#elrond x reader

[marz-barzz]

How the lotr elves would react to a love letter from their partner

Thranduil 🦌

Legolas 🍃

Lindir 🎻

Elrond 🌾

Lmk if you want more of these

[creaturesmechture]

Accidental Guilt

requested- yes

characters- Legolas, Elrond, Thranduil, Haldir, Kili

Legolas-

The arrow flew before Legolas realized you had stepped into the clearing. One moment his bowstring was drawn, the next the shot had already been released. It struck your shoulder instead of the target. The sound you made made his heart stop. Legolas was beside you in an instant, bow forgotten in the grass as he caught you before you could fall. His hands hovered for a moment, almost afraid to touch the wound he had caused. “I did not see you,” he whispered, voice strained with guilt. Carefully he pressed cloth to the bleeding, his normally steady composure shaken. “I have faced countless enemies without hesitation, yet the thought that I might harm you…” He swallowed hard, gently brushing hair from your face. “Forgive me. I would sooner break this bow forever than see you hurt by it again.”

Haldir-

During training in the woods of Lothlórien, your blade clashed with Haldir’s. He moved swiftly to disarm you, but the maneuver twisted your wrist too sharply. The small cry that escaped you made him release you immediately. Silence fell between you as he stared at your hand, his calm expression tightening with regret. Haldir stepped closer, gently taking your wrist in both of his hands as though it were something fragile. “I used too much force,” he said quietly. His fingers brushed the swelling carefully, already reaching for herbs from his belt pouch. “You place your trust in me when we train… I should never forget that.” His voice softened further as he wrapped the cloth around your wrist. “I will be more mindful. Of you.”

Kili-

You had barely finished laughing at Kíli’s joke when his dagger spun playfully through his fingers. The hilt slipped and struck your arm with a dull thud. The laughter died instantly. Kíli stared at you in horror before dropping the blade entirely. “Durin’s beard—! Are you alright?” He rushed forward, grabbing your arm before you could even answer. His usual bright confidence was gone, replaced by frantic worry as he inspected the forming bruise. “I was only showing off,” he muttered angrily at himself. “Stupid trick…” For the rest of the afternoon he refused to leave your side, bringing water, food, anything he thought might help. Every few minutes he glanced at your arm again, guilt flickering across his face. “Next time,” he said softly, “remind me I’m not allowed to juggle weapons around you.”

Elrond-

The horse shifted suddenly beneath you as Elrond helped you mount in the courtyards of Rivendell. Your foot slipped and you struck your shoulder against the saddle. Before you could react, Elrond had already steadied you, strong hands guiding you safely back to the ground. Concern darkened his eyes as he examined your shoulder. “Forgive me,” he murmured, voice calm but clearly troubled. “I should have anticipated the horse’s movement.” Though the injury was minor, he insisted on treating it himself, his touch precise and gentle as he applied a healing salve. Even after the pain faded, he remained beside you longer than necessary, speaking softly and watching you carefully, as though ensuring his mistake had not caused deeper harm.

Thranduil-

In the halls of Mirkwood, a sudden commotion among the guards made Thranduil pull you sharply aside to keep you from the path of rushing soldiers. His grip tightened more than he intended, and you flinched. The king released you immediately. For a moment the court fell silent as his gaze dropped to the faint marks forming on your wrist. “Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly. Though his voice remained composed before the others, something in his eyes had changed. With a brief gesture he dismissed the court entirely. When the hall had emptied, he stepped closer again, his touch now far gentler as he examined your wrist. “My strength is not always suited for gentleness,” he admitted softly. “Yet with you… I should remember to try.”

thanks for reading yall, i know its not my usual but ill more than likely add onto this later so check back in a few days lol. also be on the lookout as i catch up on requests!

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Tolkien Preference- Their Favourite Body Part of Yours

Hair- Elrond

Elrond is absolutely enchanted by your hair. Long or short he loves to run his fingers through it. He could spend hours braiding it and is not above begging you to let him wash it for you. In the bedroom he doesn’t like to pull it, instead enjoys stroking or caressing it

Eyes- Glorfindel

Glorfindel can easily get lost in your eyes. Though he’s a powerful warrior, his biggest weakness is your eyes. He will sit and listen to you speak, loving the way your eyes light up. In the bedroom he begs you to look into his eyes constantly, especially when you cum

Lips- Arwen

Arwen loves your lips, not just kissing them, but staring and touching them. After an evening together she will trace her fingers over your lips. Sometimes she feels a little bad because she wants to listen to you speak, but she just gets so distracted by your lips

Breasts- Fili

Fili, like most dwarves, loves the softer parts of women. His favourite part of you are your breasts. He loves to lay on your breasts when you cuddles, and will have them in his mouth during sex. He can’t help watch them when you ride your horse or dance, and it drives him mad

Stomach- Bilbo

Bilbo is a hobbit, so of course he loves your stomach. Loves laying of stomach while you cuddle together. Will reach his hand under your shirt to feel your stomach. He also loves how your stomach gets a bit bigger after he’s fed you well, but he would never actually say that

Legs- Frodo

Frodo is short, even by hobbit standards, but that doesn’t bother him. His height just means that he can stare at your legs all damn day. Frodo like to sit against your legs while you read together, and loves to lay entangled in them post sex

Hands- Legolas

Legolas sometimes gets lost staring at your hands. He loves to feel your hand tracing against it chest, holding his hand, or grabbing his waist when you ride together. His eyes gets all starry staring at your hands grasping your bow and loosening your arrow when he tries to teach you archery

Ass- Thorin

Thorin has no shame in letting you know how much he loves your ass. In public he’s subtle, but he definitely will stare. In private he will grab and slap your ass as much as he likes, even when he growl at him, he kinda loves it

Thighs- Kili

Kili finds both comfort and arousal in your thighs. He loves to lay his head on them while you run your fingers through his hair. He also could live between your thighs, often telling you that suffocating between them would be his favourite way to die

Neck- Eowyn

Eowyn loves both the sweet little giggles you make when you pecks your neck with kisses. She also loves the intoxicating way you moan when she bites and sucks at your neck. She’s been distracted many times during training watching you wipe sweat from your neck. She often smirks at you every time Eomer asks why you’re wearing a scarf during warmer weather

[doodle-pops]

When You Disappeared After A Fight And They Thought You Left Them

Headcanon: Celebrimbor, Finarfin, Finrod, Glorfindel, Elrond, Gil-Galad

A/N: I realised it’s been far too long since I last wrote for Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad. Don’t worry, no crazy angst, just humour, and hurt/comfort.

Synopsis: After a heated argument, you decided to take a walk to clear your head, only to end up getting caught in a storm, resulting in your absence for a week. They, on the other hand, thought the worse until your return.

Masterlist | Navigation

Celebrimbor

You stepped through the doorway soaked to the bone, your cloak heavy with rain, and boots caked with half-dried mud from the trail. Your fingers were numb by the time you pushed open the forge door, the hinges groaning in a way that made you wince. There was a moment you expected anger, or worse, indifference. But what you got instead was the echo of something heavy crashing to the floor, followed by the very loud, very uneven clatter of tools spilling everywhere.

