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.
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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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