgot you had a son. Your memory, once so sharp, began to wither.
Your terrified scream had driven Vórimo away. Your mind, too far gone to recognize your own child, couldn’t grasp his tears. You were too far removed to comfort him. The weight of your years had left you incapable of being the mother he knew.
Vórimo left. And you were left with Amras. Along with the devastation of your returning fragments of memory. In some sense, Amras had lost you that day, when Vórimo walked out the door.
Never again did he see you contend at the dinner table. Your questions about the man in family portraits became painful. At times, your forgetfulness was kinder than your moments of clarity.
Vórimo didn’t return until you were long gone. By then, all that remained of you were the books you once cherished. He came to a home that no longer existed.
Amras could have hated him. Could have despised the son who left you to die grieving. But how could he, when he had done the same to his own mother? Abandoning her to a fate she didn’t deserve, a doom he had brought upon himself.
He understood Vórimo’s heart too well.
That was why he’d done all of this. The desperate hope of reuniting you with your son, just one last time. To bring the past to Valinor for that final meeting. The Fates had allowed him to see his mother again. Why not his son?
But they hadn’t.
Instead of bringing the past forward, the Fates had pulled him backward. They doused him in the warmth of your presence, in a time when your heart was still whole. How easy it would be to forget his purpose, to remain here with you in this gentle moment.
To slip into bed and hold you once again.
Despite all your early fears, the signs of your aging never hindered the love you shared. Amras had braced himself for sorrow at the sight of your aging, but it never came. His heart clung to love.
It still raced at the sight of your smile, etched with wrinkles, just as it had in the untouched days of youth. Hearts, it seems, will love what they wish to love.
Picking up the book you had closed, his fingers skim the edges of the pages until they land on the bulging section. Opening the page, he slides out a folded sheet of parchment. At last, he had found it—the forgotten relic of your past.
The letter you had claimed to write but never managed to find. You died searching for it. For centuries, Amras had wondered about it.
“May I?” he asks, holding it gently before you.
Surprised at your own letter, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes too frail to read your own fine hand. How long had it been since you wrote this?
The firm curve of the letters hinted at a much earlier date, back when your fingers didn’t tremble as they did now.
Unfolding the parchment, he reads aloud:
Darling son of mine,
Forgive your mother. Forgive her fading brain.
This disease that the healers found frightens me. It frightens me more than I can say. I fear what’s to come, and how I may not even be aware of its beginnings.
Unlike the days of your childhood, I may not be able to hold you and whisper gentle words in your hour of need. I apologize for giving you this grief.
When I lose myself, you are not bound to my shadow. Let not my ignorance pain you, nor your father.
From all the memories of this life, I wish to remain your mother and his wife. Let me not become a burden. In my selfishness, I seek to be loved as I was.
This is your mother’s vain wish.
The letter continues, pages of painstakingly preserved memories, like precious treasure hoarded onto brittle yellowing pages.
Amras glances at the heavy tome in his lap, the one you loved so dearly. The book your mind kept returning to. An illustrated volume, crafted by Kano for Vórimo’s begetting day. A book you both had read to him.
He smiles bitterly at its fading covers. Elven craftsmanship tested by the humid air of your land.
You returned to this book till the end. As if searching for a chapter lost.
How had everything conspired to erase this? How had time buried such a simple plea? Was it too harsh of a fate?
For you to lose it. For Vórimo to never receive it. For Amras to find it now, in a past already long gone.
He cannot take it back. Time would not allow him that. The Fates would not let the future be rewritten. He had bargained enough.
It is lost. Buried somewhere deep in the lands of Middle-earth.
Amras holds the letter, his hands trembling slightly. He reads the words again, each one carrying the weight of your love, your fears, and your hope.
The past cannot be altered, and the future—his future without you—remains fixed. He could never bring your son to you again. He could not stop the decay that had taken your mind, nor the eventual passing of time.
But this moment—this night—was still his.
He looks down at you, your breathing soft and steady as you sleep against his shoulder. You look so peaceful, the furrows in your brow smoothed by the comfort of sleep.
For now, you remember him, and that’s enough. The past may have given him one last gift, though fleeting. Tomorrow, you might not know him at all.
He carefully folds the letter and places it back in the book, resting it gently beside you on the table.