There he was, Celebrimbor shot around the corner like he’d been fired from a war bow. His hair was a mess, half-tied back with soot streaking his cheek, and the look on his face—pure disbelief.

“You—” He stopped dead in his tracks, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then unhinged as though a dozen words had just jammed up behind his teeth, he took a shaky step forward. “You’re alive?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He strode to you without hesitation and grabbing your face in both calloused hands, eyes darting over your soaked features like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I thought you left. You didn’t send word. You didn’t—by the Valar, I thought you were dead or that you—” He sucked in a ragged breath and pulled back, fists clenched. “I thought you left me. Because of what I said.”

Brushing wet strands of hair out of your face, you rolled your eyes. “Because you acted like a stubborn ass and I didn’t feel like getting struck by lightning trying to hike back here during a bloody storm?”

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “Storm?”

You gestured at yourself, dripping onto the floor. “Yes. Storm. The week-long monsoon from hell? Trees falling, floods, livestock floating by? What, did you think I was tanning in Ereigon?”

He didn’t say anything while his brows furrowed deeper and hand slowly rose to rub over his face like he was trying to scrub away his shame. “I thought—” He looked away. “I deserved it. I said too much. I was cruel. I...I never should have said those things.”

You dropped your cloak with a thud. “No, you shouldn’t have. You were an ass. You said I never understood your work. That I was only here because I liked the forge’s heat and the free jewellery.”

“I know,” he cut in, wincing. “I know. It was vile. I was angry and—”

“No. You were scared,” you said, stepping into his space, glaring up at him. “Because I told you you’re not a god, and your projects don’t get to eat you alive. And instead of listening, you threw that in my face.”

He sagged visibly. “I haven’t slept in a week. I couldn’t. The bed didn’t feel right without you in it. The forge didn’t sound the same. I couldn’t tell if I was hallucinating you or remembering you wrong. And I’d come home every night hoping you’d be here, and every night the door stayed shut.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So...you missed me?”

His expression was dry enough to bake bread. “I was halfway to building a replica of you from spare chainmail links and cursing your name the entire time. So, yes. I missed you.”

You crossed your arms with a slow smirk forming. “And?”

“And I’m sorry,” he said quickly, eyes holding yours. “I’ll never say anything like that again. Even when I’m angry, especially when I’m angry. Because losing you—thinking I’d lost you—it wasn’t just unbearable. It made me realise I care about us more than I care about anything I’ve ever made.”

You held his gaze letting him squirm a moment longer out of a quest for satisfaction, then stepped forward and shoved your cold, wet face against his chest. “Good. Because if I’d made it home and you were off brooding in a cave somewhere, I’d have gone back into that storm and hoped for a lightning bolt.”

Releasing let out a short, breathy laugh, his arms wound tightly around your waist. “Remind me to temper my mouth next time.”

“I’ll temper your ass next time.”

“Already sculpting the armour for that, love.”

Finarfin

You opened the heavy front door, expecting silence. Maybe even the stern face of a king trying to pretend he hadn’t cried into a dozen embroidered handkerchiefs. But what you weren’t expecting was to be immediately tackled by golden robes and a blur of hair smelling like lilac oil and nervous sweat.

He squeezed you so tight your spine protested audibly. “Yavanna’s tits, you’re alive!” he gasped against your shoulder, and you had a split second to marvel at him swearing before your feet left the ground.

“Put me down!” you protested while poking his shoulder. “I’ve just walked six leagues through wet forest—I probably smell like moss!”

Suddenly releasing you, his hands moved to cup your face, eyes frantic. “You disappeared. No word. Not even a note. I scoured the coastline. Sent birds. Rode out with the guards. I interrogated a goose herder because he thought he saw someone matching your description two days ago.”

“A goose herder?” you asked, deadpan.

“Bribed him with a wheel of cheese and four loaves of honeyed bread.”

You blinked. “You bribed a man to tell you where I went using baked goods?”

“It’s what I had on hand!” he snapped, then let out a breath and took a half step back. “Where were you?”

You peeled off your dripping cloak and stepped out your soggy boots. “Nearby village. Storm rolled in hard. Bridge collapsed. I was stuck for days before someone even managed to repair the road out.”

He stared, clearly dumbfounded. “You didn’t leave?”

You levelled him a look. “Of course not. Just because you said I had the diplomacy of a drunken orc doesn’t mean I’d up and vanish. I was angry, not deranged.”

His face went sheet white. “I—oh.” He dropped into the nearest chair like his knees had turned to pudding. “You were just stuck. Not gone.”

“I would never just leave you like that,” your muttered in an obvious tone while crossing the room to plop yourself into his lap, and flick his nose. “Although, if you ever talk to me like that again during an argument, I will exile myself. To Angband.”

“I was furious, and stupid, and possibly drunk on elderberry wine. But the moment you were gone, I felt like a hollow man playing king to a room full of ghosts,” he grunted, voice muffled as he buried his face into your neck and arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly.

“You didn’t change the bedsheets.”

He looked up. “Of course not.”

You softened, fingers slipping through his hair. “Next time, trust me to come back. Storms pass. Tempers cool. But you are my home.”

His mouth curled into a small, sheepish smile. “Even when I say utterly regrettable things about your tact?”

“Especially then. Because someone’s got to keep your golden head from floating too far off your shoulders.”

“I shall make it up to you.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Name your price.”

“Hot bath and food. And I’m choosing the bedtime story tonight.”

He grinned. “Even if it’s the one where I accidentally insulted a goose herder and got smacked with a bread roll?”

“Especially that one.”

“And if I cried into my council robes?”

“Oh, I assume you did.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not even if Eru himself demanded it.”

Finrod

The halls were obscenely quiet when you entered. The kind of silence that only existed when someone refused to acknowledge anything around them because they were still stewing. The sheer thought prompted another eye roll—your nth number for the week.

Your cloak dripped steadily onto the mosaic floor of the palace, and you kicked off your boots just inside the entrance. You hadn’t the opportunity to make it three steps before Finrod’s voice echoed coldly from the corridor behind you.

“So you do remember where you live.”

Slowly, you turned to be treated by the sight of him standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched tight, and his golden hair slightly dishevelled like he’d been dragging his hands through it for hours. Nice to see how crazy you were capable of driving him.

You raised a brow, returning the same air of authority. “Nice to see you too.”

Striding forward with an expression so thunderous, he stopped a foot away. “You were gone. A week. No word. No message from the servants. Not even a whisper from the wind.”

“I was trapped in one of the nearby humam settlements. The roads flooded, so one could leave, and the villagers were too busy tying down roofs from becoming birds in the raging wind.”

“I assumed you’d left because of our argument,” he pointed out tightly. “That you’d walked out because I pushed you too far.”

“You told me I didn’t understand what it meant to rule. That I was selfish for questioning your council.”

“I said that in anger!” His voice cracked through the room. “And I regretted it the moment you walked away! I thought, give them time. A day. Maybe two. But then three passed. Then four. The storm hit, and every rider I sent returned empty-handed—”

“You sent riders?” you questioned in softness.

