My Heart Goes Out To Elrond

oh mirdania

𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀

season two the rings of power. 2.07.

pure as starlight

maedhros' cloak

TROP Celebrimbor cuz his acting’s so good

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Hey guys, it's Lady of Lindon. I find myself in need of inspiration to write, and I'd like to open my ask box to you guys! You can request anything for Silm and RoP elves. OC requests are also welcome, but provide details about your OC please! Have fun!

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Poor Elrond

rings of power is such a silly show

posted this on twitter but thought i'd share it here too :))

this is the face he drew

His sword was long, his lance was keen.

His shining helm afar was seen.

The countless stars of heaven’s field

Were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he rode away,

And where he dwelleth none can say.

For into darkness fell his star;

In Mordor, where the shadows are.

Remarkable

30 Prompts: Smile

Summary: One should not bet on the High King, under any circumstances.

“I have a slight concern that we perhaps shouldn’t be betting on the king.” Daemor whispers, frantically checking to make sure that Gil-Galad wasn’t behind him as he spoke. He bites his lip as he draws level with Camnir, whose hands Rían just thrust the pouch of silver into. “How much have you got so far, anyway, and on what bets?” “Galadriel bet the High King wouldn’t smile until Midwinter,” Rían murmurs, “but I think she’s out by a month, he surely can’t wait that long --” “Sauron is back, though,” Camnir says, doubtfully, “so he doesn’t have much cause to show any positive emotion.” Really, he thinks this whole bet is ridiculous in the first place, and Gil-Galad was going to rake them ‘cross the coals if he heard about it, like as not, and he really doesn’t fancy getting into trouble. He tries to push the pouch of ill-gained silver back into her hands, frowning in discomfort. “I also haven’t smiled in a while. Are you going to bet about me?” “You’re different,” Rían assures, “you’re not the king, so you don’t have to -- as nobody is looking at you.” She takes the pouch back contentedly, and Camnir isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or insulted. Rían, though, only beams as she peeks inside the drawstring purse, a little skip in her step. “I almost have enough to buy some new oil paints.” “Who else betted?” Vorohil cuts in, curiously. “Lady Galadriel, and --?” “We asked Master Círdan,” Rían chirps, “but he just arched a brow and told us to go along and get back to our duties. We could ask Herald Elrond --” “Bad idea,” Daemor says, shaking his head. “He’ll tell the King, for a start. You know he will.” 

“He’s a spoilsport, then.” Rían hums, considering their next move. “We could ask Erestor.” 

Vorohil shudders at the thought. “Are the rumours true about him, d’you reckon?” 

“He’s not a kinslayer, if that’s the one you mean.” Camnir doesn’t know why he steps up to defend the dark, quiet scholar with the way of moving that brought to mind a panther on the hunt. “And he doesn’t eat younger elves for breakfast, either. I don’t know who started that one, but it’s just silly.” Rían decisively heads over to the dark-robed elf where he sat reading in a tree. “Come on! Lord Erestor, would you like to participate in our betting pool?” A delicate brow rises, before eyes as black as coal lift to meet her own. She gulps. He smiles. “If you are betting on the king’s chances of a positive expression,” he murmurs, deceptively quietly, “then I shall bet that he is about to have plenty of reason to smile while thinking up your punishment.” He drops a silver into the pouch. “Considering he’s right behind you.” Rían freezes. Vorohil jumps. Camnir makes certain to distance himself bodily from the others. Gil-Galad sighs, shaking his head. “Really? If the lot of you have so much energy for mischief and nothing better to do, then you can all help me reorganise the library. Come along.” He beckons the little group to follow him. “As for the silver, I shall consider that a tax to be used in the effort to pay the weaponsmiths in defense for our land - considering, as it is, that you all are betting on me.” Rían’s shoulders slump as she hands the purse over, and she gives Vorohil a playful little shove; this had all been his idea.

(She does find the oil paints wrapped up just inside of her room door when she finishes her day of working, though. As she unwraps them, their gifter does, indeed, smile.)

Elrond you would have hated the Romans for burning Alexandria Library