Ahahahahahaha

teehee

at the fall of gondolin

ecthelion: it’s giving Nirnaeth Arnoediad

turgon: why are you like this

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Stressful Night (Ereinion Gil-galad, Rings of Power)

Author’s note: Itarille Peredhel is Gil-galad’s queen, and she’s Elrond’s sister. In this story, she’s bothered by a lot more work than usual, a much heavier workload. Gil is the supportive and affectionate husband behind closed doors, a comfort for her. (“Q.”  is meant to denote the use of Quenya, while “S.” denotes the use of Sindarin)

TW: Blood (from a paper cut wound)

Sighing internally, Itarille picked up her quill for the umpteenth time that day and signed the proffered document with a flourish. “Send it to King Oropher,” she spoke, exhaustion evident in her voice. “Make it hasty, or I’ll be receiving a host of complaints from the Greenwood again.”

“Yes, High Queen,” the messenger nodded before dashing out of the room, his feet barely making any sound. For that, at least, Itarille was thankul. She turned her attention to the next document, smiling as she read the elegant script. At least this one was from Elrond, about some matters he’d noticed while going about his duties as Herald of Lindon. She set it aside, deciding that it would be better to allow the High King to read about it as well before passing judgement.

Ah. The High King. Itarille had been so busy that she hadn’t been able to spend time with her husband the entire day, save for breakfast. He had headed out to the Grey Havens to speak with Círdan the Shipwright, and was absent from the palace for most of the day. He’d only recently returned, and from what his assistant, Estedir, had told her, the High King was thoroughly wiped out. She had spent her day taking up his duties at the palace, in addition to her own.

Smiling wryly, Itarille reached for another document. As she reached out to grab it, a sharp pain shot up the tip of her finger. Hissing, Itarille pulled her hand away, only to find a bleeding paper cut. Biting her lip to prevent herself from crying out in frustration, Itarille decided to look for the first aid kit. Alas, she’d forgotten to bring it back to her study after using it a few weeks ago.

She had had enough. With the mounting pile of documents on her desk, and the concern that Oropher of the Greenwood would have another complaint about her reply to him, Itarille had been driven mad. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what exactly she was feeling at the moment. She stood up from her chair and told the guard standing outside the door that she would be leaving the night. With a respectful murmur of “High Queen” from the guard, Itarille strode briskly down the hallway, the hem of her gown trailing behind her.

It didn’t take long for her to reach the quarters she shared with her beloved High King. She stepped inside, cautious of remaining silent in case he was asleep. She had assumed he was asleep, and the sight of him standing by the window, staring at the starry sky above surprised her.

“Melda (Q. beloved),” Ereinion’s smooth voice called out. He walked towards her, intending to give her a kiss. His attention, however, was drawn to the drop of blood falling from the tip of her finger and dripping against the marble floors. It was soft, but he heard the sound as the drop made contact with the marble. “What happened?”

“Paper cut,” Itarille huffed. “I need a bath, can we discuss this later?” Ereinion was taken aback by the intensity in her voice. She shot him a brief glare before heading to her closet to grab a robe and walking to the adjacent chamber to take a bath.

When Itarille emerged, she was clothed in a white nightgown. In Ereinion’s opinion, a vision, like Varda herself. He rose from their shared bed, reaching out towards her to grasp her hand. “You’ve dealt with the wound, I see,” he spoke glancing briefly at the bandage on her finger.”

“I have,” Itarille said. “Can we go to bed now? I’m exhausted. It’s been such a long day.”

Ereinion was about to nod, when he saw the look in her eyes. It was one he hated seeing, the look of utter defeat. “What happened today, my starlight?” He murmured, gently easing her into bed and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“I prefer not to talk about it.” Itarille sniffed. Ereinion almost laughed out loud internally; he knew his wife was a hypocrite when it came to matters like this. Sooner or later, everything would spill forth from her perfect lips.

“You know, Oropher sent another message today. He wanted me to sign it and send it back to the Greenwood the same day it arrived,” she said. “And your courtiers, they just won’t get off my back. Insufferable, the lot of them!”

Ereinion allowed himself a small chuckle. “Ah, but you’ve been handling it with such grace, my darling. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s an understatement,” she replied huffily. “There, I’ve told you everything. Can we go to bed now?”

The High King smiled briefly, lying back in bed and opening his arms to her. Itarille snuggled up to him, her head on his chest. She heard the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as she traced her fingers along his arm. “Yes, we can, my love,” Ereinion leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve done so much for me today, helping to take over my palace duties. I cannot thank you enough.”

Itarille’s patience was almost worn out. “Thank me by sealing your lips shut and letting me get some sleep. Shh!” The High King smirked. “You want to shut me up? Why don’t you do it yourself?”

There was a daring gleam in his eyes. Itarille knew exactly what he wanted, but her need for sleep was more pressing. She picked up a pillow and threw it at his face. “Goodnight, High King. Go to bed.” The last thing she recalled hearing before drifting into slumber was the soft laughter of Ereinion.

Her silly High King.

Author's note: Wow, churning out two fics in one day! I'm pleasantly surprised, but Elrond and Gil-galad are my comfort elves.

Just a short video tribute to Gil-galad's hair. (Sound on please!)

i love him

Eönwë

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.)

brilliant

The Rings of Power | Season 2 | Aug 29 - Oct 3, 2024 Robert Aramayo as Elrond Half-elven

The High King and High Queen of Lindon are trying to have some downtime (they've just woken up from a nice long sleep) and some elf walks in.

Gil-galad is understandably pissed off (but trying not to show it) while the High Queen (Itarille, in my story she's Elrond's sister) is trying not to smile or laugh.

A scene from a book I'm writing, High Queen of the Noldor.

@queenmeriadoc (because I think this would fit well with Lady Merry and High King Gil-galad), please let me know if this is in character for them, but I think in her case Celebrimbor is the one who walked in on them

Just something about how Elrond is described as "kind as summer." You can't go wrong with that. Elrond is amazing.

But the history of Elrond is so fucking tragic — if anything, Elrond should be turned evil, like Fëanáro or Maedhros.

But he didn't.

He lost his parents, his brother, his foster parents, his wife, his daughter, etc... and yet he's an amazing person.

Elrond being one of the bad guys would have been understandable. But he chose to be a good person who helped maintain the stability of Middle-Earth.

Despite all his pain, grief, losses, etc — Elrond chose to stay patient and prevent more people from experiencing the same losses he did.

This just shows one of the many different outcomes of pain that Tolkien presents; rather than going mad, like Fëanáro, or becoming an anti-hero, like Maedhros, or even disappearing, like Maglor, Elrond chose to stay sane and be a hero for Middle-Earth.