“Dozens.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “And when they found nothing, I thought maybe…maybe you left because I made you feel like you didn’t belong.”

He looked at you with all the sharpness fading into raw hurt. “Do you have any idea what it’s like walking these halls thinking you’ve destroyed the best thing in your life with a few words? I held court with a mask for six days and couldn’t remember what you looked like when you smiled.”

Your mouth twitched. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Entirely.” His tone didn’t even attempt denial. “I was halfway through composing a lament by the fifth night.”

“My goodness.”

“Yes. There were rhymes.”

You made a noise of mock horror. “Please tell me you didn’t sing.”

“I’m not saying I did.” He looked sideways. “But if I did, it was very moving.”

You couldn’t resist snorting. “You idiot.”

His shoulders sagged. “Your idiot,” he corrected, then softened his tone with an ounce of hesitation, “if you’ll still have me.”

Closing the gap, you reached up to cup his face, and his hands flew to your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “I would’ve sent word if I could,” you murmured. “But the weather was horrible. And…I was angry. But I didn’t leave you.”

Slowly he exhaled, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good. Because I love you. And if you had left, I’d have to write a second lament.”

“You absolute menace.”

“Still your menace.”

Glorfindel

Glorfindel appeared in the hallway like the same storm you just faced—wild hair unbraided, tunic only half-buttoned, his expression caught between fury, disbelief, and the unmistakable shine of near-tears. The moment your foot crossed the threshold, you barely had time to shut the door before the sound of his boots thundered across the floor, approaching.

“You,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger like he wasn’t entirely convinced you weren’t some hallucination conjured by a grief-addled mind. “You vanished for a week!”

You dropped your soaked cloak with a soggy thud and blinked at him, soaked from head to toe. “There was a storm. The roads were flooded—”

“I know there was a storm!” he snapped. “I sent out three search parties! I threatened to punch Círdan when he suggested you might’ve just needed ‘space’!”

“You threatened Círdan?” you cried in utter disbelief.

He threw up his arms. “He was being philosophical at me when I hadn’t slept since the third day! I thought you were dead, or kidnapped! Or—” his voice cracked, and the rage drained out of him, leaving him standing there looking wrecked and years older.

“…Or gone,” he whispered quietly. “And I couldn’t even remember what the last thing I said to you was. Only that you were angry. And then you were gone.”

Your brows furrowed as you stepped forward, boots squelching on the wood. “You told me I was being ‘dramatic,’ Fin.”

“I meant adorably dramatic,” he muttered instantly, stepping toward you with equal urgency. “You were huffing. Your nose scrunches when you’re angry, it’s precious—and you know I’m terrible with words when I’m angry—”

You narrowed your eyes. “You called me a spoiled elfling and stormed out.”

“…Okay,” he admitted, wincing. “Not my finest moment. But I stormed out intending to return and apologise! I bought apple pastries on the way back! And when I returned you were just…gone. No note. No sign. And then the storm hit, and I kept thinking, what if the last thing you ever heard from me was—was that?”

He looked almost offended when you didn’t immediately throw yourself into his arms to console him. Instead, you wrung out your cloak and calmly replied, “You’re the one who stormed off like you were starring in a stage play.”

There a strangled noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “I was dramatic. Fine. But—you were the one who walked into the rain and disappeared like some moody soliloquy. You didn’t think maybe sending a bird? A single raven?”

“I tried,” you replied sarcastically. “The damn birds couldn’t fly in the storm. One nearly got knocked out of the sky by a tree branch the size of your ego.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Then gave a grudging nod before the silence stretched. His hands clenched and unclenched like he didn’t know what to do with them. Then, with a grumble, he reached forward and tugged you into his arms.

You were still soggy, but he didn’t care.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he murmured, burying his face in your shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t start writing poems in mourning and have every elf in Imladris listen to me.”

You snorted. “You’d write poems?”

“Dramatic and weeping.”

“You really are ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

He kissed your neck, desperate and rough. “Don’t vanish on me again. Or I will punch Círdan.”

Elrond

The moment Elrond saw you walking through the front gates of Imladris, muddy, rain-streaked, and glaring at the sky like it had insulted your lineage, he dropped the teacup he’d been holding. Not caring that it shattered beyond repair—as did his composure.

“Where in the Void have you been?”

You flinched, clearly you had been imagining this exact moment for seven storm-soaked days and still weren’t ready for it. “Well, hello to you, too,” you croaked, pushing back your hood. “You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had—”

“You disappeared,” he cut in, striding toward you with wide, sharp eyes. “Without a note. Without a message. Even without your cloak, for Eru’s sake! And after that—”

“—ridiculous argument,” you finished. “Yes. I remember. Mostly the part where you accused me of never taking anything seriously and that being with you was a responsibility, not a game.”

He stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you snapped. “And I was furious. So I took a walk for some air. Then for half an hour before the heavens cracked open, a tree fell on the road, and a lovely travelling merchant shoved me into a barn before I was flattened by lightning.”

“You could have sent a bird—”

“Oh, yes! Of course. Send a bird in the middle of a raging storm!” you exclaimed, flailing your hands in the air. “Why didn’t I think about that?”

He rubbed his face with both hands and made a sound that could only be described as part groan, part sob. “I thought you were gone. Not ‘temporarily cross and got caught in a freak storm’ gone—actually gone. I haven’t slept. I’ve started yelling at the staff. I called Glorfindel ‘ammë’ yesterday.”

You paused and raised an eyebrow. “Did he cry?”

“He curtsied.”

Well, that was the cue that broke you. You doubled over with laughter while Elrond stood there, baffled and tired and vaguely damp from standing outside in his night robe all week like some cursed spirit.

“Look,” you said, voice shaking as you sobered up, “I didn’t plan to vanish. But you hurt me. You said something harsh, I said something worse, and then I got stranded with a farmer who thought my name was ‘Moss.’”

“Moss?”

“I was too tired to correct him.”

Cautiously, he stepped closer with his eyes dropping to your feet. “I am sorry. I was harsh, and worried, and frightened.”

“I know,” you muttered. “I figured that out somewhere between the second lightning strike and the moment a goat tried to eat my sleeve.”

“Come inside,” he said softly while reaching out to clasp your fingers and guide you indoor. “You’re soaked, blue and clearly on the brink of falling ill. Your boots are—are those not your boots?”

“They belonged to a man named Oloron who lost his in the river. We swapped. Don’t ask.”

Stepping closer, he lifted his hand to cradle your face, his warm thumb rubbing your cold skin. “I missed you. The house missed you. The trees were quiet.”

“That’s creepy.”

“It’s true.”

Instinctively leaned into him without warning, and he caught you without hesitation, arms dropping to warm around you like he thought you might vanish again if he didn’t anchor you down.

“Say it again,” you murmured into his chest.

“I missed you.”

“Good. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t.”

Gil-galad

The halls of Lindon were colder than usual. Not from the biting winds or damp stone, but from your absence, resulting in the great High King from not slept in a week—he barely ate, save for the few times Elrond had coaxed him into chewing through half a honeyed fig like some pitiful, lovesick warlord. All because you two had argued. Loudly.

