#eldritch peredhil

[braxix]

Celebrian: The great thing about Elrond is that when I look into his eyes I can see the universe.

Glorfindel: Aw, you're so in love.

Erestor: No. She's being literal. I can see the universe too.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Elronds messed up hair headcanon

As Elrond is part Maia, he has inherited some magical powers. One of them is super spacious hair (think Eda from the owl house).

He trapped Maglor in it and wont let him out, untill he reaches Valinor.

If his kids are noughty, they go to hair jail.

The first time Arwen meets her grandpa is in her dads hair.

During some battle in the late first age a Balrog stumbled and fell into Elronds hair. He never found a way out. Sometimes Elrond's hair shoots fire because of this. Sometimes it calls annoying diplomats "stupid elvish scum". One time Elrohir found the Balrog's sword while in hair jail and just kept it. The Balrog and Maglor became unlikeky friends over time.

[jaz-the-bard]

My preferred brand of eldritch peredhil is that elros and elrond can eat things that are straight-up poisonous but have allergies to walnuts and pollen. They can shapeshift but they lose control of it when they have the flu. They can sing an entire field of wildflowers into bloom and immediately start sneezing uncontrollably. You get the idea

[beatles4ever65]

Seven Sentence Someday

Thank you for tagging me @thescrapwitch! Here are seven sentences from an upcoming chapter of Courage of Stars, my cozy time travel eldritch AU!

“This is Elrond being nice. If you’d rather, you can deal with me. And there’s something you need to know about me. I’m the one who talked Elrond into running away from Gil-galad to fight in the War of Wrath. Elrond was always the one who reined me in. So when it was Elrond who said we needed to do something so headstrong as rescue Atto, when it was Elrond who told us he was going to face the Valar wearing the same outfit he faced Sauron in, I was never going to let him face them alone. We’re taking the damn boat.”

[raointean]

Lúthien comes of age in safety and love. Her father rules in kindness and her mother shields the land from evil.

Dior comes of age in a time of unease. His father is strong and brave, his mother wise and bold, but the Fëanorians are a threat that ever hangs over his head.

Elwing comes of age in Valinor with her husband by her side and a trail of loss and woe behind them. Her sons are taken and her people are dead. The weight of responsibility is nearly enough to crush her.

Eluréd and Elurín do not come of age, they never had the chance.

Elrond and Elros come of age in a war zone. There is death and screaming, blood spills as often as rain. They have no parents, only each other. The world has never been safe for them. They know it never will be.

Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen come of age in safety and love. Their mother is kind and wise, their father shields the land from evil.

[ilya-halfelven]

Maiar powers in Melian’s descendants

It’s canon in Tolkien’s writing that Luthien inherited a vast amount of power from her Maia mother, even though she ended up choosing a mortal lifespan. I headcanon that all her descendants inherited some of that gift, diluted or not. There’s some canonical support for this, in Elwing’s ability to shapeshift as Luthien once did (for die-hard Silm canon supporters, maybe Ulmo didn’t give Elwing that ability, just showed her how to use it?) Along with this, imagine the reactions of those who married into this line- Thingol, Beren, Nimloth, Earendil and Celebrian (or became caretakers of the half-elven children, as Maglor and Maedhros did)- when their infant children randomly began shapeshifting or manipulating the elements to varying degrees? The reactions would be... interesting to say the least, particularly if they don’t expect it to happen!

[runawaymun]

Tinúvion

For @tolkiengenweek day 3 - prompt “Enemies/Rivalries” and “Fealty”. 

Read on AO3

It was taking Annatar a rather concerted, uncomfortable expense of effort to twist off the smug smile that had spread across his face at the summons to the outskirts of Lindon. 

Ereinion Gil-Galad, the pitiable fool, was taking the bait.

The exchange of letters and subsequent wait had been tiresome. So, too, had been the insistence that Annatar present himself at the city gates rather than the King’s court itself.

But no matter. All was going according to plan. The Eldar —and the Noldor especially— were so pathetically easy to lead astray. He need only plant the seeds.

Annatar sat astride his white stallion in front of the huge embossed gates and waited for them to part for him.

They did a minute later at the command of a high, clear Elvish horn, scraping open with a horrible groan. Out rode a small party of Elves, all armed, all astride hot-blooded warhorses. Annatar resisted the urge to sneer at the display.

Ereinion Gil-Galad was tall, silhouetted in the sunlight steaming down which basked his broad form in amber, giving Annatar the immediate impression of a great statue carved from red-veined obsidian. Immovable, strikingly beautiful…for an Elf, he supposed. Gil-Galad carried a double-tipped spear in an unwavering grip; his golden eyes glinted with malice.

“Come, then. Let me hear what it is you have to say.”

Annatar, embarrassingly, faltered, for the King’s voice bled with disdain.

And more than that, beneath the King’s voice there was another sound: a low-pitched humming which seemed to grind into Annatar’s ears and twist his tongue in his mouth. Despite it, he slipped off his mount and bowed very low to introduce himself and to ask for but one proper chance to show the good King what Annatar truly could offer him. The speech which he had so painstakingly crafted flowed from his lips as easily as breath. 

When that infernal distracting humming slithered into his sweet sing-song cadence and vicously yanked it out of tune, Annatar could abide it no longer.

“Might I speak without your pet canary interrupting me at every step?“

The King’s expression was cool. Behind him, another voice slipped into the conversation.

“Speak, then. The song only disrupts falsehood which pours from your forked tongue like poison. Are you a lord of gifts or a peddler of lies?”

Annatar’s gaze shifted past the King and landed on a figure just behind him which had not been so tall half a minute ago.

The figure urged their horse forward, cutting neatly between Annatar and the King, and fixed Annatar in a gaze which clawed at his insides.

This was neither Man, nor Elf, nor Ainu. This was a dissonant mutt composed of irregular notes and a swing step that threatened to pendulum into Sauron’s own orderly quarter-time measure. Loathing sprung up within him at this vile uncreated thing born out of the hubris of choice.

Sauron’s lip curled despite himself— for in that moment he was not Annatar, and the shape he had crafted for himself almost buckled out of sheer surprise.

The Being that inserted themself like a bulwark between Gil-Galad and him was Lúthien incarnate.

They towered just as tall as Annatar did: scintillating chaos under a thin veneer of skin, framed by a black gash in the weft of space (hair. That was the shape of braided black hair, but it roiled like ink). And the eyes, worst of all, leaked plumes of gray smoking starlight.

“Have you met my herald, Elrond Peredhel?” Gil-Galad asked.

Sauron was reminded of deceit, trickery, a gaping maw of razored teeth, and a voice which could lull even a god to slumber — and he was filled with fear and burning hate.

Henceforth, he left Lindon and set his sights on Eregion: to another descendant of Finwë’s line. If Curufinwë could be twisted, so too could his grandson. It was only a matter of time.

(And besides, Sauron thought to himself with disgust, the Feänorion did not keep an abomination as a pet.)

[arofili]

@halfelvenweek​ day four | power ✦ people of rivendell | elrond, scion of melian

But my memory reaches back even to the Elder Days. Eärendil was my sire, who was born in Gondolin before its fall; and my mother was Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Lúthien of Doriath. I have seen three ages in the West of the world, and many defeats, and many fruitless victories.