When you wake again, there will be no recognition in your eyes. He knows this too well. You will look at him as a stranger, perhaps offer him the same polite smile. His heart will ache, but he is ready. He’s always been ready for this.
Amras presses a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, as if committing every detail to memory—the warmth of your skin, the sound of your breathing, the faint scent of your hair.
"I’ll remind you tomorrow, my love," he whispers, though he knows that soon there will be nothing left to remind.
Rising slowly, Amras leaves the room quietly, the weight of the centuries settling back on his shoulders.
He steps outside into the cool night air, letting the chill ground him once again in the moment between his past and present.
He stops for a moment, looking back through the window, where you still rest, untouched by the pain of memory. For now, you are at peace.
And for him, that is enough.
He walks into the night, the stars above cold and distant, yet somehow offering a strange comfort. The past cannot be changed, but it lives in these moments—the brief, fragile memories that remain. Amras smiles to himself, a soft, bittersweet smile.
As the spell fades his body, wrenching him into the present, he realizes that he has lost you yet again.
This ask has been on my mind since like FOREVER 💗💗💗💗💗💗
I was wondering if you could do a feanorians x little brother ft nolofinwe where y/n was born very weak and frail but was still loved by his family dearly just that because of his frail body he's constantly bullied and hit by other elflings (and maybe some adults). Whenever he sees his brothers and father he feels so utterly useless but bottles everything up .
Make it end up in fluff please 🙏🙏
Thank you and have a wonderful day/night ❣️
characters feanorians x little brother reader ft. Fingolfin
fandom tolkien- the silmarillion
a/n am still uneasily writing about kids - so I made it into a headcanon. Idk if this is what you intended am sorry - so you can request else where because idk what else to do this - but I hope you at least like it @oggy4god
warnings angry overprotective family members xD
FEANOR:
As your dad - expect him to treat you the same as any other of your brothers. He doesn’t care whether or not you were born weak - Feanor still wants to achieve your goals and dreams, like each of his other sons did. He would help you achieve it too.
Eru forbid if he witnesses anyone bullying you he will turn their lives to literal hell. He would protect you with his might and title - the most important to him being a father. He will allow no harm to come upon you. After your bullying incidents he keep just an extra eye and care on you - letting you know you can always talk to him. He will be extra caring on your side.
If you ever feel useless compared to him - he will tell you otherwise and make you shine with your skills, no matter how small they may be, he is so proud of you.
NERDANEL:
I love her, OK? I could not miss your hot momma out. Just like Feanor, she wouldn’t see you any less. You receive a little more attention from her (sometimes your brothers are a little jealous of this but they understand and love you) - more care too. She will encourage you and help you every step of the way to help you achieve your dreams - she sits with you day and night.
Nerdanel is someone who doesn’t like to use the terms “weak” or people referring to you having a “condition” - she likes to think you were extra blessed by Eru, especially when you start to show your kindness and uniqueness to the world - showing your hidden talents. She is the proudest mother - and she shows it.
Your mother would be first to witness the change in your moods - you starting to get depressed. She knows you very well and finds the reasons behind it without having to even question. She likes to deal with it quietly - but if your bullies ceases to stop, she is not afraid to take it to the next level. If she uses her title among the Nolder for anyone, it will be for her children - especially you darling.
Sometimes she cries herself to sleep - thinking about all that you had to face alone and how hard it must have been for you and why you didnt come to her.
In seeing you like this - she understands depression and other mental illnesses so she advises and helps to start therapy or retreats among elves - knowing it is more common than one would think.
Oh - and if it comes to having to get getting revenge on the kindergarten moms who bullied her kid. . . oh, she will ! ! !
Nerdanel consoles her son -and then takes her revenge on those who mistreated him.
MAEDHROS:
As your oldest brother - he advises you like a 2nd father, he isn’t afraid to step in when Feanor is away to come and protect you. He lets you take it a little more easier in training. When you cannot achieve anything as fast as your brothers - he sits down next to you and comforts you with small pet talks. He tries to make you feel better about yourself by telling the number of times he failed before achieving something - letting you know how things take time and life isn’t about a race. Mae tells you to believe in yourself and that is the most important thing - he tells you to listen to yourself and the people that are family - “They say many things - but you mustn’t listen to them, but to the people you keep in here” - points to your heart.