It first started off a something petty—maybe it was about the council and his constant dodging of your concerns, or maybe the usual ‘you don’t understand the pressure I carry’ rubbish—before escalating. Whatever it was, he’d been dismissive, you’d been furious, and by the time the shouting had stopped, so had your presence in the house.

You hadn’t left a message with the maids. No word. Not even a note. Nothing but a door left ajar and silence heavier than the storm clouds that rolled in that night.

For two days, he searched, storm or not. Rode halfway to Forlond and back with soaked boots and a bruised ego. It didn’t matter that the rain pelted like knives or that his guards warned him of landslides. You were gone. You could have been dead for all he knew, and the last words he’d thrown at you had been, “If you can’t handle this life, perhaps you shouldn’t be part of it.”

Beautiful. Regal. Worthy of carving onto his tombstone, right next to Beloved Idiot.

So when the front door creaked open on the eighth morning, dripping with mud and exhaustion, and you stumbled in with your cloak barely clinging to your shoulders, Gil-galad froze mid-pace on the staircase.

“...You have three seconds to explain before I start wailing like a widow.”

You blinked at him, water streaming off your nose. “I got stuck in a bloody storm,” you grumbled. “The bridge collapsed, the path to Lindon was flooded, and the only inn in the village had one bed, and a family of six already in it. So, I’ve been drying socks by the hearth of an old woman named Sarah who thought I was some war orphan.”

“You didn’t think to send someone?”

“In the raging storm?”

“Birds fly in storms!”

“Yes, foolish Birds who have a death wish.”

He stomped down the stairs. “Do you have any idea what I thought happened? I buried you in my head five times! I thought you were dead, or worse—gone. Just…left.”

“Well that’s romantic.” You threw your arms in the air, which would’ve been more dramatic had you not slapped a soaked glove into your own face. “Why would I just leave?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he barked, sarcasm thick. “Maybe because your husband said something truly wretched and didn’t even apologise before you vanished into a torrential abyss?”

Your glare could’ve melted mithril at this point. “I was going to come home after a day, but then mudslides happened and cows started floating down the river like logs, and some bloody elf thought that was the perfect time to lecture me about duty and whether I’m ‘suited’ for this life!”

He winced. “...Yes. That would be me.”

“No shit.”

You both stared at each other, soaking wet and shaking for very different reasons. But then he stepped forward and flung his arms around you, his warrior-made body weighted upon yours and solid against your weary bones.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured into your hair. “And probably hungry. I left stew on the fire. It’s awful. I overdid the garlic. But it’s warm.”

You stifled a laugh at the absurdity of him assuming you would leave him, unsure whether to cry or punch him. “You thought I left.”

“I did. And if you ever actually leave without a message again, I’ll throw myself into the sea.”

You snorted while attempting to gently pry him off so his attire wouldn’t be drenched and smelling, however, he resisted your efforts. “You’d float. You’re too full of hot air.”

“Not the sweet reunion I was hoping for,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck. “But I’ll take it. Just don’t go running off without me.”

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[bigproblemsfunnylife]

HOW WOULD THEY ACT IN A RELATIONSHIP?

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ

ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ: Headcanons

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took (Pippin), Meriadoc Brandybuck (Merry), Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Elrond.

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Mentions of trauma, protectiveness, emotional vulnerability.

FRODO

Frodo loves deeply. He’s not always good at saying how he feels, but his actions speak volumes.

He would bring you small tokens from his travels, a smooth stone or a flower pressed into a book, because they reminded him of you.

He needs reassurance, especially after bearing the Ring. He sometimes fears being unworthy, and your gentle reminders of his goodness mean the world to him.

Frodo is a cuddler. He craves physical closeness, whether it’s holding your hand while walking or resting against you in the evening.

He loves reading with you, telling stories of the Shire and watching your reactions. His smile shines brightest when he makes you laugh.

He gives affection in small gestures: brushing hair from your face, squeezing your hand under the table and whispering gratitude for your presence when he feels weary.

SAMWISE

Sam is the epitome of devotion in a partner. His love is all-in, all-encompassing and expressed through constant care.

He shows love by doing things for you: cooking meals, tending your garden, mending clothes... He believes the best way to express his feelings is through action.

Sam is protective, sometimes overly so, but only because his greatest fear is losing those he loves. He’d put himself in harm’s way without hesitation if it meant keeping you safe.

He is affectionate and warm, often reaching for your hand, wrapping an arm around you or pulling you close in a hug.

His ideal life with you is simple: a little house in the Shire, a garden out back, evenings by the fire and waking up to you beside him each morning.

You’d never doubt his love. Every look, every gesture, every word from him is filled with genuine adoration.

PEREGRIN

Pippin is the kind of partner who brings laughter and chaos into your life in the best way.

He’s endlessly affectionate, always tugging on your sleeve, holding your hand, or resting his head on your shoulder. He thrives on touch.

He loves making you laugh. Whether through silly antics, playful teasing, or ridiculous stories, he’ll go to any length to see you smile.

Though often playful, he has moments of surprising sincerity. When things grow serious, his devotion shows in, for example, as standing by your side, offering comfort and proving his bravery.

Pippin loves adventures with you, big or small. Even if it’s just sneaking out for a midnight snack or exploring a meadow, everything feels more magical with you around.

MERIADOC

Merry balances playfulness and responsibility in a relationship. He’s affectionate and mischievous, but also deeply reliable.

He loves planning little surprises for you: sneaking you treats, pulling you into secret spots, or orchestrating jokes that end with your laughter.

Yet beneath the humor, he’s protective and steady. When you’re upset, he shifts instantly from teasing to attentive comfort.

He loves sharing in traditions, whether Shire festivals, drinking games, or picnics. To him, partnership is about being each other’s teammate in all things.

He would go to great lengths to ensure you never feel alone, even in the darkest times.

ARAGORN

Aragorn is an intensely loyal and protective partner. His love is steady, steadfast and deeply rooted in respect.

He is not overly showy with affection, but his devotion is undeniable. Every promise he makes, he keeps.

Aragorn cherishes simple moments: sitting together by a campfire, walking through the woods, or sharing stories of the past. He feels most alive with you in calm and natural spaces.

He is protective but not smothering. He trusts your strength but will always be ready to shield you if danger arises.

Affection for him often comes in touches: his hand brushing yours as you walk, his cloak draped over your shoulders when you’re cold, his forehead pressed against yours in quiet moments…

LEGOLAS

Legolas’s love is subtle and steady. He isn’t overly demonstrative in public, but his affection shows in how closely he pays attention to you: always noticing the smallest details others might overlook.

He loves sharing moments in nature: listening to the trees, watching stars and walking silently side by side.

He’s playful in private. His sense of humor is dry, teasing, and sometimes mischievous. He loves catching you off guard.

He often expresses affection through gifts from nature: a carefully braided crown of flowers, a smooth river stone or a feather left in your hand.

Legolas sees love as eternal. If he loves you, it is with his whole heart, and he carries it as something sacred. His loyalty would never waver.

GIMLI

Gimli’s love is fierce, protective and wholehearted. He doesn’t do things halfway.

He’s affectionate in bold ways: pulling you into bear hugs, booming laughter when you tease him, praising you openly in front of others.

Gimli values loyalty above all. He will fight for you, defend you, and boast about you endlessly. To him, you are the greatest treasure he’s ever found.

He loves physical closeness such as holding your hand, sitting with his arm around you, resting his head against yours… He’s very tactile and unapologetic about it.

Gifts are important to him. He might carve you something intricate, forge a trinket, or gift you a gem that reminded him of your eyes.

To Gimli, love is as much about partnership in battle and joy as it is about affection.

BOROMIR

Boromir is passionate, protective, and sometimes overwhelming in his love. He feels things deeply and expresses them with intensity.

He thrives on reassurance, needing to know he is loved and trusted, especially when doubts and guilt creep in.

He shows affection through grand gestures: sweeping embraces, gifts and bold declarations. He’s not subtle, and he doesn’t want to be.

But he also has a soft side: when he’s vulnerable, he leans into your comfort, resting his head against your shoulder, letting you see the man behind the pride.

Boromir’s love is fiery, loyal and consuming. Once you have his heart, it is yours entirely. No matter the cost.

ELROND

Elrond doesn’t fall easily, but when he does, his devotion runs deeper than most could comprehend.

He would treat you with patience, always listening intently, weighing his words carefully and never dismissing your feelings. He values communication deeply. But he struggles with vulnerability (the weight of his history and grief sometimes makes him retreat).

Elrond enjoys long, quiet evenings: reading together, walking in Rivendell’s gardens, listening to music. He doesn’t need constant chatter. He finds comfort in shared silence.

His love is measured and filled with acts of service: healing your wounds, ensuring your comfort and offering his wisdom when you’re uncertain.

But he also delights in little surprises: he might bring you rare flowers from the gardens or translate an ancient poem into words of love for you.

[a-breath-of-pipeweed]

Screaming, crying, throwing up about Galadriel!! I was wondering how you think the elves, particularly Galadriel and Thranduil, would comfort their loves after a bad dream? Thank you so much <3

catch *throws this at your face*

Middle Earth Elves | Comforting you after a bad dream

{LOTR / The Hobbit Masterlist} Legolas, Arwen, Thranduil, Galadriel, Glorfindel, Celeborn, Elrond, Gildor gn!reader

Legolas

He hears you stirring in your sleep when he's on watch for the fellowship

Trudges over after you don't let up and kneels beside you

Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to slowly wake you up

Once you wake he asks what's troubling you, keeping a hand running through your hair tucking it behind your ear

He's one to try and distract you, so he invites you to stay with him on watch for a bit

You both sit further away from camp, you leaning on his shoulder as sleep slowly overtakes you again

But he does not move you or disturb you, hoping to keep you close incase you are to have another nightmare

Arwen

She notices sweat pooling on your head and your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep

She immediately knows what's happening, you're having another one of your spells

And so she wraps herself around you, shushing you and hoping to rip you from the nightmare without waking you

Hands soothing over your chest and shoulders, her elven healing powers warming your skin and dissipating the tension in your muscles

When you wake, she reassures you that you're safe to protect you, with gentle kisses peppering your cheeks and neck

She hums a lullaby to rock you to sleep again

Thranduil

He is quick to be at your side when you wake with a start

Is immediately pulling you into his lap, face full of worry, asking what could be wrong with his little flower

Thranduil gets quite stressed when you are upset because he hates to have something be hurting you that he cannot stop

So he listens as you explain your dream, and he coos at you as he kisses the tears away from under your eyes

Stays awake until you have fallen asleep once again, his back against the headboard while you doze off on his chest

His gentle hands remain on your back, scratching lightly to remind you that he is there

Galadriel

You try to keep your troubles to yourself in the hopes to not bother you

But she sees right through it

Places a gentle hand on your forehead as she approaches, feeling your troubles and softening them quickly

With her touch, you feel the darkness dispel, and a soft ease drips over you

"You are safe my love. Your mind will not trouble you now, as long as I have something to say against it."

She puts comforting visions in your mind, lulling you back to unconsciousness and never pulling her hand away from your skin until she is sure you sleep easy

She remains close, a protective, strong ethereal presence to ward of any evil

Glorfindel

Protective and compassionate nature by heart

His presence is strong, his frame covering you in a blanket of relief as he runs his hands along your tense body

"You need not weep meleth-nin. I am here."

He speaks of other things to distract you, his fingers finding your face to wipe away stray tears that stain your skin

At your beck and call when you are vulnerable with him like this, treating you like some delicate statue

Also a shit ton of forehead, hairline and hair kisses, there is not a moment where he pulls away from your body

Lays you back down with you tucked beneath his chin, the sound of his drowning out as you sleep once again

Celeborn

He observes your uneasy sleep and waits for you to wake up yourself to calm you

He encourages you to talk about it, opening up to him and letting him try to help you in any way possible

His leading demeanor gives him a natural need to take care of you, in any way he can

He is a grounding presence, telling you to focus on his voice, his hands on your cheeks, the feeling of his breath hitting your face as he holds you close

Takes you out for a short wander of Lothlorien if you truly cannot sleep, leading you with a hand on the small of your back

He remains a steady reassurance without pressuring you

Elrond

He was quite used to comforting people after nightmares, with Arwen and Aragorn having them regularly as they were growing up

And being known as a healer, he is naturally good at these situations

He wakes you slowly by whispering little phrases in Sindarin, his voice is steady and coaxes you back to peace

When you wake, he encourages you to say what had frightened you

Untangles your fears, reassuring that your mind is creating horrors that are not rational

And to further calm you he may prepare you a herbed drink/tea, insisting that he stays with you

He would end the comfort with a light humour, being glad to see you happy again

Gildor

He hears you stirring in your sleep when he's sitting at a nearby desk

Trudges over after you don't let up and climbs into the bed with you

Places a gentle hand on your shoulder to slowly wake you up

Once you wake he asks what's troubling you, keeping a hand running through your hair tucking it behind your ear

He's one to try and distract you, so he invites you to stay awake with him for a while

You sit on your shared balcony together looking over Nargothrond

Gildor cracks small jokes and plays with your fingers, leaving an occasional kiss on the back of your hands

Once you've passed out on his shoulder, he scoops you back up in his arms and places you back on the bed, crawling in after you and wrapping you up in his long limbs

AN: Okay so I've upped my elf game and am offering my favourite book elves as well, especially Gildor cause I was kinda unhealthily attached to that elf the second he was introduced in FOTR Taglist: @cinnamon-girl-writes @mybrainsamess @pumpkin-soup333 @bloxholden35 @woodsofsunlight @emerald-tempest @vv56890 @anisswife @lady-legolas-greenleaf @doomslugthedestroyer1 Requests for headcanons / reactions / drabbles always open~

[hoe4almondmilk]

How the LotR elves would wake you

Part II,

Part I here

Galadriel, Arwen, Elrond, Celeborn and Annatar.

Galadriel:

She doesn't touch you, if she does it is the lightest palm on your forehead. She'll call your name so softly, it's like sunlight breaking through mist.