When you finally learn to achieve a level in your training - he has the biggest proud face. He picks you up and places you on his shoulders, cheering for you.
MAGLOR:
While your mother invites therapy for mental health - your big brother Maglor creates songs to boost up your self esteem. Ever seen music fights? - Yes, he does that to your bullies, before filling you with a heart warming and encouraging song like in those Disney movies - he becomes Baloo (The Jungle Book) or even Genie (Aladdin).
He becomes your personal cheerleader - singing from the top of his lungs as Mae carries you on his shoulders.
CELEGORM:
While he doesn’t show it well - he loves you greatly. If he ever sees anyone bullying you and making you feel bad about yourself - big bad brother Tyelko is going to threaten the very lives of your bullies, he becomes the bully of your bullies LMAOO.
He then feels better and drops in front of you - wrapping his arm around your shoulder insisting you go for a hunt that’s the only way he knows how to comfort. Otherwise he gets either Nerdanel, Mae or Maglor.
Expect Huan to be the bestest boi to protect you from big bad brother Tyelko is away to bully the bullies that tried to hurt you.
CARANTHIR:
If anyone learns of you being mistreated first, it is your overprotective big brother Cara - he sees red when he sees or hears of someone bullying you. Cara would straight up punch them in the face - he doesn’t care who/what they are: “HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYING A HAND ON MY BABY BROTHER?!”
His words are searing with deadly anger - making them cower in fear. He will make sure they apologize to you - the one that you deserve. While Cara is caring, initially he is mad at you for hiding or bottling up everything. Afterwards he vows to let no harm come to you. Cara knows what it is like to be judged on - because of his ruddy freckles skin.
Slowly the both of you become closer to each other like this - gradually opening up to each other and he has the proudest look on his face when he sees you defending him, small tears even gathers in his eyes.
CURUFIN:
Like Cara - he is so mad you had no one told anyone of your mistreatments, he will report straight to Feanor. He doesn’t know how to comfort - he never learnt that so he pulls you to the others to give you comfort, though he becomes the extra pair of eyes to protect you from anyone who dares to mistreat you. He can be a little hard on you at times - but when he learns he’s causing you hurt too he immediately stops - he does care deeply for you but he doesn’t know how to help you otherwise.
AMBARUSSA:
Please - if your older twin brothers ever sees someone hurting you - expect them to prank (and scare) the life out of them. They are letting no one hurt you in any way - they take on their roles of becoming your big brothers very seriously - even if at times it seems like it doesn’t.
Sometimes during training they purposefully fall behind you making you go ahead of them or failing on pretend - because they love seeing that triumphant amazed smile on your face once in a while. They will literally do anything to make you happy - once even daring to cut the hair of your school teacher that was giving you a hard time - “He doesn’t deserve it - if he cannot treat someone as amazing you right ! ! ! - Even Atar isn’t mad at us!”
FINGOLFIN:
Best Uncle Nolofinwë seeing this precious little nephew getting mistreated? - Oh, he will not allow such a thing to happen, for a split second he is about to lose his anger like your father - but he controls it and does it the right way of reporting it and making sure they achieve their punishment to even dare to think of doing such a thing to you.
Afterwards - waiting for Feanor to come, he will take your hands in his and talk to you in a calm caring voice - telling you it is OK to feel like the way you and that everyone does feel like this once in a while - but the most important this is not let it cast you down: “You may think you only feel like this, young one - but we all do. . .Some are better at hiding than others and it is never good to hide it. We must accept that sometimes we need a little help. . .a little encouragement from the bad thoughts - and most importantly. . .you must never let these thoughts or words of others plague your heart, my dearest little nephew. . .”
Feanor is a little jealous and scowling at how his half-brother is having a moment with his son - expect your father to be in a sour mood and scowling at Fingolfin for a few moments before he turns to you and provides you the best of comfort - also severing the punishments for your bullying while your uncle shakes his head but offers your something in between a smile and a smirk.
Amrod, your ammë makes the best ginger snap and snickerdoodle cookies - do you think she’ll share her recipe with me?
“Hmm,” he shrugged, “that's between you and ammë. She's very um...close with her recipes, so it all depends on how she feels.” He cast you an unsure smile, followed by a laugh before reaching for another cookie.