"Awaken, little star. The day has need of you."

She'll smile when your eyes flutter open. She's smiling faintly.

"Yes, at last. She has returned."

Arwen:

She's an absolute sweetheart to wake up with. She'll kneel beside you, gently stroking your hair or tucking the blanket around you as she calls your name so softly.

"Meleth nín, it is time to wake. The morning waits for you. I have been waiting for your eyes to open."

If you're a little grumpy, she'll giggle softly. She'll find it absolutely endearing. If you mumble something, half asleep, she's 100% teasing you about it later.

Elrond:

He would have infinite patience for you. He'll lean down and his lips will brush gently across your temple. He'd rest his hand on your waist. When he finally does speak to you, his voice is quiet and warm, like velvet at dawn.

"Wake, meleth nín... you have slept long enough."

If you stir but bury your face into the pillow, he'll chuckle and press another kiss and say,

"I would far rather kiss you awake."

Celeborn:

He's practical but romantic nevertheless. The kind of lover that would never want you to wake alone. He'd slip into bed if he wasn't already there, his head tilting as he studied your face. He'd slip his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

"Mornings are meant to be greeted together, melda."

If you groaned, asking him to let you sleep in just a little longer, he'd absolutely cave and let you. But in a low and fond voice, he'd kiss the top of your head and say,

"Very well... but then I am not letting you leave our bed so easily."

Annatar:

He would not wake you gently, nor would he be courteous about it. He's waking you up because he wants your attention. He'd lean over you, his long golden hair brushing against your skin, his lips grazing your ear as his voice curls low and silken almost.

"Awake, little one... do you think you can hide from me in sleep?"

If you attempted to roll away or try to go back to sleep, his hands would deliberately move across your body, touching the spots he knows will stir you awake. He'd chuckle softly, mocking but still fond.

"No, no... you do not escape me so easily."

When your eyes flutter open, he's right there, smiling like fire in the dark. He'll bring his hand up to your face, his large hand cups your face possessively. His thumb would stroke your cheek so gently.

"There you are. My brightest star. Did you dream of me?"

[selmas-teashop]

Forced Proximity ⟡ TROP Elves

Note: You don’t want to know how long this has been hibernating in my drawer. Well, who do you think will seize the chance of this trope and get that long-awaited kiss? Bets can be placed in the comments, hehe

Pairing: TROP Elves x reader (gender neutral)

Characters: Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor, Annatar, Adar

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Injuries and references to memory loss (Adar), being locked in a confined space (Celebrimbor, Galadriel), blood (Annatar), idiots, longing, clichés, reader is implied to be an elf (with longer hair) in some parts

How well TROP Elves would handle forced proximity ranked from worst to best

Annatar ⟡ hiding in a nook

Among all the creatures roaming Middle-earth, feared for their bloodlust, Sauron proved to be by far the most cunning hunter. While wolves formed packs to corner their prey, chasing it to death until they could sink their teeth into its throat and hawks shot down from the sky like lightning before their target could notice them or flee, Sauron preferred a more refined strategy. His prey was chosen with forethought, and every step observed until a pattern revealed itself to him, a pattern he could then sculpt to his liking. He arranged the circumstances thoroughly, sowing doubt to lure them into his snare, convinced it was their own decision.

Sauron had no need for claws or fangs, instead slipping into the minds of his victims, tearing them apart from within, and they thanked him for it. But though he hid behind a veil of deception, he understood that it was never truly an act of free volition. No deer would willingly place its neck in the jaws of a wolf, knowing that it sought blood.

Until today.

As he strode through Eregion that evening, a deer unexpectedly leapt before his feet, a game he never intended to hunt. Clatter of metal pierced the darkness, heavy boots thundering over stone, calls echoing through the night sky. Two guards rushed past Annatar, their drawn swords prison bars meant to constrain a fugitive thief who had just escaped from the hall of records. A thief who was clearly skilled enough to evade the noisy guards, heading straight toward a far more dangerous hunter.

Some strands of your tied-back hair had come loose, your ink-stained fingers clutching a few scrolls. As you ran, you glanced back over your shoulder, making sure you had shaken off your pursuers. A fatal mistake, because in that brief moment, Annatar got hold of your collar, pulling you to a sudden halt. Your gazes crossed, yours filled with fright, his calculating.

Annatar did not recognize you, so you were probably no one whose secret he could use as leverage if he let you go now. It was more useful to hand you over to the guards, further strengthening his reputation as Eregion's diligent servant. But just when he was about to call them back, something strange happened: you overpowered him.

In one swift motion, you freed yourself from his grip, shoved him back behind a wall, covering his mouth. One hand pressed against his lips, the other clutching your scrolls. The act occurred so unexpected that he simply let it happen.

You shot Annatar a determined look, the fear now vanished from your eyes. In a hissing whisper, you explained that the scrolls contained construction plans you had developed, a project unjustly confiscated from you, which you planned to present to Lord Celebrimbor personally.

A quest for justice. A renegade master builder. An elf who dared to threaten Sauron himself. Now you had piqued his curiosity, ignited a spark. He granted you this transgression, even though he could not yet deduce any benefit from it, amused by your demeanor and surprised by the turn this interaction had taken.

Footsteps approached from the other side, two guards patrolling the square. You pressed yourself closer to Annatar, attempting to blend into the shadow of the wall, your breath brushing his neck. The warmth of your hand burned his lips, and he was overcome by the urge to sink his teeth into its flesh, licking the hot blood clean off. Why had he not noticed you before? He studied your profile, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, like a startled deer. Yet your gaze calmly observed the surroundings, like a wolf on the hunt.

During the following days, this scene kept flaring up in his mind, the memory of your warmth burning his skin. You received your audience with Lord Celebrimbor, and your project was returned to you. Annatar had made sure of it, now being able to supervise its construction and draw you closer into his sphere. The surprise on your face when you realized who your nighttime encounter had been seeped into him like sweet wine. How you shifted under his gaze, shy with embarrassment. He could not take his eyes off you, and why should he? After all, you had run into his arms willingly.

1/10: The fleeting nature of this encounter only fuels his obsession

Celebrimbor ⟡ locked out on a balcony

The dancing evening breeze carried sounds of cheerful music, clinking glasses, and laughter high into the sky. It swirled around Celebrimbor, who was watching the colorful bustle of Nost-na-Lothion far below him from the small balcony of his workshop. He flinched when your voice rang out behind him and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, your dress swaying as you approached him through the empty workshop, two glasses of wine in your hands.

The last time he had seen you, you had been in the arms of an entirely unfamiliar elf - a circumstance which had seemingly not diminished your delight for the dance you had shared. He was uncomfortable with you seeing him like this, a Lord hiding from his own feast, not to mention his feelings.

Under your watchful gaze, a heat crept under his skin, so he picked up a glass and swiftly downed some of the sweet wine, trying not to dwell on why he always felt as if he were standing in the flames of his forge whenever in your presence.

A few petals from the flowers adorning your hair in honor of the festivities sought to sway along with the music beneath you and got caught among some loose strands in the attempt. The urge to gently brush them out of your hair was almost impossible to resist. Celebrimbors fingers fidgeted along the rim of his glass, seeking a distraction, and finding it in the question of what had moved you to leave your dance partner behind.

Your mouth opened to reply just as a violent gust of wind rushed through the open workshop door and slammed the balcony door shut. The loud sound struck you like lightning. Instinctively, you grabbed Celebrimbor’s arm, his glass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor. Celebrimbor stammered an apology as you pressed against the door, both of you rushing to hide the flush spreading across your faces.

To your surprise, the wood did not yield. The bolt had slammed shut from the impact, locking the door from the inside. Celebrimbor possessed the strength and technical skill one would expect from a smith of his reputation, yet even he could accomplish nothing against the simple lock mechanism from the outside. Calling for help seemded hopeless as well, due to the height of the balcony and the festive commotion. There was nothing left for you to do but drink the remaining wine and wait.

A scenario that appeared to have been deliberately constructed by the Valar solely to torment Celebrimbor. He was not averse to sharing the last wine with you, but the implication of pressing his lips to the same glass that had touched yours made him hesitate. It felt too akin to the intimacy of a kiss. Not that he recoiled from the thought of kissing you. Quite the opposite.

He tried to let himself be carried along by the flow of your engaging conversation as usual, but that proved to be a far more challenging feat when you were this near, and, to make matters worse, were crowned with delicate blossoms and silver moonlight. It illuminated you so brightly he could study the color of your Iris. For years, Celebrimbor had searched for the gemstone that could best capture its brilliance, but now, for the first time, he was close enough to take in their color in every facet.

His gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips just as you leaned forward slightly, and, seemingly absentmindedly, plucked one of your stray petals that had found its way into his hair, as you spoke. Your story faltered, you looked up at him, the gemstone of your iris, which Celebrimbor had finally recognized, shimmering. The empty wine glass rested abandoned on the balustrade, the imprint of your lips long since cold. If he tilted forward just a fraction, he could truly taste their warmth.

He wanted to taste them.

Terrified by his own thoughts, Celebrimbor flinched back at once and was saved just then by a voice from outside. A guard had discovered the open workshop and had entered to inspect it. Surprise was written all over his face when he found none other than the Lord of Eregion and his herald trapped on the balcony. His discovery left the young guard so taken aback that he completely failed to notice his lord’s troubled state.

In the months following Nost-na-Lothion, Mirdania would be left wondering why her master exclusively would use one particular gemstone for his work.

2/10: Out of insecurity, he misses the perfect opportunity for a first kiss

Adar ⟡ receiving medical care 

He can not recall how he got here, but when Adar awakens, he is lying on a mat woven from reeds and ferns. The blurry outlines of a weathered wooden shack become sharper, the smell of fire catches his attention, rain drips onto the roof above him. It takes Adar a moment to gain his orientation in this unfamiliar environment. His skull feels as if someone had split it open with an axe, and judging by the various injuries and pain throughout his body, someone had attempted to do just that.

No surprise that his weary mind immediately suspects you once you step into the shack and his line of sight. He feels more vulnerable without his breastplate; instinctively reaching for the nearest sharp object to defend himself. But you don’t even flinch, you just stand there with the bundle of wood in your arms, looking down at him. Your eyes are tired, deep shadows adorn their undersides, a bandage decorates your thigh, and only now does Adar notice that you, too, appear to be injured.

You command him to lie down, for if you wanted him dead, you could have spared yourself the trouble of stopping his bleeding, bandaging him, and brewing that reeking herbal tincture for his fever. It takes some time for him to grasp the meaning of your words, but when you order him to keep still so you can change the bandage on a particularly gruesome flesh wound on his arm, he begins to understand.

The reasoning behind your aid sounds rational. The Uruks place all their trust and loyalty in him alone. Adar is a means of keeping them under control, a predictable variable and a potential temporary ally in the war against Sauron. Without him, the horde of his children would dissolve into an uncontrollable mass, another fire burning the Elves' strained resources.

Your explanation and the earnesty of your efforts to keep him alive appease Adar's mistrust for the time being. It is a strange arrangement: you cook, maintain the fire, brew ointments, tend to his wounds and your own, while he can only observe your every move with masked suspicion. The gentleness of your touch, the care with which you treat him, is unfamiliar - not solely due to your previous interactions. He is the one who provides for others, ensuring his children have food and shelter, never the other way around.

By the fourth day, relief outweighs his alertness when you return from gathering in the forest. You still keep his weapons hidden beyond his reach, but you don’t carry any yourself - a concession, the visible proof of your temporary partnership. Adar tries to repay some of the debt he is accumulating by sharing his herbal knowledge with you, where to find the right plants, which mixtures hasten wound healing, calm inflammation. He still feels unease when you touch him, your beautiful hands against his scarred skin, but it is no longer rooted in the fear you might seek to harm him.

The quiet care you bestow upon him, no matter how conditional it may be, is slowly consuming him. He knows you, or at least, he once thought he did. The enemy who crossed his sword, he knew. But the elf who stays by his side day and night, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth or serving him warm soup - that tender person, he does not know. It throws him off balance, gnaws at him in the night when you sleep beside him. A faint feeling deep inside his chest, a whisper he tries to shut out, telling him that no matter how you two part ways from here on out, he can no longer face you the same way he did before.

4/10: He does not know how to deal with this kind of affection, the hidden longing for it unsettles him deeply

Gil-Galad ⟡ being taught a craft

When his herald delivered your message, Gil-Galad considered it a jest. But by the time he stood in the doorway of Lindon's palace kitchen - a figure framed in gold by the midday sun, completely out of place in this workspace - he gave credence to Elrond's words. Even though his eyes still hesitated to accept the scene presented to them. Your jewelry rested safely on a wooden tray behind you, hair tied back, a simple apron covering your formal court attire, your hands buried in a bowl of dough. Unbelievable.

With a brief wave of his hand, the High King dismissed everyone else, guards and kitchen staff alike. He could not resist raising an eyebrow, displaying his scepticism, as he approached the cooking station to inspect your culinary skills. You merely responded with a knowing smile when he inquired the purpose of this decidedly...humble activity. Although it was you who had summoned him – which in itself would be considered impudent – you made no effort to follow courtly protocol by greeting him with a bow or otherwise honoring his presence by pausing your work.

Such formalities were not required when you were alone, privacy granted your friendship precedence over your ranks. Secretly, Gil-Galad enjoyed your casual manner toward him, although he would never gift you the satisfaction of displaying his fondness outwardly.

As you continued to work through the dough with firm movements, you explained this unusual choice of meeting place. It was not the first time that you had taken refuge in the kitchen in order to sort your thoughts. As your hands shaped the dough, your mind shaped thoughts, the steady motion grounding you. Sometimes the answer was not buried in stacks of scrolls gathered by Lord Elrond, but in the silence and warmth of bread rising in the oven.

Naturally, you had to punish Gil-Galad’s doubtful gaze and lofty tone with a demonstration. Before he knew it, he found himself facing another bowl of sticky mass, while you tied an apron behind his back. This was certainly not how he had imagined the strategy meeting with his advisor. Putting on an indifferent expression, he swallowed the nervousness that crept up as you carefully removed his rings and placed them beside yours.

His first movements were awkward, clearly the attempts of an elf who only ever encountered food when it was elegantly arranged and placed before him by servants. So you stepped in to guide him, an act Gil-Galad submitted to with dignity, despite his heart nearly leaping from his chest whenever your hands brushed his. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when you withdrew to continue kneading your own dough. You were mistaken, this activity did nothing to calm his troubled spirit.

But after a while, the tension in his shoulders eased a little. Warmth from the oven seeped into his tired bones, the scent of herbs and charcoal filled the air, soothing his senses. By the time you took the fresh loaves out of the oven, a solution for every matter on your meeting agenda had been found. As always, you had been right. It was grounding to create something with one's own hands, something with a tangible outcome. Not merely abstract commands and plans, the consequences of which weighed solely on his head.

He expressed his reluctant gratitude to you as you savored the still-warm bread with a few figs and wine, a knowing grin playing across your face. The golden midday sun streaming into the kitchen cast a soft glow around you, presumably the reason for the warmth spreading from Gil-Galad’s core throughout his entire body. Or so he assured himself.

6/10: He’s still too caught up in his own head to fully savor the moment and will find himself yearning to return there weeks later without admitting the reason why

Elrond ⟡ taking shelter during rain

t was supposed to be nothing more than a brief ride to the Grey Havens, but within the first third of the journey, delicate raindrops kissed Elrond's hair, turning into a dense veil of pearling water by the halfway point. The saddles' leather grew slippery, and the view across the open meadow was obscured by a fog so thick that even the sharp elven eyes could barely tell west from east. Only a fool would insist on riding on under such conditions, and Elrond Half-elven was many things, but certainly no fool.

As soon as a tree with a mighty crown came into view, Elrond signaled for you to halt there and seek shelter. Breathing heavy, you dismounted the horses. As if the sudden downpour was not trouble enough, the High King had chosen you, of all elves, to accompany Elrond. It should have been expected - the success of your other missions spoke for itself - yet he could not help but question whether Gil-Galad was abusing his authority to torment him beyond necessity.

White wisps of mist curled around your wet face, your damp clothes clung to your body, outlining every curve, every muscle. Elrond averted his gaze, using the excuse of loosening his horse’s saddle slightly so that the wet leather would not rub against the animal’s coat, in order to hide the blush spreading across his face. You followed his example, checking to see if the scrolls in their metal cases had stayed dry. Then you both stood a bit self-conscious under the tree’s canopy, while the horses grazed peacefully on the other side.

Elrond was never at a loss for words, language his sharpest weapon, one he wielded with precision. But under the circumstances - alone with you in such a confined space, soaked to the bone, your clothes leaving less room for the imagination than he was comfortable with - his tongue twisted itself around the words, unable to form a smooth, flowing stream.

You seemed to sense his unease and, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of affection, you made a joke that lightened the mood a bit. Chuckling, Elrond brushed his damp curls back and carried on discussing the next steps with you. As you spoke, you attempted to tame your windswept and rain-soaked hair into a presentable state as well. A far more challenging task given the length of your braid. You had tidied your hair as best you could, but a few loose strands at the crown of your head escaped your attention. Elrond moved closer before his better judgment could stop him and asked for permission to assist you.

Gently, he untangled the disarray, ignoring his treacherous heart racing. The conversation fell silent, only the soft rain and a cascade of feelings pouring down upon you. Small clouds of steam rose from your breath, intertwining in the close space between your bodies, gazes and unspoken words mingling within.

Slowly, careful not to startle you, Elrond brushed a strand of hair clinging to your forehead back behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, caressing the tender skin of your cheek. He had been mistaken. He was a fool after all, for only a fool would be so reckless to do what followed.

Hesitant, giving you enough time to pull away, he leaned in toward you, drawn by the irresistible gaze of your eyes tracing his face. The kiss was as light as a feather, merely the gentle touch of your lips, as delicate as the rain that had caressed your skin moments before. You leaned in, and Elrond’s heart struck the first note a melody, so much sweeter than the fading rustle of the water above you.

9/10: He seizes the moment and finds what he longed for, even if it was an impulse

Galadriel ⟡ trapped on a raft

What are dreams if not shadows of the past, tightening their clutches around the lungs and hearts of those they haunt? Galadriel dreaded sleep, for at night she lost command of her mind. It became vulnerable to Sauron, open for him to slip inside and play his cruel games with her. Even after she closed that door and lay down, safe in the knowledge that she had banished him, she did not find the peace she longed for. Her newfound freedom proved to be yet another cage, trapped in experiencing the same dream time and time again. She stood on the raft amid the storm, begging Halbrand - no, Sauron - to bind himself to her. Her greatest regret played out endlessly in her sleep, mocking her.

She could not conceal her unrest and weariness from you, your concern touched her like rain falling on parched flowers. Galadriel hid the contents of her dreams from you, but naturally that did not dissuade you from seeking a way to lighten her burdens. The advice you had given her that day still echoed in her mind as evening fell. She was the master of her dreams. She could shape them to her liking, you had said, and if that failed, you would pray to the Valar, asking to be sent in her dreams.

A silent smile had graced Galadriel's face, touched by affection for your declaration to protect her. But when she eventually lost the battle against fatigue that night, she was once again overcome with fear of what would await her on the other side.

She found herself in the same hell as the previous weeks. The sea was raging, black waves crashing against rotten wood, tossing the raft. Trembling, Galadriel closed her eyes, water sticking to her skin, cold air scratching her lungs. You are the master of your dreams. Your voice echoed through her, a ribbon of delicate light she clung to. She repeated the words in her mind, tracing them with her tongue like a prayer. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Galadriel steeled herself to hear the words that would follow now.

But Sauron's voice never reached her ear. Galadriel's eyes flew open, her heart beating high in her throat. The image before her had been completely transformed into its opposite. Seawater gently rocked the raft in its arms, warm sun soaking up the cold from her skin. In disbelief, she turned around. Instead of facing her incarnate nightmare, her gaze fell upon your familiar figure, fastening the mast with rope. When you noticed her and paused your work to approach her, she shied away. Galadriel was certain that your lovely form would shatter any moment, revealing the true nature of evil that wore your face in mockery. But her fears remained unfulfilled.

Your eyes gave no sign of malice, only tenderness and worry. You urged her to breathe, affirming that you were with her. Shaky fingers reached out to your face, seeking reassurance. When Galadriel felt the warmth of your hand holding hers, the dam broke. She sank to her knees, letting you hold her in your arms, tears silently escaping her. You held her tight, promising you would not let any harm come to her.

In the following days, this dream returned. Once Galadriel fell asleep, she found herself back on the raft, but instead of Sauron, you were the one awaiting her, speaking to her, holding her in your arms. You bathed in the sun and swam in the sea, sharing laughter and glances, even a kiss one night. The raft was no longer a prison, but a small haven of peace.

10/10: The forced proximity is her sanctuary, her refuge, and her salvation

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